The Red Acorn [39]
Union."
His rifle came to his face at the same instant, and Harry saw the flame and white smoke puff from it, and the sickening thought flashed into his mind that the shot was fired at him, and that he would feel the deadly ball pierce his body! Before he could more than formulate this he heard the bullet pass him with a screech, and strike somewhere with a plainly sharp slap. Turning his head he saw the leading Rebel stagger and fall. Harry thre his gun up, with the readiness acquired in old hunting days, and fired at the next of his foes, who also fell! The other Rebels, as they came up, gathered around their fallen comrades.
Harry ran back to where the stranger was, as rapidly as the clinging mud and the steep hillside would permit him.
"Purty fa'r shot that," said the stranger, setting down the heavy rifle he was carefully reloading, and extending his hand cordially as Harry came panting up. "That's what I call mouty neat shooting--knock yer man over at 150 yards, down hill, with that ole smooth-bore, and without no rest. The oldest han' at the business couldn't've done no better."
Harry was too much agitated to heed the compliment to his markmanship. He looked back anxiously and asked:
"Are they coming on yet?"
"Skacely they hain't," said the stranger, with a very obvious sneer. "Skacely they hain't comin' on no more. They've hed enuff, they hev. Two of their best men dropt inter blue blazes on the first jump will take all the aidge off ther appetite for larks. I know 'em."
"But they will come on. They'll pursue us. They'll never let us go now," said Harry, reloading his gun with hands trembling from the exertion and excitement.
He was yet too young a soldier to understand that his enemy's fright might be greater than his own.
"Nary a time they won't," said the stranger, derisively. "Them fellers are jest like Injuns; they're red-hot till one or two gits knocked over, an' then they cool down mouty suddent. Why, me an' two others stopt the whole of Zollicoffer's army for two days by shootin' the officer in command of the advance-guard jest ez they war a-comin' up the hill this side of Barboursville. Fact! They'd a' been at Wildcat last Friday ef we hedn't skeered 'em so. They stopt an' hunted the whole country round for bushwhackers afore they'd move ary other step."
"But who are you?" asked Harry, looking again at his companion's butternut garb.
"I'm called Long Jim Forner, an' I've the name o' bein' the pizenest Union man in the Rockassel Mountains. Thar's a good s'tifkit o' my p'litical principles" (pointing with his thumb to where lay the men who had felln under their bullets). Harry looked again in that direction. Part of the squad were looking apprehensively toward hiim, as if they feared a volley from bushwhackers concealed near him, and others were taking from the bodies of the dead the weapons, belts, and other articles which it was not best to leave for the pursuers, and still others were pointing to the rapidly growing distance between them and main body, apparently adjuring haste in following.
The great mental and bodily strain Harry had undergone since he had first heard the sound of cannon in the morning at the foot of Wildcat should have made him desperately weary. But the sight of the man falling before his gun had fermented in his blood a fierce intoxication, as unknown, as unsuspected before as the passion of love had been before its first keen transports thrilled his heart. Like that ecstacy, this fever now consumed him. All fear of harm to himself vanished in its flame. He had actually slain one enemy. Why not another? He raised his musket. The mountaineer laid his hand upon it.
"No," he said, "that's not the game to hunt. They'll do when thar's nothin' better to be had, but now powder an' lead kin be used to more advantage. Besides they're outen range o' your smooth-bore now. Come."
As Fortner threw his rifle across his shoulder Harry looked at it curiously. It had a long, heavy, six sided barrel, with a large bore, double triggers,
His rifle came to his face at the same instant, and Harry saw the flame and white smoke puff from it, and the sickening thought flashed into his mind that the shot was fired at him, and that he would feel the deadly ball pierce his body! Before he could more than formulate this he heard the bullet pass him with a screech, and strike somewhere with a plainly sharp slap. Turning his head he saw the leading Rebel stagger and fall. Harry thre his gun up, with the readiness acquired in old hunting days, and fired at the next of his foes, who also fell! The other Rebels, as they came up, gathered around their fallen comrades.
Harry ran back to where the stranger was, as rapidly as the clinging mud and the steep hillside would permit him.
"Purty fa'r shot that," said the stranger, setting down the heavy rifle he was carefully reloading, and extending his hand cordially as Harry came panting up. "That's what I call mouty neat shooting--knock yer man over at 150 yards, down hill, with that ole smooth-bore, and without no rest. The oldest han' at the business couldn't've done no better."
Harry was too much agitated to heed the compliment to his markmanship. He looked back anxiously and asked:
"Are they coming on yet?"
"Skacely they hain't," said the stranger, with a very obvious sneer. "Skacely they hain't comin' on no more. They've hed enuff, they hev. Two of their best men dropt inter blue blazes on the first jump will take all the aidge off ther appetite for larks. I know 'em."
"But they will come on. They'll pursue us. They'll never let us go now," said Harry, reloading his gun with hands trembling from the exertion and excitement.
He was yet too young a soldier to understand that his enemy's fright might be greater than his own.
"Nary a time they won't," said the stranger, derisively. "Them fellers are jest like Injuns; they're red-hot till one or two gits knocked over, an' then they cool down mouty suddent. Why, me an' two others stopt the whole of Zollicoffer's army for two days by shootin' the officer in command of the advance-guard jest ez they war a-comin' up the hill this side of Barboursville. Fact! They'd a' been at Wildcat last Friday ef we hedn't skeered 'em so. They stopt an' hunted the whole country round for bushwhackers afore they'd move ary other step."
"But who are you?" asked Harry, looking again at his companion's butternut garb.
"I'm called Long Jim Forner, an' I've the name o' bein' the pizenest Union man in the Rockassel Mountains. Thar's a good s'tifkit o' my p'litical principles" (pointing with his thumb to where lay the men who had felln under their bullets). Harry looked again in that direction. Part of the squad were looking apprehensively toward hiim, as if they feared a volley from bushwhackers concealed near him, and others were taking from the bodies of the dead the weapons, belts, and other articles which it was not best to leave for the pursuers, and still others were pointing to the rapidly growing distance between them and main body, apparently adjuring haste in following.
The great mental and bodily strain Harry had undergone since he had first heard the sound of cannon in the morning at the foot of Wildcat should have made him desperately weary. But the sight of the man falling before his gun had fermented in his blood a fierce intoxication, as unknown, as unsuspected before as the passion of love had been before its first keen transports thrilled his heart. Like that ecstacy, this fever now consumed him. All fear of harm to himself vanished in its flame. He had actually slain one enemy. Why not another? He raised his musket. The mountaineer laid his hand upon it.
"No," he said, "that's not the game to hunt. They'll do when thar's nothin' better to be had, but now powder an' lead kin be used to more advantage. Besides they're outen range o' your smooth-bore now. Come."
As Fortner threw his rifle across his shoulder Harry looked at it curiously. It had a long, heavy, six sided barrel, with a large bore, double triggers,