CHAPTER I. AT ODS WITH THE COMPASS East or West, North or South? With all the experience of a man's years and the knowledge of many wise books of travel I could not tell. I had taken no note of the sun when I left, and neglected then it would not serve me now as a guide. To me at that moment all points of the compass were the same. The provoking sun which I could not use as a signpost seemed bent upon showing how brilliant it really could be. The last shred of white and harmless cloud had been driven from the heavens, which were a deep, unbroken blue, with the golden lining showing through like a faint yellow haze. The glowing light clothed the earth and intensified the red and yellow and brown tents of the leaves painted by the master artist autumn. In such a glorious flush the woods and the mountains were a dazzle entangle of color, but through all the glow and blaze of the sun came the crisp and tonic coolness which marks the waning autumn and makes it best and most beautiful as it goes. It was good to be alone with forest and mountain. To breathe and to see were enough. I cared nothing at the moment for the lost camp and my comrades of the hunt. Yet I was in no arcady. Take down the map of Kentucky and you will see in the east a vast region roughened over with the dark scrolls meaning mountains through which no railroad comes and few roads of any kind either. Add to it other large and similar portions of the map contiguous in Virginia, West Virginia and Tennessee and you have enough country to make a brave kingdom, a kingdom too over which no man yet has been able to make himself ruler, not even any governor of the four states and they have had some fine and fit governors. In this kingdom of mountain and wilderness I was lost and was not mourning it for the time. A light wind stirred the currents of air and began that faint curious moaning through the drying leaves which I call the swan song of autumn. The brilliant foliage quivered before the light touch of the breeze and the reds and the yellows and the browns and the lingering bits of green shifted and changed like shaken pieces of colored silk. But one must do more than merely breathe and see or even listen to the wind playing on the autumn leaves. This kingdom might be mine by right of sole tenancy, but after a little I preferred, greatly preferred, to find some partner of my throne who would feed me and house me and show me my way back to camp. Not knowing any other mode by which to choose I chose the direction which indicated the easiest footpath, though that might lead me farthest astray. I put my rifle upon my shoulder and walked through the yellowing grass and the short red bushes over hills and down gullies which were a trial to muscles and the forgiving spirit, but I came to nothing which looked familiar, not a tree, not a bush, not a hill, not a rock. I began to tire of the monotony of the wilderness which was lately so beautiful, ever the same reds and yellows and browns and bits of lingering green, ever the same burnt grass and purpling bushes and rocky hills, but never a human being except myself, and I am not company for two. When one grows lonesome beauty departs.  Hunger will not be denied its complaints, though in my case they availed nothing. I wandered about until the spirit and the flesh rebelled sorely and called upon me for the relief which I had not to give. Both ankles were in a state of open mutiny, and I sat down upon the crest of a high hill to soothe them into temporary quiet. I observed then a very marked change in the skies, real and not due to the state of my mind. The sun, as if satisfied with a half-day splendor, was withdrawing. Some clouds, dark purple streaks showing in them, hid the blue and made the sky somber. All the bright color with which the wilderness had prinked and primped itself in the sunshine faded and became dull in this twilight afternoon. It needed no weatherwise profit to guess quickly the meaning of these changes. In the mountains a whiff of snow sometimes comes very early, now and then so early that it whitens the skirt of lingering autumn. The clouds and the misty air with the chilly damp in it betokened such an arrival.  I had no fear of a heavy snow. The season was too early, I thought, for anything more than a mere spatter of white. But snow, whether in large or small quantities, is wet and cold, and it was sufficient to be lost without these new troubles. From the hill I thought I could see a valley far to the northeast with the blue and silver waters of a brook or small river shining here and there through the foliage. I decided to make all haste toward it, for in these mountains human life seeks the valleys, and if I found food and shelter at all it would most likely be there. I took small account of the rough way and almost ran over the stones and through the scrub. I was in some alarm, for which there was ample cause. The clouds thickened and clothed the higher peaks. Yet I was cheered by my belief that in truth I had seen a valley of some extent. The patches of blue and silver water showed more plainly through the distant foliage, which looked greener than the withering leaves on the mountain, indicating a sheltered and warmer zone. Rising hope brought back some of my strength, and when I reached the summit of a new hill in the long rows of hills that thrust themselves before me as if to bar my way, I was ready to shout for gladness at the sight of smoke. The smoke rose from the valley merely a faint spiral of blue, slowly ascending and melting so imperceptibly into the clouds that I could not tell where it ended. Yet there was never a more welcome sight to me than that little smoky wisp which told so plainly of man's presence. I pushed on with new zeal, stumbled against a stone, and rose with an ankle that made bitter complaints. It was not a sprain, but it was unpleasantly near one, and I doubted my ability to walk with the cripple over so wicked a way to the valley. I abused the cruelty of fate which was but my own carelessness and haste, and then tried to think out the matter. My first impulse was to throw aside my gun and escape its weight. That led to my second which was to fire it in the hope of attracting attention. I had plenty of cartridges. I discharged a bullet into the air. The echo was carried from hilltop to hilltop until at last I heard it faintly speeding away through the distant mountains. If any one were near such a report could not escape his ears, but the only answer was the snow which began to fall as if my shot had been the signal for its coming. The soft flakes descended gently, but they would soon put a sheet of white over all the ridges. Some melted on my face, and the damp chilled me. It was not a time to spare my crippled ankle. I limped on, firing my rifle a second, third, and fourth time. I could still see the spiral of smoke, a true beacon to me, though it was all but hid by the increasing clouds. I fired the fifth time, and while the echo was yet travelling among the peaks I heard a faint and very distant, hello. I had no doubt that it was an answer to my shot, and to be sure I emptied a sixth cartridge into the air. Back came the far cry. Like the shot it too was taken up by the echo. Ridge repeated it to ridge, faint, and far away, until I could not tell from what point of the compass the true sound had come. I was perplexed but hopeful. I believed that help of some kind was near. I sat down on a rock and expended much ammunition. The snow was still coming down in the same gentle undecided way, but I was compelled to stop between shots and brush the damp white patches off my clothing. Presently the answering hello sounded very near me, and I ceased to fire, replying with a shout. Two large dogs scampered through the bushes, and approaching me began to bark as if they had brought game to bay. A strong voice ordered them to be quiet, and then the owner of dogs and voice came into view. I had expected the usual mountaineer, shallow, angular, and shabby, but I saw at once that this man was different. The clean featured, keen, intelligent face could not belong to one of the ignorant dwellers in cabins. He was tall, thin, and past sixty, well dressed in a gray uniform upon which the brass buttons shone with peculiar brightness. I had seen such uniforms before, but they were relics, and men do not often wear them nowadays. He approached me, walking in the upright fashion of a military man, and showed much strength and activity for one so far advanced in years. I must apologize for my dogs, sir, he said. They see strangers, but seldom, and when they do see one they must lift up their voices and announce it to all the world. The sight of your dogs and still more that of their master is very welcome to me, I replied. He bowed with ancient grace and thanked me for my courtesy. I must ask your help, I said. I've lost my way and I've bruised my ankle so badly on a stone that I fear I cannot walk many more miles. It is not far to my place, he replied, and I will be glad to offer you such hospitality as it can afford. I looked at him with the greatest curiosity, a curiosity too that increased with all he said. He had no weapon, nothing to indicate that he was a hunter, and the uniform of a fashion that went out of style forever, I thought, more than thirty years ago, with its gleaming brass buttons and freshness of texture, drew more than one inquiring glance from me, despite my effort not to appear curious to a stranger upon whom I had become dependent. But if he noticed my curiosity it did not appear in his manner. The dogs, secure in the judgment of their master, sniffed about me in friendly fashion. The man pointed toward the corkscrew a smoke which the clouds in the film of snow had not yet hidden. My home is there, he said. Come, let us start. This is no place for a man in your condition to linger. If your ankle gives way I can help you. But rest had improved my ankle, and I found that I could walk in a tolerable manner. He took my gun from me, put it over his