“Then let it kill you!” cried a voice deep with passion; the door of the house, which had been ajar, was flung open, while on the threshold, white with rage, stood John Vale. In either hand he held a loaded pistol.
Surprise, for the moment, held Preston motionless and speechless; the sudden apparition completely unmanning him. Recovering, by a great effort, his presence of mind, he turned to his men who had not yet dismounted, and shouted: “Shoot him down! shoot the rebel down! Forward, men, and—”
As Reginald spoke, he drew his sword; but, whatever else he would have told his comrades, was left unsaid—a ball from the pistol of John Vale had done its work. The dragoons hastily snatching their pistols from their bolsters, fired, but apparently without effect, for the rebel disappeared again, closing the door behind him. The stout oak door withstood the rush made against it by the four soldiers, and it was some time before they ventured to enter by the window. When, however, they did venture in, they found a window on the opposite side of the room, thrown wide open, and beheld far over the fields, a black steed bearing away, right gallantly, the young avenger.
Seeing pursuit was hopeless, the troopers deemed it necessary to go to the assistance of their captain.
They found him weltering in his blood, a ball having entered his right arm near the shoulder, and another the left thigh some distance above the knee joint. The supposition was, that Vale had fired both pistols together, for but one explosion had been heard.
Notwithstanding the wrongs which Mrs. Vale had good reason to suppose she had received at the hands of this man, she had lifted his head and was endeavoring to stanch the blood that flowed from the shoulder. When the four men approached, she ordered them to carry him into the house. They obeyed, and the man who merited so little kindness, was laid on one of the widow’s softest beds. Neither of the wounds was likely to prove fatal, and for this she was thankful.
Seeing that the captain was comfortable, one of the men set off to apprise his second officer of the affair, and learn what measures it would be best to take under the circumstances. If it could possibly be done, the captain should be removed from his present situation, for the house of Mrs. Vale was not large enough to lodge the troop, and if only part of it was left near the captain, an immediate attack from Nat Ernshaw’s brigade could reasonably be expected.
In an hour the man returned with the first lieutenant and twenty men. They found Preston pale and weak from the loss of blood, but still able to be moved, and Mrs. Vale was soon left in quiet possession of her house.
When Reginald returned to his quarters he was much exhausted, but, by the next morning was recruited enough to write a long letter to the commander at Charleston. The exact manner in which the wound was received, he of course did not take pains to explain, for there might have appeared that which would have set inquiries on foot which the captain would rather not excite. He sought to create the impression that John Vale was a cold-blooded assassin, who without any provocation, fired upon his victim from an ambush.
The answer to this letter was just such as had been wished for. On the strength of his wound, another officer was sent to fill his place, and Preston obtained permission to return to Charleston. Thus, his scheme with regard to Catherine, was actually furthered by the results of the assault of the young girl’s brother.