“A Rebel!” The hated word hissed from her lips as if the utterance burned them.
“Yes, madam,” I said, somewhat coldly, for I was not especially fond of the term, “that is what they call us on your side, but also an officer and a gentleman.”
I doubt if she even heard me. All I know is she suddenly lifted the heavy riding whip that was clinched in her right hand, struck me with it full across the face, and then, as I quickly flung up my own arm to ward off a second blow, she sent the lash swirling down upon the flank of her horse. With one bound the maddened animal wrenched the reins from out my hands, nearly dragging me from the saddle, and swerved sharply to the left. There was a shock, a smothered oath, a moment's fierce struggle in the darkness, the sharp ping of the whip as it came down once, twice—then silence, broken only by deep breathing.
“I've got her, Captain,” chuckled the Sergeant, softly, “but dog-gone if I know what to do with her.”
There was small sentiment of mercy in my heart as I drew up toward them, for my cheek burned where the lash had struck as though scorched with fire. For the moment I felt utterly indifferent to all claims of her womanhood. She had unsexed herself, and deserved treatment accordingly. It was thus I felt as I clinched my teeth in pain; but when I saw her leaning helplessly forward on her horse's neck, all bravado gone, her hands pinioned behind her in the iron grip of the Sergeant, my fierce resentment died away within me.
“Let go her hands. Craig.” I commanded briefly.
She lifted her body slightly from its cramped, uncomfortable posture, but her head remained bowed.
“Madam,”—I spoke sternly, for moments were of value now,—“listen to what I say. We are Confederate soldiers passing through the Federal lines with despatches. In order to save ourselves from discovery and capture we were compelled to take you in charge. It was the fortune of war. If now we could honorably leave you here we would most gladly do so, for having you with us adds vastly to our own danger; but these mountains are simply overrun with wandering guerillas who would show you neither respect nor mercy. We simply dare not, as honorable men, leave you here unprotected, and consequently you must continue to ride in our company. Now answer me plainly, will you proceed quietly, or shall we be compelled to tie you to your horse?”
I knew she was crying; but with an effort she succeeded in steadying her voice sufficiently to reply.
“I will go,” she said.