own shoulder, and whistled to the dogs. They were leaping about like two panthers in play, but at his whistle they ceased the sport and marched sedately, neck and neck, toward the rising smoke, leading the way for us. The old man chose the way as if he knew it, avoiding the rougher slopes, and winding about in a sort of path which made the walking much easier for me. As if good luck brought good luck the snow ceased, and the sun, returning, drove all the clouds out of the heavens. The lustrous sunshine again gilded all the colors of mountains and forest, and brought out the fine and delicate tents of the reds and yellows and browns. The white skim of snow over the earth dissolved in tears, and the warm sun that made them drank them up. The valley, lying fresh and yet green, below us broadened. The coil of smoke grew into a column. Did you say your camp lay there? I asked, pointing toward the valley. We had been silent hither, too. I did not say my camp, sir. I said my home, he replied, with some haughtiness. Twenty yards farther, and you can see through the trees a corner of the roof of Fort Defiance. I did not understand him. I saw no reason for his high tone, and much was strange in what he said. Yet he had the manner and bearing of a gentleman, and he had been a timely friend to me. I had no right to ask him curious questions. He did not seem inclined to further talk, and I, too, was silent. But I found employment for my eyes. We were descending the first slopes of the valley, and it lay before us a welcome oasis in the weary wilderness of mountains. It must have been several miles in length, and a good mile or more across. Down the center of it flowed a creek of clear, cool water, almost big enough to call itself a river, and the thickness of the tree trunks and the long grass browned by the autumn breath showed the fertility of the soil. Through the trees, which still retained much of their foliage, the corners of house roofs appeared. There are many such secluded and warm little valleys in the Alleghenies, and I saw no occasion for surprise. In truth what I saw was most welcome. It indicated the comfort of which I stood in need. I haven't asked you your name, said my host suddenly. Arthur West, I replied. I would infer from your accent that you are a northerner, a Yankee, he said, looking at me closely, and in a way I did not quite understand. You are right on the first point, but not on the second, I replied. I am a northerner, but not a Yankee. I am not from New England, but from New York City. It's all the same, he replied, frowning. You're a Yankee, and I knew it from the first. We call the people of all the northern states Yankees. Have it so, I replied, with a laugh. But abroad they call us all Yankees, whether from the northern or the southern states. Luckily I never go abroad, he replied, frowning still more deeply. You have not asked me my own name, he continued. No, but I confess I would like to hear it, I replied. I wish to know whose hospitality I am about to enjoy, a hospitality for which I can never thank you too much, for if I had not met you I might have starved or frozen to death in this wilderness. I am Colonel John Green Heatherill, C. S. A., he replied. C. S. A., I said, looking at his gray uniform. Yes, C. S. A., he replied. His tone was emphatic and hearty. Confederate States of America, what have you to say against it? Nothing, I replied. I leave that to the historians. Who are mostly liars, he said. He looked at me with an expression of undoubted hostility. I would have liked it much better had you been a southerner and not a Yankee, he said. How can I trust you? I hope I am a gentleman, I replied. At any rate I am lame and in straits, and under no circumstances would I violate your hospitality. His expression softened. He even looked at me with pity. Well, it's the word of a Yankee, he said, but still it may be the truth. Remember that on your word of honor you are to tell nothing about fort defiance, its approaches, or its plans. Certainly, I said, though secretly wondering, he seemed to be relieved of his doubts and descending the last slope we walked at a brisk pace down the valley. I was surprised at the evidences of care and cultivation, though the fat black soil of the valley would justify all the labor that might be put upon it. The fences were good, the fields well trimmed, and we soon entered a smooth road. Everything seemed to have the neatness and precision of the proprietor, the man with whom I was walking. I looked at him again and was struck with the evidences of long military habit, not alone in his uniform, but even more decidedly his manner and bearing. We passed some outhouses built in a better manner than I had seen elsewhere in the mountain valleys, and approached a large square building which I knew at first sight to be fort defiance, since it could be nothing else. It was of two stories, made of heavy logs, unhewn on the outside, the upper story projecting over the lower, after the fashion of the blockhouses of the frontier time. I supposed it to be some such building, standing here after the lapse of a hundred years, in all its ancient solidity, and devoted now to more peaceful uses. The valley was no less pleasant to I than to mind. When one is sore and hungry, mountains lose their picturesqueness and grandeur. A crust and a bed are infinitely more beautiful, and this valley promised both, and better. The house stood upon a hill which rose to some height, and was shaped like a truncated comb. The little river flowed around three sides of the hill in a swift, deep current. The fourth side I could not see, but the three washed at the base by the river were so steep a man could climb them only with great difficulty. It was a position of much natural strength, and in the old times, when rifles were the heaviest weapons used in these regions, it must have been impregnable except to surprise. The road we were following curved around, and approached the house from the south side, the side which at first had been hidden from me, and then I saw it was the only ordinary way by which one could enter Fort Defiance. But even here, I could not see it. I could not see it, and I could not see it. But even here art had been brought to the aid of nature. A wide, deep ditch leading from the river had been carried around the south side, and the mound was completely encircled by water. We crossed the ditch on a drawbridge, let down by an old man in confederate gray like his master, though his was stained and more ancient. Had the architecture of the Fort been different, had it been stone instead of logs, I could easily have imagined myself back in some medieval castle of Europe, and not here in the mountains of Kentucky. The Fort looked very peaceful. Smoke rose from three or four chimneys, and drifting, finally united, floating off into the clouds.  We climbed some stone steps, and when I reached the top I found a little old-fashioned brass field piece confronting me. But there was no rust on its muzzle which looked at me with the semblance of a threat. One would think from your preparations, Colonel, that we were in a state of war, I said, jestingly. Have you any weapons on you? he asked, frowning again, and not answering my jest. No, I replied, I had nothing but the rifle, and you have that. I will keep it for the present, he said, curtly. We paused before a heavy door of oak. While the Colonel knocked, I looked up at the overhanging edges of the second floor, and saw that they were pierced for sharpshooters. But before I had time to look long, the door was opened by a man in a suit of confederate gray, like his fellow at the drawbridge. He saluted the Colonel in military fashion as the others had done, and we entered a wide hall which seemed to run the entire width of the house. Many of the old houses in Kentucky are built in this fashion. The hall was decorated, a might almost say armed, with weapons, rifles, pistols, bayonets, swords, many of them of the most modern type. Tanned skins of bear, deer, and wolf were on the floor. Had it not been for the late style of the weapons, I could have maintained the fiction that it was a castle of the Middle Ages, and this the baronial hall. He led me up a flight of steps, and opened the door of a small room on the second floor.  There was but a single window, and it was cross-barred heavily with iron. It looked more like a cell than a chamber. Nor did it belie its looks. This will be your prison for the present, said the Colonel. Lie down upon the bed there and rest, and crothers will be up in ten minutes with food for you. Prison, I exclaimed in surprise. Yes, prison, he repeated, but that is all. I do not intend to deal harshly with you otherwise.  He cut short my protest by leaving the room, slamming the door, and locking it. The door was so thick I could not hear his retreating footsteps. As the Colonel had said, I was a prisoner, but I did not feel much alarm. I had confidence in his promise that I would come to no harm. I looked between the bars of the window which opened upon a small space like a court. One side of the court was open and ran sheer up to the edge of the cliff, which dropped away thirty or forty feet to the river below. The torrent foamed around the mound with a tumult like a mill-race. Beyond were open fields, ending abruptly at the foot of steep and rough mountains. End of chapter one, recording by David Gore. Chapter two of The Last Rebel by Joseph A. Autscheller. