The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come [98]
Chad. "It is a matter of life and death."
Above him a window was suddenly raised and the Commandant's own head was thrust out.
"Stop that noise," he thundered. Chad told his mission and the Commandant straightway was furious.
"How dare General Ward broach that matter again? My orders are given and they will not be changed." As he started to pull the window down, Chad cried:
"But, General--" and at the same time a voice called down the street:
"General!" Two men appeared under the gaslight--one was a sergeant and the other a frightened negro.
"Here is a message, General."
The sash went down, a light appeared behind it, and soon the Commandant, in trousers and slippers, was at the door. He read the note with a frown.
"Where did you get this?"
"A sojer come to my house out on the edge o' town, suh, and said he'd kill me to-morrow if I didn't hand dis note to you pussonally."
The Commandant turned to Chad. Somehow his manner seemed suddenly changed.
"Do you know that these men belonged to Morgan's command?"
"I know that Daniel Dean did and that the man Dillon was with him when captured."
Still frowning savagely, the Commandant turned inside to his desk and a moment later the staff-officer brought out a telegram and gave it to Chad.
"You can take this to the telegraph office yourself. It is a stay of execution."
"Thank you."
Chad drew a long breath of relief and gladness and patted Dixie on the neck as he rode slowly toward the low building where he had missed the train on his first trip to the Capital. The telegraph operator dashed to the door as Chad drew up in front of it. He looked pale and excited.
"Send this telegram at once," said Chad.
The operator looked at it.
"Not in that direction to-night," he said, with a strained laugh, "the wires are cut."
Chad almost reeled in his saddle--then the paper was whisked from the astonished operator's hand and horse and rider clattered up the hill.
. . . . . .
At head-quarters the Commandant was handing the negro's note to a staff-officer. It read:
"YOU HANG THOSE TWO MEN AT SUNRISE TO-MORROW, AND I'LL HANG YOU AT SUNDOWN."
It was signed "John Morgan," and the signature was Morgan's own.
"I gave the order only last night. How could Morgan have heard of it so soon, and how could he have got this note to me? Could he have come back?"
"Impossible," said the staff-officer. "He wouldn't dare come back now."
The Commandant shook his head doubtfully, and just then there was a knock at the door and the operator, still pale and excited, spoke his message:
"General, the wires are cut."
The two officers stared at each other in silence.
. . . . . .
Twenty-seven miles to go and less than three hours before sunrise. There was a race yet for the life of Daniel Dean. The gallant little mare could cover the stretch with nearly an hour to spare, and Chad, thrilled in every nerve, but with calm confidence, raced against the coming dawn.
"The wires are cut."
Who had cut them and where and when and why? No matter--Chad had the paper in his pocket that would save two lives and he would be on time even if Dixie broke her noble heart, but he could not get the words out of his brain--even Dixie's hoofs beat them out ceaselessly:
"The wires are cut--the wires are cut!"
The mystery would have been clear, had Chad known the message that lay on the Commandant's desk back at the Capital, for the boy knew Morgan, and that Morgan's lips never opened for an idle threat. He would have ridden just as hard, had he known, but a different purpose would have been his.
An hour more and there was still no light in the East. An hour more and one red streak had shot upward; then ahead of him gleamed a picket fire --a fire that seemed farther from town than any post he had seen on his way down to the Capital --but he galloped on. Within fifty yards a cry came:
"Halt! Who comes there?"
"Friend," he shouted, reining in. A bullet whizzed past his head as he pulled up outside the edge of the fire and Chad shouted indignantly:
Above him a window was suddenly raised and the Commandant's own head was thrust out.
"Stop that noise," he thundered. Chad told his mission and the Commandant straightway was furious.
"How dare General Ward broach that matter again? My orders are given and they will not be changed." As he started to pull the window down, Chad cried:
"But, General--" and at the same time a voice called down the street:
"General!" Two men appeared under the gaslight--one was a sergeant and the other a frightened negro.
"Here is a message, General."
The sash went down, a light appeared behind it, and soon the Commandant, in trousers and slippers, was at the door. He read the note with a frown.
"Where did you get this?"
"A sojer come to my house out on the edge o' town, suh, and said he'd kill me to-morrow if I didn't hand dis note to you pussonally."
The Commandant turned to Chad. Somehow his manner seemed suddenly changed.
"Do you know that these men belonged to Morgan's command?"
"I know that Daniel Dean did and that the man Dillon was with him when captured."
Still frowning savagely, the Commandant turned inside to his desk and a moment later the staff-officer brought out a telegram and gave it to Chad.
"You can take this to the telegraph office yourself. It is a stay of execution."
"Thank you."
Chad drew a long breath of relief and gladness and patted Dixie on the neck as he rode slowly toward the low building where he had missed the train on his first trip to the Capital. The telegraph operator dashed to the door as Chad drew up in front of it. He looked pale and excited.
"Send this telegram at once," said Chad.
The operator looked at it.
"Not in that direction to-night," he said, with a strained laugh, "the wires are cut."
Chad almost reeled in his saddle--then the paper was whisked from the astonished operator's hand and horse and rider clattered up the hill.
. . . . . .
At head-quarters the Commandant was handing the negro's note to a staff-officer. It read:
"YOU HANG THOSE TWO MEN AT SUNRISE TO-MORROW, AND I'LL HANG YOU AT SUNDOWN."
It was signed "John Morgan," and the signature was Morgan's own.
"I gave the order only last night. How could Morgan have heard of it so soon, and how could he have got this note to me? Could he have come back?"
"Impossible," said the staff-officer. "He wouldn't dare come back now."
The Commandant shook his head doubtfully, and just then there was a knock at the door and the operator, still pale and excited, spoke his message:
"General, the wires are cut."
The two officers stared at each other in silence.
. . . . . .
Twenty-seven miles to go and less than three hours before sunrise. There was a race yet for the life of Daniel Dean. The gallant little mare could cover the stretch with nearly an hour to spare, and Chad, thrilled in every nerve, but with calm confidence, raced against the coming dawn.
"The wires are cut."
Who had cut them and where and when and why? No matter--Chad had the paper in his pocket that would save two lives and he would be on time even if Dixie broke her noble heart, but he could not get the words out of his brain--even Dixie's hoofs beat them out ceaselessly:
"The wires are cut--the wires are cut!"
The mystery would have been clear, had Chad known the message that lay on the Commandant's desk back at the Capital, for the boy knew Morgan, and that Morgan's lips never opened for an idle threat. He would have ridden just as hard, had he known, but a different purpose would have been his.
An hour more and there was still no light in the East. An hour more and one red streak had shot upward; then ahead of him gleamed a picket fire --a fire that seemed farther from town than any post he had seen on his way down to the Capital --but he galloped on. Within fifty yards a cry came:
"Halt! Who comes there?"
"Friend," he shouted, reining in. A bullet whizzed past his head as he pulled up outside the edge of the fire and Chad shouted indignantly: