An Undivided Union Part 48

"Not the best, to be candid. They would be better if he could be removed immediately to some house where he would not be disturbed. In such cases as these, sudden jarrings are ofttimes fatal."

"I will see what can be done for him," went on Deck. "In the meantime, do your best for him."

"I always do my best in all our cases, Major," returned the surgeon, and turned away to aid some others who were wounded.

In a few minutes Colonel Lyon rode up and was taken to Artie's side. The poor fellow was now conscious, and on seeing them he tried to smile, but the attempt was a sickly one.

"Don't talk, Artie," said the colonel, as he saw the young captain make the attempt. "We will do what we can for you, and your recovery depends upon your keeping quiet."

"If you will relieve me from duty, I will try to find some house to which Artie can be taken," put in Deck. "I am afraid the field hospital is too far off."

"The trouble is, if we take him to a private place he will have no doctor's care," answered Colonel Lyon. "Surgeon Farnwright must remain with the others that are wounded."

At this announcement Deck's hopes fell for an instant. "Well, I'll see what I can do anyway--if you will let me off," he returned soberly. "It would be too bad to have him die for the want of care. Mother would never forgive us--or Dorcas and Hope."

"That is true, Dexter." The colonel's voice sounded strangely husky. "Do your best,--and spare no money, if money is of avail," and he turned to consult with Surgeon Farnwright once more.

The major had noticed, during the ride along the timber road, a little farmhouse, set in a grove of walnuts, standing about a quarter of a mile back from the scene of the battle described in the last chapter. He now set off for this farmhouse post-haste, to see what accommodations it might offer.

It was past noon, and from a distance came a heavy firing. Although he did not know it, the Confederate cavalry had crossed the creek in force, and were now charging straight for Crawfish Springs and the hospital located there. The brigade under Colonel Long was sustaining the main attack, although other of General Mitch.e.l.l's cavalry was in the vicinity.

As Deck rode toward the farmhouse, he noticed that all of the lower windows were boarded up, as if to resist an invasion. Some of the upper windows were also served in the same way, but two or three of them were partly unprotected.

Riding to the door, he dismounted, and used the iron knocker l.u.s.tily.

The clank-clank brought forth no reply, and he used the knocker again, with additional force.

"Please don't hammer that door down!" came in a shrill female voice, and now the head of an elderly lady appeared at one of the upper windows.

The lady carried a pistol of ancient pattern in her hand, and her wrinkled face was full of determination.

"I should like to talk to you," said Deck, and he felt half like smiling when he saw the old-time weapon.

"I don't want to talk to you," was the short reply. "I have nothing to do with this war."

"I am sorry to disturb you, madam, but one of our captains has been badly wounded and he is in need of some quiet spot where he can rest."

"My place is no hospital, sir. Take him to the regular army hospital."

"Unfortunately, that is just what we cannot do--for the present. He needs absolute quiet, or he may die."

"I don't want him here--don't want anybody here," was the slow but positive reply. "As I said before, I have nothing to do with this war."

"Perhaps you are a Southern sympathizer?" went on Deck, hardly knowing how to proceed.

"If I am it is none of your business, young man. I can tell you one thing, I am not afraid of a suit of soldier clothing, no matter who wears it."

"Oh, Aunt Clarissa, don't be rude," came in a soft voice from behind the elderly lady, and Deck saw a dainty hand placed on one of the gaunt shoulders.

"You be still, Rosebel," was the crusty interruption. "I can manage this matter very well alone. Do you think I am going to open my house to any of the military--least of all to those Yankees? I am sure if I won't have our own soldiers here I won't have those who are fighting us!"

"But he says the captain is badly wounded, and may die," pleaded Rosebel, and now she pressed closer to the window, to get a better look at the young Union officer below.

Her soft voice interested Deck, and he came as close as possible under the window to see her fully. As he gazed at her he gave a start. Where had he seen that face before? Somewhere, he was positive of it--but where?

"Rosebel, get back," ordered the elderly lady, and tried to crowd the maiden from the window, but she would not budge.

"Aunt Clarissa, remember, Paul is in the army," she said. "I know I did not want him to join, but if he was wounded and among strangers--" She did not finish, excepting with a long sigh.

Deck could hear her words plainly, and at the mentioning of the name, Paul, his heart gave a bound, then sank like a lump of lead in his bosom. He had found the missing sister of the young Confederate captain who lay in that cold trench many miles away, with a stick for a headstone, upon which was inscribed:--

ROSEBEL'S PAUL LIES BURIED HERE.

"Your name is Rosebel?" he said; and his voice was as soft as when he had spoken to Kate Belthorpe in his most sentimental mood.

"Yes."

"And your brother Paul was a captain in the Confederate service?"

"Yes." And now the young lady's eyes began to fill with wonder.

"You lived in Chattanooga with your brother, and you--you had a difference of opinion about his joining the army?"

"We did have--and I am sorry for it," answered the maiden. "But who are you to speak thus to me? Do you know my brother?"

"Rosebel, do not be hasty in talking to this young man," interposed the aunt.

"I did know your brother, Miss Rosebel. I do not know your other name."

"And yet you knew my brother!"

"He must be telling falseho--" began the aunt, but the girl's hand over her mouth checked her.

"I fell in with a young Confederate captain whose name was Paul,"

explained Deck, sadly. "He said he had a sister Rosebel living in Chattanooga. He had quarrelled with that sister, and in anger had hidden some money away so that she could not get it."

"It was Paul!" cried Rosebel Greene, for such was her full name. "Oh, tell me about him, and how he came to tell you this. Is he well?"

The young major looked at her, then turned his face away.

"I am very sorry for you, Miss Rosebel, very sorry. He fought as only a true soldier can fight--to the end."

"He is dead!" came with a moan. "Paul is dead, Aunt Clarissa! Oh, what shall I do now?" And the girl sank into the elderly lady's arms.

It was a trying moment for Deck, especially so as he could do nothing, in his present position, to aid the young lady. He waited and saw both females leave the window. A minute after the front door was opened by the elderly lady, and he was asked to enter.

"I hope you are not fooling my niece," she said. "What is your name?"

"A man would not be human to fool upon such a heartrending subject,"

answered Deck. "I am Major Dexter Lyon, of the Kentucky cavalry. May I ask that young lady's name?"