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter two, on trial. My eyes followed the long sweep of the mountains, their shaggy outline cutting the clear blue of the skies. Then they came back to the court, and for the moment I thought that they had deceived me, for either I saw the flutter of a woman's dress, or imagination was my master. A woman in this rough fortress was the last thing for me to expect. But I reflected that it was not so strange after all. A serving woman, probably, the wife of one of the Colonel's retainers. It was in keeping with the character of the place, which, in my fancy, I had turned into a baronial keep. I saw the flutter of the dress again, and then its wearer came into better view. She was looking at the river, and stood with her back toward the house. That was no common serving woman, the wife of no laborer. The figure was too slender to erect. There was too much distinction and grace in the pose, and the dress itself was of good cut and material. That was all that I could see save a mass of coiled, dark brown hair. I was full of curiosity, nor do I think I was prying because of it. Put yourself in my place and see. In a few moments she turned and looked directly up at my window, though she could not have known that I was gazing out at her. It was the face of a girl of twenty, fair and strong, yet sad. Even at the distance between us I could see enough resemblance to guess that she was Colonel Heatherill's daughter. A likely enough supposition anyway, for what girl of such appearance could be here, unless his daughter. She looked up at my window only a moment or two, and then, walking with a light and graceful step, disappeared through some door opening into the court. I hold that I am not without a fair share of imagination, and easily I built a fine romance for myself. Here was I, an innocent prisoner in the cruel Barron's castle, and this was his fair daughter who would fall in love with me and rescue me. By Jove she was handsome enough for me to fall in love with her. The only trouble about my romance was that in the morning after a good night's rest I would be sent with a guide to our hunting camp, and that would be the end of it. Happily when I reached this conclusion the door was opened and Crothers came in with food for which I was devoutly grateful. Crothers, I had heard the Colonel call him so, was the man who had opened the door for us, a hatchet-faced, battered old fellow who walked with a limp and who yet looked strong and active. Evidently the Colonel had no mind to starve me, for Crothers bore enough for two upon his tray. A smoking pot of coffee, steaks of venison and beef, warm biscuits and butter made a sight as welcome to my eyes as a Raphael to an artist's, and created odours that were divine. My spirits rose to the summer heat mark. I see that the Colonel has a proper regard for my health and well-being, Crothers, I said jovially. The Colonel hates all Yankees, and so do the rest of us, he said, in surly fashion. But he doesn't want to starve any of yet a death, though I guess you starved enough of us to death and camp chase. Camp chase? What the deuce was that? I asked. One of your war prisons, he replied. Try that coffee, you'll find it good, and you'll find the venison and the beef to be good too. I had no doubt that I would. I put the question immediately to proof, which, I may add, was satisfactory. Encouraged by his friendly comment upon the food, in which he seemed to take a certain pride, perhaps having cooked it himself, I spoke to him in friendly fashion, expecting a reply of like tenor. But he seemed to have repented of his sudden courtesy and made no reply. He had placed the tray upon the table, and without further word or action left the room. I heard him locking my door with as much care as if he had been Colonel Heatherill himself. I began now to feel that I was in truth and reality a prisoner, a fact which I contemplated before only in a humorous or make-believe way. Nevertheless, it did not interfere with my appetite. I realized that prisoners may become as hungry as free men, and as I could truthfully say I knew not where the next meal would come from, I made satisfactory disposition of this. Refreshed and strengthened, I put the emptied tray on the floor and drew my stool to the window, where I took a seat, hoping that the lady of the castle, for so in my fancy I had named her, would appear again. But the lady did not condescend, nor did any other human being. Perhaps they did not know that I was waiting. Instead I saw the coming of the night. Since that night I have felt pity for every prisoner in his cell who watches the approach of darkness. There is so much friendliness, so much good cheer and encouragement about the sun, that even the felon must look to him, through bars though it be, as a friend. Even I, who was conscious of no crime and had just eaten a good warm supper, the best of all tonics, felt my spirit's decline with the day. My window looked to the south west, right into the eye of the setting sun. It was a very big sun and very red sun, turning all the mountains into red, its blazing scarlet dyes rubbing out the more modest yellows and browns, and even touching the withered grass with flame. The red lances of light fell across the river, and the water foaming around the mound seemed to break in bubbles of fire. Lower sank the sun. One edge of the flaming globe disappeared behind the mountains, and a line of dusk began to creep under the rim of the red horizon. It looked like a battle between night and day, with day losing despite all the power of its ally, the sun. Broader grew the band of dusk, and narrower became the red segment of the sun. Only the crest of the mountains, long and sharp like a sword blade, was in the light now. There every shrub, every rock stood out magnified by the last but most brilliant light of the sinking orb. Beneath this luminous ribbon, trees, rocks, earth, all were gone. The mountain crests seemed to swim in the air. I had seen many sunsets in the mountains, but never before in such a peculiar situation, and I owned that I felt odd. The sun became but a red fragment. The red leaves and the fiery bubbles on the river were gone. I could hear the rush of the water, but I could not see the torrent. I looked up again. The sun, yielding to the night, had disappeared, leaving but a faint gleam to mark where he had retreated behind the mountains, to come up again in another place, victorious in his turn the next morning. Save for this remembering gleam, the mountains and the valley were in complete darkness. It was dark in my room, too, and it was only through accustoming my eyes to the coming of the night that I was able to see the outlines of the scanty furniture. My spirits were heavy. I knew nothing of the nature of the man into whose hands I had fallen, and in these secluded mountains there was nobody to help me. You can credit, if you will, much of this feeling to the darkness which often is a wet blanket upon the feelings not alone of children, but of grown and experienced men as well. It was then with a sensation of relief that I heard someone fumbling at the door. Any company would be better than none. The door opened and the colonel entered, followed by the man who had brought my supper, and a third whom I had not seen before. This new man was of better dress and presence than Cruthers, and the colonel introduced him briefly. Dr. Ambrose, my military surgeon, sir, and a very good one, too, I can assure you. Cruthers put a lighted candle on the table. Dr. Ambrose examined my swollen ankle. He bound around it a cloth soaked in liniment and said it would be well in the morning. Now, sir, said the colonel, speaking in a brisk, curt manner, having done our duty by you as a disabled prisoner, we will proceed with your examination. Dr., it is necessary that this should be taken in writing. You will kindly act as clerk while I question the prisoner. I opened my mouth to protest and to demand explanation, but the colonel cut me short with a beast silence, sir, until the time comes for you to speak, and rather than be exposed to another such insult, I remain silent. Moreover, the scene amused me somewhat. I was wondering what this strange old man would do next. Dr. Ambrose drew up my stool. I had taken a seat on the bed, and produced a roll of paper, pen, and small inkwell. His was the deliberation of a military mind provided with time and bent upon doing things well. The colonel stood before me, straight and stern. What is your name? he asked. Arthur West, I replied. This is the second answer to the same question. Your home? City of New York, State of New York. Your age? Twenty-seven. At every question and answer I heard the scratching of the doctor's industrious pen across the pad of the paper. Now, be it understood, I knew no law compelling me to answer these questions, but I thought it better to do so, and then I might see to what end the matter would come. I smiled a little. The colonel saw it at once. No levity, sir! he cried fiercely. You do not seem to be aware of your position. Perhaps I was not, but I said nothing. What were you doing within our lines in civilian's dress? he asked. Whose lines? I replied. I do not know what you mean. The lines of Fort Defiance, the last stronghold of the Confederacy, which stronghold I had the honour to command, he replied, his ancient blue eyes lighting up with the fires of zeal. I laughed. The Confederacy, I said in derision, why the last stronghold of the Confederacy surrendered more than thirty years ago.  The stars and bars still fly above this fort, and I and my men have never surrendered to the Yankees, nor ever will. For many hours now you have been on the soil of the Confederacy, and I, for the lack of higher authorities, am in supreme command, both civil and military. Is not all I say true, doctor? Is it not so, crothers? Crothers and the doctor bowed in a manner indicating deep belief. I saw that I was to receive neither help nor sympathy from them. What is your occupation? asked the colonel. I do not see that it is any business of yours, I said, but as I am not ashamed of my profession and you may have saved my life on the mountains, I have no objection to telling you. I am an artist. At this modest announcement the colonel's face to my surprise became more threatening. Never did I see a man's expression more thoroughly betoken suspicion. An artist, he exclaimed. You paint? You draw things? Some of the critics say I don't, but my friends say I do, I replied. He grumbled to himself and looked at me with angry, distrustful eyes. What were you doing on these mountains? he asked. Why were you approaching Fort Defiance? I told you I was on a hunting trip and lost myself, I said. I hadn't the slightest idea I was approaching Fort Defiance. I never heard of the place before. He pulled his fierce grey moustache in doubt, looking at me as if mine were the most unwelcome face that ever met his gaze. Presently he beckoned the doctor to the door, and they whispered together there for a few moments. Then he returned to me. You have in reality a bad ankle, the doctor says, and he is inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt, he said. And so am I. At any rate we will not treat you badly, though we may be forced to keep you as a guest for a little while. I thanked him for his gracious consideration. We are compelled to keep you locked in to-night, he continued, but we may be able to do better for you in the morning. Very well, I said with some impatience. Keep me locked in if you choose, but at any rate let me sleep. I thought his rough treatment of me offset the favour I had owed him. Moreover I was very tired and sleepy, and the obligation of politeness seemed to rest upon me no longer. The doctor folded his notes and handed them to the colonel, who placed them carefully in an inside pocket. Then they bowed stiffly and went out, locking the door as usual. I looked out through my window. The moon was rising above the mountains. In the valley the foliage was tipped with silver. The bubbles on the river, fire-colour at set of sun, had turned to silver now. Nothing seemed to stir. All was peace. Wondering what would be the end of my strange adventure, I laid down on the bed, and in five minutes forgot wonder and all other things in a deep sleep. I might have slept all the next day too, but I was awakened by a good shaking at the hand of Crothers, and found the room full of light. Crothers was standing beside me. He was a sour-faced fellow, but he seemed to be less hostile that morning, and I asked him cheerfully if he was going to bring me my breakfast. He said no, but told me I was invited to the colonel's own table. It's Miss Grace who did it, he said. She didn't think the colonel was treating you just right. Miss Grace is the colonel's daughter, is she not? I asked. Yes. I was sure that the girl I had seen in the court the evening before was Grace Heatherill. This invitation looked promising. The colonel would surely come to his senses now and act like a man who knew it was the year of our Lord, 1896, and not 1864. As there was to be a lady present, I asked for bath and comb and brush, and wished to make myself very spruce. All these I obtained finding that the fort was not without its comforts. Then, Crothers still my escort and guide, I went to the breakfast table. I was not prepared for the scene of comfort, even luxury, that met me in the dining-room. Yet I was not astonished. The presence of a cultivated young woman in the year 1896 is responsible for much. It was a large apartment, decorated with horns and antlers and some fine old silver-bound drinking cups of a past age. But I had little time for inspection. The table was set, and the company was waiting. I seemed to pass suddenly from the position of prisoner to guest, and the transformation, in seeming at least, was complete. The colonel, with all the dignity of Kentucky good blood and the military life, saluted and introduced me to his daughter. My daughter, Miss Heatherill, Mr. West of New York, one of the other side. I made my best bow. She was worthy of it. It was the girl I had seen in the court. No fainting maiden, no mariana in the moated grange was this, but a tall, red-cheeked girl with brown eyes, lustrous dark brown hair, and modern attire. Here was one who had seen life beyond the walls of Fort Defiance or the Valley. Any fool would have known it at the first glance. In the presence of this splendid woman, who received me with so much tact and grace, I began to feel as if the father owed me no apology. The breakfast table was worthy of the hostess who poured the coffee for us. I glanced again at the room, on the wall gazing at me with calm eyes was a fine portrait of General Lee. Near it was one of Stonewall Jackson. Farther on was Jefferson Davis, and as I looked at the four walls of the room I saw that the whole confederacy was present. Wreathed over the door somewhat after the fashion of a looped-up curtain was the confederate flag. I wished to ask many questions of this strange household, but courtesy forbade it, when I saw that every time I led the conversation in the direction of curiosity, it was skilfully turned aside. Instead we talked of the great world outside and made very good progress, barring a certain unfamiliarity on the part of the Colonel, who spoke as if all these things were vague and unreal to him. There was a wide window at the end of the room, and I could see that it was a glorious morning without. The torrent, thirty feet down, dashed and sparkled in front of the window, the gay sunlight falling on it and showing rocks and pebbles in its clear depths. All the brilliant colors of late autumn, which I had admired so much the day before, reappeared, more dazzling after a brief eclipse. I knew that the air outside was tonic like good wine, but there was enough just then to keep me content in that breakfast room, the heart of the lost confederacy. The lost confederacy! How could I say that with its president and ministers and generals looking down from the door, and ministers and generals looking down from the walls at me, as if all the world were theirs, while the stars and bars under which I had just passed hung in loops over the door? As his daughter and I talked more, the Colonel talked less. Seen in the light of the morning, his face looked rather worn, and once when he threw his yet thick white hair back with his hand I noticed the scar of a deep wound across his head. I began to feel sympathy for him without knowing exactly why. He rose presently and excused himself, saying it was time to give his men some directions for the day. Ms. Heatherill and I dawdled a little over the coffee cups, and I took the opportunity to thank her for her intercession with her father in my favor. She did not make light of my thanks or of her act, and her manner appeared to indicate a belief on her part that I had been in real danger, which, however, I had not been able to persuade myself, was so, nor could I yet. She asked me if I would look through the house. I noticed she did not call it a fort, and I consented with gladness, saying I would be pleased to go anywhere with so fair a guide, which she accepted with the carelessness of one who had heard the like before. She took me into a room she called the Great Parlor, and a noble room it was, too, though here, as elsewhere, the atmosphere was distinctly military. It was full thirty feet square with a vaulted ceiling of polished oak. Furs were on the floor and arms on the wall, repeating rifles, revolvers, bayonets, swords in much variety. It is my father's chief delight to polish these and to see that they are in perfect order, she said. Ms. Heatherill, I said, speaking suddenly from impulse, why does your father cherish this delusion? Why does he not go and live among his kind? I regret it instantly that I had spoken so, for she turned upon me with a sudden flash of anger. Delusion, sir, she exclaimed. You forget yourself. It is the most real thing in the world to him. Be careful how you make use of such expressions here. I advise you also not to forget that you are still my father's prisoner. She spoke with so much earnestness that I was impressed, more from fear that I had wounded her feelings than from fear for myself. I felt confident yet that it was the year in 1896 and that all the world was at peace, barring the little wars of England which don't count. She took me no further than the great parlor, or the armory, if its fit name be applied. My unfortunate question seemed to make some change in her intentions, and she suggested that we walk outside on the terrace. It was a delight as keen as any I had ever felt to step out after imprisonment into the brilliant sunshine of the free and open world. Miss Heatherill threw a light cloak over her shoulders, for there was a sharp coolness in the air, and together we strolled over the terrace. I admired the solidity and strength of Fort Defiance, though a good-sized modern cannon could have knocked it to pieces with ease if any one were ever able to get a cannon over the maze of mountains that separated this valley from the remainder of the world. It was impregnable to attack by small arms, if well guarded. The drawbridge was still up, and I spoke of it. It is up most of the time, she said frankly, but today it will be up more than usual. That is on your account. You are to be kept well guarded. The current of the river is too swift, I said, but I think I could swim the moat. If you succeeded, she said, you would probably starve to death in the mountains. Then I shall remain here, I said. I'm glad that I have so good an excuse for remaining. I sought to be gallant, but she only frowned, and I did not attempt it again. She left me presently, going into the house, while I continued my stroll in the crisp, invigorating air. I could take but a limited walk at best, merely the circuit of the hilltop, embracing perhaps a couple of acres around the house. Within that space I could wonder at will, and no watch seemed to be set upon me. End of Chapter 2. Recording by David Gore. Chapter 3 of The Last Rebel by Joseph A. Altscheller This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 3 An Unlucky Sketch The hill projected farther toward the southwest than in any other direction, and in my wanderings I came to that point. Looking back, I obtained a sweeping view of Fort Defiance, with its sloping roofs and somber-hued walls. At one angle the vines had grown up and clung against the wall. It was such a place as I would like to tell about when I returned to my friends, and what was better I could show it to them in its real and exact proportions. I had a pencil and some good white cardboard in an inside pocket. I found a good seat on a stone, made ready with board and pencil, and began to study the fort. It was a fine subject for an artist, and as I sketched the rough outlines my enthusiasm grew. I had a brilliant light which brought out every curve and angle of the queer building. Gradually in my absorption as the picture spread over the cardboard, I forgot everything else. I was just putting in the little brass cannon that commanded the approach to the fort when pencil and picture were snatched violently from my hands.  The old Colonel stood before me, his face red and his eyes flashing with indignation. You villain of a spy! You damned Yankee! he cried. What do you mean?  I asked. I did not take kindly to such names, even from the mouth of an old man. He was in a great rage, for his next words choked him, but he got them out at last. You, an innocent hunter, he cried. And you were lost in the mountains. That's a pretty tale. I suspected you from the first, you infernal Yankee spy, and now I have the proof. I was really afraid the old man would fall down in a fit, and I began to feel more sorrow than anger. If you'll explain, I'm ready to listen, I said, resuming my seat on the big stone, and when you're through explaining, I'll thank you to give me back my pencil and sketch. He seemed to feel the necessity of self-control, though I could see his anger was not diminishing.  I laughed loud and long. I know I ought not to have done so, but I could not help it. The blood rose higher in his cheeks and his lips trembled, but he had himself under firm control at last.  I asked. Where's the proof? Here it is, he said, holding up my pencil and sketch of the fort. A poor enough sketch, too. At the intercession of my daughter, I have been treating you this morning as a prisoner of war, ready for exchange or parole. And your first use of this hospitality is to draw for the Yankee government sketches and maps of my fortifications. I did not intend to take that sketch to Washington, I protested, mildly. It is quite certain that you will never do so, he said, putting sketch and pencil in his pocket. I have other uses for these. Come with me. Suppose I decline, I said. I was growing a little obstinate. Moreover, I was tired of being hacked about. He blew a little thing like a policeman's whistle. Three or four men in Confederate uniform came out of the fort or the little outhouses. We will see whether you will come, said the colonel, as the men approached. I have an objection to bruises and undignified struggles, so I concluded to go. If you will kindly lead, I said, I'll follow. I am happy to say that I retained my calmness and presence of mind. Come on behind him, crothers, and you, too, Turner, said the colonel. We will take no more chances with him. The two men closed up behind me. The colonel marched on before, and I was the convict in the middle. Thus we stalked back into Fort Defiance. Before I entered the door I saw Grace Heatherill looking from an upper window. Her face expressed an alarm which I did not feel. I smiled at her in virtue of our brief comradeship of the morning, but she did not smile back. We had stalked out of view the next moment. The colonel led the way to the little room or cell which I had occupied during the previous night and showed me in, with scant, very scant, courtesy. It will be necessary to search you, he said. We know not what further sketches or maps of Fort Defiance you may have concealed about you. I think on the whole I am a tolerant man, but at this proposed indignity my stomach revolted. I will not submit to a search, I said. You have no right to do such a thing. It is in perfect accordance with the laws of war, replied the colonel, very calmly. Spies are always searched. I do not see upon what ground you base your protest. He looked very determined, and I recalled the fact that I was opposed to bruises and undignified struggles. Moreover, I remembered the consoling fact that I had a refuge in injured innocence. When Crothers went through my pockets I made no resistance. He found nothing more dangerous than a penknife, a handkerchief, and some keys made to fit doors very far from Fort Defiance. Are you satisfied, I asked the colonel, when his man had finished? For the present, he replied shortly, I will have more to say to you before long. He and his men went out. They seemed to be very careful about fastening the door, for they spent a deal of time fumbling with the lock. I drew my stool up to the window and took my seat there, beginning my second imprisonment in the same room. My second state, so the colonel seemed to intend, was to be much worse than the first. The complex character of this old warrior interested me and aroused my curiosity. His fierce and somewhat stilted invective amused me, now that he had gone from my presence, and I was in a state of wonder, too, as to what the end of the adventure would be. A rare adventure it was without doubt, and I vowed to myself that it should not suffer in the telling when I returned to my friends in the city. Thus amused and surmising, all my vexation at the colonel's high-handed treatment and verbal abuse of me departed. Instead, I wondered how any man, at the end of thirty years, could cling so firmly and at such a sacrifice to a lost and now vain cause. A feeling of hunger put a stop to this guessing and wondering. The air of the morning had been crisp and fresh, and I had worked hard over my unfortunate picture. I needed refreshment, and since I owed the colonel no politeness, I kicked the door violently in the hope that I would attract some one of his confederate veterans to whom I could give my order. Though I made a deal of noise, nobody responded, and I quit kicking. I was tempted to smash the window, but rages are exhaustive and ineffective, and I decided not to do so.  It is one of the most consoling of all things to feel that you are a martyr, and my peace of mind was restored. I decided that I would not take the thing seriously, and that when I left Fort Defiance, I would not upbraid the colonel for his abuse of the laws of hospitality so sacred in the mountains. I resumed my seat by the window and saw Grace Heatherill in the court. She was looking up at my window, and when she saw my face there she waved a handkerchief two or three times and then disappeared quickly behind the wall. Now let it be understood that I had no idea Grace Heatherill was trying to flirt with me, but I was sure she had made a signal of some kind. Perhaps she intended to encourage me, but I fancied I scarcely needed that, not in the year of our Lord and deep peace, 1896. I heard them fumbling at the door again. The colonel and two of his men appeared. You will come with us, if you please, said the colonel, with a stiff military courtesy which he had never abated since his explosion about the picture. I trusted is to dinner, colonel, I said, with some gaiety, which I really felt. This mountain air of yours breeds hunger. He made neither denial nor assent, but led the way downstairs. The two men followed close behind me as if bent upon preserving the fiction that I was a convict or criminal of some kind. Somewhat to my surprise, the colonel led the way into the large room which Grace Heatherill had called the Great Parlor. A new arrangement of its furniture had been made. A long table with chairs around it had been placed in the center of the room, and drooping over it from the ceiling was a large Confederate flag. Five or six men, including Dr. Ambrose, all dressed in Confederate gray, were present. The colonel saw my astonished and questioning look, and said, I told you, Mr. West, that everything was to be done in accordance with military law. The Confederacy would not disgrace itself by acting otherwise. You are to have a fair trial. All the men had risen to their feet and saluted the colonel. I was invited to take a chair at the foot of the table. All the others took their seats also. Dr. Ambrose again acted as secretary, the colonel presiding, and the court-martial began. I saw nothing better than to fall in with the spirit of the thing. Let me repeat for the second time that I disliked bruises and undignified struggles, and I had no choice. Accordingly I pulled a very grave and long face, and sat in silence, awaiting the questions that the military tribunal might propound to me. I think, said the colonel, it would be just to give the prisoner a full and explicit statement of the charge against him. I think so too, I said. It would at least be interesting, if not important. The colonel frowned at my flippancy. You, sir, he said, addressing me, who call yourself Arthur West of New York City, with what truth we know not, or accused of entering the military lines of the Confederacy in civilian's attire for the purpose of spying upon our fortifications, armaments, and other military supplies, and of delivering such information as you might obtain to the enemy. Is that not true, sir? The war is over, colonel, I said. The Confederacy perished more than thirty years ago. You speak falsely, sir, he said, with some fierceness. The war is not over, and the Confederacy has not perished. See its flag over your head. I hold my commission from President Jefferson Davis himself, and certainly I have not laid down my arms. I smiled a little, whistled a bar or two, and gazed at the ceiling. The colonel looked deeply annoyed at my carelessness. Be careful, Mr. West, he said. You are not helping your case by your conduct. Colonel, I said, come to see me in New York, and I'll show you the town. Enough of such levity, he cried. Will you or will you not plead to the charge? Colonel, I said, it is the eighteenth of November, eighteen ninety-six, and a very fine afternoon. I have warned you once already that you are prejudicing your own case, he cried. I deny the jurisdiction of the tribunal, I said. Your denial goes for nothing, he said. Do not enter it upon the record, doctor. Will you say what brought you into these mountains?  I did not know I was near Fort Defiance, nor had I ever heard of such a place. Let that be entered upon the record, doctor, said the Colonel. I have it all, said the doctor. Crothers, said the Colonel, put upon the table the sketch which I found the prisoner making this morning. Crothers obeyed. What do you call that? the Colonel said to me. I would call that, I replied, a pretty bad picture of Fort Defiance. My tone was light, and as usual my levity seemed to displease the Colonel very much. He warned me for the third time that I was injuring my chances, but I was not impressed. That sketch, said he, shows the situation and fortifications of Fort Defiance. You were found drawing it surreptitiously. I ask you again, what have you to say about it? Nothing, Colonel, I replied, except that when we dine together in New York we will discuss its artistic merits or lack of them. The Colonel ran his hand impatiently through his hair and again uncovered the scar of the deep wound on his head. I wondered in what battle he had received it, and had a mind to ask him whenever opportunity made the question pertinent. Make proper entries on the record, he said to the Doctor, that the prisoner will give only irrelevant answers to our questions. It has been done, said the Doctor. The door of the room was opened at that moment, and Miss Heatherle appeared. Her father rose hastily, and his manner showed that he was disconcerted. You must retire at once, Grace, he said. I forbid your presence here. Father, she said, you must stop these proceedings. You must not harm Mr. West. I rose and bowed in my best manner. I thank you for your intercession, Miss Heatherle, I said, but I can protect myself. She turned her whole attention to her father, neglecting me. I resumed my seat and looked out of the window that I might appear to take no notice in case a family jar occurred. It is an immense satisfaction to have a pretty girl interfere on one's behalf, and I was content merely to look out at the river and the yellowing leaves. The Colonel took his daughter by the arm and told her again she must withdraw. She protested, but in tones too low for me to hear the exact words. The Colonel was becoming much excited. The matter was ended speedily by the withdrawal of Miss Heatherle, in which I think she was made wise for the gentlemen conducting my court-martial seem to have made up their minds to go on with the business. This was shown the more clearly to me, because when she went out the Colonel locked the door. I did not see him do it, as I kept my eyes on out of doors, but I heard the key turning in the lock. Attention, sir, said the Colonel. I was observing then some beautiful splashes of red and yellow on the mountain foliage, which appealed to my love of color, and I did not turn my head. Do you hear me, sir? said the Colonel, provoked as I meant him to be. Will you plead to this very grave charge against you? Colonel, I said, it is a splendid afternoon for a walk, and we might get a fine view from the crest of the ridge yonder. Shall we take a stroll up there together? Gentlemen, said the Colonel, we have given the prisoner every opportunity to speak, and he will not take advantage of it. There is nothing further for the court to do but to render its verdict. All the men except the Colonel and the Doctor withdrew to the far end of the room.  What is your verdict, Mr. Crothers, asked the Colonel. Death, replied Crothers. So say you all, asked the Colonel. So say we all, they said. May the Lord have mercy on his soul, added the Colonel, in the tone of a judge. You seem to be agreed, gentlemen, I said, looking around from the window. Undoubtedly, said the Colonel, Mr. Secretary, see that the sentence of the court is entered upon the record. It has been done, replied the Doctor. Then if you have amused yourself sufficiently, gentlemen, I said, I would like to go back to my room as I am tired. I'd thank you also to send me something to eat, as I am hungry too. That much courtesy is due you, said the Colonel. Rising he led the way, and two of the men closed in behind me, according to the prescribed rule. Thus we marched back to my room, where I was locked in and left to wait for food, spending such time as I chose meanwhile in reflections upon the fate of a man condemned to death, an advantage that I had never enjoyed in the first person before. I can say with the utmost respect for the truth that my chief sensation was still one of curiosity. I was not accustomed to such adventures, and as I knew of no precedence I could make no predictions. All such thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of crothers with my supper, and I perceived that a man under sentence of death may become as hungry as one with freedom and many years to enjoy. While crothers spread the banquet, another soldier walked up and down in the hall, and just before crothers shut the door I caught the steel blue of his rifle-barrel. Evidently they were keeping a good guard over me, which seemed to me a waste of thought and strength. But they had kept in mind the principle that it costs nothing to be courteous to a dying man, and had sent me a most excellent repast from which the prospect of dying took no sauce. Mr. Crothers said I, as I poured a cup of hot coffee and sniffed the aroma of a piece of fresh and well-cooked venison, all mine. How long have you served, Colonel Heatherill? I enlisted in his regiment in sixty-one, replied Crothers, and he's still my commanding officer. That makes thirty-five years by my reckoning. How much longer do you expect to serve him? I asked. Until the war is over, he replied briefly. Evidently here was a man of the Colonel's own mind and temper. The very good dinner put me in an excellent humor. Mr. Crothers, I asked, am I to be shot or hanged? You'll have to ask the Colonel, he replied, though I think it's commoner to hang spies than to shoot them. He spoke in a matter of fact tone. Mr. Crothers, I began again. Do you think I am alarmed? I'd be in your place, he replied. After this I could not get him to continue any form of debate. He merely sat in obstinate silence while I finished the supper. To mark my disapproval of his manners I turned my back upon him and resumed my old occupation of gazing out the window. My sentence of death had made no change in the prospect. The lights and colors on mountain and forest were as vivid as ever. Where the edges of the dying leaves had turned red, the forest glowed as with fire. Then came patches of soft brown, and beyond were streaks of yellow gold. It was a beautiful world, unhurt by its wildness. Crothers took up the tray of empty dishes and bade me a polite good night, which I returned without bad feeling. I was rather glad he had gone, since a man who will not talk to me when I want to talk to him annoys me. While the sun was setting and the night coming on to take its place, I tried to decide how I would avenge myself upon Colonel Heatherill for his treatment of me. To me it seemed a somewhat complicated question, as he had certainly saved my life, though the saving of it gave him no right to the taking of it, and if I injured him I would be sure to injure his daughter, who undoubtedly had shown consideration for me. I gave it up, leaving the problem to its own solution, and continued to sit by the window, looking out at nothing. Thus importantly occupied I heard the usual fumbling at the door which betokened the visitor. I was guessing whether it would be the Colonel or Crothers, when I saw it was neither, but Grace Heatherill. She stopped to close the door very carefully, and when she turned to me she showed excitement. I had risen and was preparing to make the compliments custom demands from a young man to a young woman, when she exclaimed in nervous tones, Mr West, you must escape from this house tonight. Escaped, Miss Heatherill, I said, where would I go? It is comfortable here, although my movements are somewhat restricted, but out there in those wild mountains I would starve to death. I spoke lightly, but my manner seemed to increase her apprehensions. She came closer and put her hand upon my arm. Mr West, she said, you do not yet understand your situation and its dangers. I seen no occasion for alarm, Miss Heatherill, I said. Your father has gratified his whim, and I shall not complain of the trouble he has caused me. It might be made a rough sort of jest for him if I carried the news to Washington, but I see no reason why I should do so. I felt her hand grip my arm in her excitement. This is no play, no jest, she cried. Do you think that my father looks upon this fort, the weapons in it, and the flag over it is a mere whim? They are the most real of all things to him. I was impressed by her earnestness and strong feeling. I was about to say that if her father looked upon such things as realities, I was sorry for him, but I remembered that I should not speak so bluntly to her father's daughter. I tell you they are realities, she exclaimed. It is a reality that you are held a prisoner here, a condemned spy, and it is a reality that you are to be shot as such at nine o'clock in the morning. What is this the truth, I exclaimed? Crothers and another man are digging your grave now, she said. How do you know, I asked, still partly incredulous? I have seen them at work, she replied. I was more impressed than ever. I leave it to all if it is not a trifle hard upon a man's nerves to receive the news that other men are digging his grave for him. Moreover, her manner left no doubts. I was seized with a sudden shudder of the nerves and chill of the blood. I saw that this fanatical old colonel would carry out his farce to the end, and that end was my execution. Do you believe me now? she asked. Yes, but what am I to do? I said in despair. You must leave Fort Defiance to-night, she said. Am I to go up through the roof or down through the floor, I asked. Do not jest with your danger, she replied, both reproof and reproach in her voice. But when you speak of escape I see no way to obey you, Ms. Heatherl, I said. Do you suppose that I am without influence in my father's house, she said, with some haughtiness? I have prepared the way and will lead. You have nothing to do but follow me. She opened the door again, and I saw that no guard was in the hall. It was not a time to waste energy upon one's baggage or mode of taking leave, and without a do I followed her. Step as lightly as you can, she said. I was willing enough to obey her. She had made me see the truth about her father, and while I was opposed to death under any circumstances, I wished least of all to face it very early on a cold morning, and perhaps have my body tumbled into a ditch afterward. This too in the year of peace, 1896. Accordingly I shod my feet with felt. We passed from the upper hall to the lower in safety, and reached the front door. Then I saw, in fact, she had prepared the way for me. No guard was there, nor did she even need to unlock any bolts. She pushed the door open, and in rushed a flood of the cool night air. I knew then that the wind of heaven was the wind of freedom. The outside of Fort Defiant seemed to be like the inside without guards. The river plashed and girdled in the dusk, and the dry leaves rustled as the wind blew them upon one another, but that was all. The forts seemed to be asleep. The muzzle of the little brass cannon that swept the drawbridge was hidden in the darkness, and the cannon was without threat. Ms. Heatherill left me at the door a few moments, and when she returned she thrust into my hands a military knapsack which seemed to be well filled. It contains food, she said, you will need it. I hung the knapsack over my shoulder and followed her, for she was already leading the way to the drawbridge which was down and unguarded. A few steps took us across. I looked back at Fort Defiance, a solid dark mass, no light anywhere showing that it was tenanted. Ms. Heatherill, I said, and I was speaking sincerely, you have done much for me, and I am very grateful, but do not go any further. I can find my way now, and I will say good-bye to you here. No, she said, I will take you out of the valley and put you on your road. Her tone did not admit of protest, and without a word I followed her. She led the way across the valley directly toward the nearest mountain slope. I will admit that on this journey I was cherishing a feeling of satisfaction. It is not only pleasant to have a pretty girl interest herself in one's behalf, but still pleasant her, if one's life must be saved at all, to have it saved by that same pretty girl. At the point to which we were trending, the first slope of the mountain was not distant more than half a mile. The path was clear, and we were soon there. I felt like uttering my thanks again, but such words seemed so futile that I remained silent. Keep to the southwest, said Ms. Heatherill. Don't forget that. Watch the sun tomorrow, and remember always to travel to the southwest. If you do that you will reach the settlements before your food is exhausted. Good-bye, Ms. Heatherill, I said. Good-bye, said she. She was standing before me, and she looked so fair in the moonlight that I stooped down suddenly and kissed her. I do not know why I did it. I had known her only a day or so, but I had no apologies to make then, and I will make none now. She stared at me a moment, her face quite red. Then, without speaking, she turned and walked swiftly toward Fort Defiance, while I slowly climbed the first slopes of the mountains. Some yards up I came to a ledge upon which I sat and took another look at Fort Defiance. I saw a light figure cross the drawbridge, and then up went the bridge itself. I resumed my journey, half walking, half climbing, and a half hour later when I looked back again, I was much astonished to see lights blazing at every window of Fort Defiance. I watched for some minutes, but I was too far away to see figures moving, or anything else that would tell me the cause of the lights. Convinced that it was no time for idle curiosity about illuminations, I turned my face toward the south-west, determined to carry out my instructions. Yet I saw readily that my problem was not yet wholly solved. I had escaped from the fort, but I had not escaped from the mountains, which at that hour looked very dark, very bleak, and very lonely. I picked out a large clear star burning in the southwest just above the tip of the highest peak, and made it my guide. It was rough travelling, but the night was cold, and my limbs had been stiffening in confinement. The sharp air and the exercise were a tonic to me. The blood ran freely through my veins, and I felt strong and buoyant. I resolved to walk all night, a resolution born partly of necessity, for I could not lie down and sleep without finding every joint stiffened in the morning by cold. With my eyes fixed on my star, I tramped steadily to the southwest. It was not an especially dark night, but I kept as closely as I could to the valleys or rifts, and the uplift of the peaks above me hid half the skies. I am not superstitious, and I think I possess at least average courage, but the silence and solemnity of the mountains awed me, and made me lonely and afraid. I seemed to be alone in the universe, save for the misty peaks, which nodded to each other and never noticed me. It may be flattering to one's vanity to feel that he is the only man in the world, but it soon grows tiresome. I longed for company, a charm, somebody to talk to me. I may be skillful in analyzing the feelings of others, but I have little success with my own. As the chill loneliness thickened around me, I wished again for fort defiance. Out of danger now, the danger that I had been in seemed so little, incredible, perhaps. After all, I might have yielded too easily to a frightened girl's fears, but she had been frightened on my account. That was a tender thought. I smiled in the darkness at the thought and the memory of that early kiss, for which I was not sorry. The cold darkness of the mountains and the warm walls of fort defiance began to contend for first place in my mind. The belief that in the flush of the interview with his daughter I had overrated the fanaticism of the Colonel grew, and my sense of loneliness egged it on until it became conviction. The strength and courage which I had felt at the start waned. The cold slid into my bones and chilled the marrow. I sat for a few moments on the big stone at the bottom of a great cleft that I might rest myself. Over the knife edge of the tallest ridge, a moon very white and cold looked at me as if wondering what I was doing in an otherwise deserted world. To this I could return no answer. All my intentions were failing. I was uncertain of myself. The advice to me to push on continually to the southwest had been clear and decisive, and I had been following it most diligently for at least three hours. But there was my star in the southwest burning as brilliantly as ever, and also as far away as ever. Above me were the dusky skies, the moon calm and cold, and about me was the wilderness. I shut my eyes and saw my room in fort defiance, a cell still, but sheltered and warm. The wind began to blow. It had a sharp edge of ice, and I shivered. Then I sprang up in fright as a great groan came down the cleft, passed me, and went on among the mountains through valley and valley, between cliff and cliff, and from peak to peak. I knew after my first start what it was, but it frightened me as if it had been a ghost, though I am a full-grown man, and as I said before, I think I have at least average courage. It was the wind gathered and compressed in the narrow deep ravines between the tall cliffs, and driven on by other winds behind, until it cried out like a man in deadly pain. Not until then, when the mountains were awake and groaning, did I comprehend how deep and intense may become the sense of desolation. I had noticed the wonderful repetition of the echoes when I fired my rifle to attract the attention of the Colonel, but at night these echoes were deepened and carried faster from peak to peak and ridge to ridge. As the wind gained in strength and swept through the trees and bushes on the slopes and crests, as well as through the ravines and valleys, new tones were added, and I listened to the chorus of the mountains. The groan changed to a deep base. With it were mingled the flutter and rustle of the dry leaves as the wind blew them together, leaf on leaf, and the higher note of a wandering breeze as it escaped from a ravine and swept triumphantly over ridge and peak. I was content to listen a while to the music of the mountains, but I found that my joints were growing stiff with cold. One needs more than music, however, sublime on a dark night in November, unsheltered, saved by the skies. I took out some food, ate it, and resumed my journey without much courage, however, I will confess. My star was still there, but like the moon it was unsympathetic and cold, and it travelled due southwest as fast as I. I think I was a bit shaken by my situation and my inability to drive away the sense of desolation. It is easy enough to say that superstition and all such kindred things are folly, as perhaps they are, but put a man down where I was, let him go through what I had gone through, and he will have a ghost gibbering at him from every peak. So when I saw a light flaming on a crest where no light had been before, I was not at all sure whether I saw it with eyes real or imaginary. It was no star. The flame was too bright, too red, and flickered too much for that. Presently a light blazed up on another hilltop, and then on a third, and then on a fourth. They were moved about as if signalling to each other, and I was positive that I was growing lightheaded. It would require no common normal pair of eyes to see so many lights dancing a jig. All the hilltop seemed to be a fire, and I was quite sure that was not natural. The sound of a trumpet, loud, clear and penetrating, mingled with the songs of the winds, and swept through the mountains, echo after echo. The military note rose above all the rest, and there by the first light which formed the background for it and made it visible, I saw a human figure. I had no doubt that this was the man who blew the trumpet, and it meant that the colonel and his men were seeking to retake me. The trumpet was blown again, and all the lights except the first were extinguished. As I said I am unable to analyze myself, and while a few moments ago I wished to be back at Fort Defiance, I wished nothing of the kind now that I knew the colonel and his men were seeking to take me there. I pushed myself among some bushes, determined that I would escape. With mountain heaped on mountain, and the night helping, it would seem that it was an easy enough matter for me to escape, but I was not so sure. I had followed before some sort of path or trace, because it was the only way in which I could go, and doubtless these men knew the way well. The trumpets blew one more blast, and from my covert I saw the last light extinguished. Listening intently I could hear only the sob of the wind down the great slash in the mountains, at the bottom of which I lay. I supposed that the flaming up of the lights and the blowing of the trumpets had been some sort of signal to draw the men together. I rose, but I could not see them either. I thought once of trying to climb the side of the mountain, but I feared a stumble or a slip, the noise of which would draw them to me. I pressed farther back into the bushes, but just as I made myself snug several men turned to the angle of the ravine, and one of them held up a bright lantern. Its flame fell directly upon me. Take aim, shouted the Colonel. The six who were with him covered me with their rifles, but I had no desire to be shot. It's all right, Colonel, I said. I'll surrender. I'm your prisoner. He ordered the men to lower their weapons. I walked out of the bushes toward the Colonel. There was some comfort in the company of my kind, even if I was to be the prisoner and they the free man, an inequality which I thought was not deserved. We retook you more easily than we thought, said the Colonel. Then double my debt of gratitude to you, Colonel, I said. You may have saved me again from death by starvation. He said nothing to this, and I added, Suppose we rest a little. I am tired. My bones in truth were weary. We were a long way from Fort Defiance, and the road was rough. I contemplated the journey with dismay. The Colonel, who seemed to be highly pleased at my recapture, was in good temper. He took a long flask from his inside pocket and shook it. A cheerful gurgle came forth. He drew the cork with a loud plunk, and a pleasant odor permeated the air. Try that, he said, holding out the flask. I tried it, and great was the result thereof. As the rich red liquor trickled down my throat, I could feel strength flowing back into muscle and bone, and a warm glow crept through all the veins of my chilled body. I handed the flask back to the Colonel with my heartfelt thanks. I think I will try a little myself, he said, and the pleasant gurgle was heard again. Colonel, I said, you may shoot me to-morrow, but for Heaven's sake, don't make me walk all the way back to Fort Defiance to-night. The liquor had put him in a still better humour. I will not, he said. Besides, I am tired myself. He gave a few directions to his men, and they began to gather brushwood, which was scattered about in abundance. They heaped it up in a sheltered corner of the ravine, and the Colonel, taking the candle out of his lantern, touched the flame to the dry boughs. Up it blazed, and the wind catching it, the eager flame leaped from bow to bow. The wood snapped and crackled as the fire seized it, and the blaze, rising high, threw its warm and friendly light upon our faces. Though a captive, and with only twelve or so hours of life before me, according to the Colonel's limitations, I achieved comfort. I made myself at home, and pulling up a billet sat down on it before the fire, where body and eyes could feast on its warmth and light. The fire, by contrast, made the darkness beyond its radius darker. The Colonel shivered, and then imitated my example, turning his palms to the flames. "'Makes me think of the winter of sixty-four,' he said. "'Which was a long time ago,' I replied. "'But it may come again,' said he. "'Never,' said I. The cause is dead and buried, Colonel, and the mourners are few at this late day.' He turned his head away impatiently, as if he would not argue with a prisoner. His men kept silent too. I had hoped they would hear, but I cannot say. They as well as I had brought food with them. We broke bread and ate.' The fire, which rose yards high and crackled as it ate into the wood, threw streaks of light on the near slopes. Beyond the darkness had settled down over peak and ridge, and the moon was behind a veil of clouds. The wind, rising again, moaned loudly down the ravine and swept the dry leaves before it. I would not have escaped if I could. "'Winter will soon be here,' said Crothers, who sat on one side of me. "'Perhaps it's as well,' said Colonel Heatherill. It will make the harder for any enemy to reach Fort Defiance. A blast of wind struck me on the back of the neck and slipped down my collar like a stream of ice water. I edged up within scorching distance of the fire. "'It is cold,' said the Colonel, replying to my thought as if I had spoken aloud. He too edged up to the fire, and all his men did likewise. No one regarded me with hostile eyes. For the moment the military laws of the Confederacy rested lightly. I don't understand how people can fight in the dark and when it's at zero. Our faces were warm, a little too warm perhaps, but our backs were cold. I suggested to the Colonel that we build another fire a few yards off and sit between the two. He looked at me approvingly, and even said nothing when I helped to gather brushwood for the second fire, just as if I were one of the party and could go and come where I wished. While I was busy thus, I noticed he was looking at me very intently and twisting his long white moustache as if he were in doubt. I guessed that he would have something to say to me soon, and I was not wrong. We lighted the second heap of wood, and the blaze sputtered and roared as if it would outdo its comrade ten yards away. We lulled in the heat for a few moments, and then the Colonel, as I expected he would, beckoned to me. We went on the far side of the second fire where none of the men would hear us. What is it, Colonel? I asked politely. Can I help you in any way? You can, he replied, and in helping me you will help yourself at the same time. Then it ought to be easy for us to strike a bargain, I said. I want some information from you, said the Colonel. Your escape was discovered soon after it was made, but that escape would not have been possible without assistance. Name the man to me, and I will spare your life.  My first impulse was to speak violently. This was the first time he had touched the quick. But unrestrained anger is seldom worth the while.  Nor would I have told him, even had not the traitor been his own daughter. The Colonel looked confused and hesitated. Presently he said, I should not have made you the offer, and I apologize. Perhaps I have underestimated you. This was not very flattering, as it could be construed different ways, but I thanked him nevertheless, and we went back to our good position between the fires. The Colonel was silent and looked thoughtful. I guessed that he was trying to divine the traitor and would not let the matter drop. I had eaten heartily, and the food, the heat, and the weariness together made a strong supperific. My head nodded and my eyelids drooped. The Colonel too looked as if he would like to go to sleep. The men had blankets with them, and I made a proposition. Colonel, I said, give me a blanket and let me go to sleep. You needn't guard me. I pledge you my word I won't attempt to escape tonight. He took one look at the banked-up darkness. The wind made a long moan down the ravine. I don't think you will try, he said, dryly. Crothers, give him a blanket. Crothers tossed me the blanket. I rolled myself in it and went to sleep. Far in the night I awoke. I might have gone back to sleep again in a moment or two. But a bow burned through fell into the ashes, sending up a shower of sparks. I held open my sleepy eyes and looked around at the Colonel's little army, which to the last man lay stretched upon its back or side fast asleep. Two high privates were even snoring. The wind was still strong, and its groans as it swept through the ravine rose to a shriek. The fires had burned down a bit and were masses of red coals. Colonel Heatherle was lying next to me. The light from the fire fell directly upon his thin, worn old face. In my soul I felt pity for him. His exposed hands looked chilled, and his blanket seemed light for a man whose blood had been thinned by age. My own blanket was heavy and wide. I threw the corner of it over him, and in another minute I yielded again to sleep. I was the last to wake in the morning, and I do not know how much longer I would have slept had not the Colonel pulled me violently by the shoulder. The sun was risen already above the mountains, and peak and ravine shone in the light. One of the men had produced some coffee and a small tin coffee pot, and was making the best of all morning drinks over the fire. Another was frying strips of bacon. Evidently the Confederate army meant to treat itself well. I sniffed the pleasing aromas, be thinking me that as the only present or present I was entitled to my share. The Colonel did not neglect me. When my turn came the tin cup filled with coffee was past me, and I ate my due allotment of the bacon. The Colonel, however, was stiff and restrained. His military coolness returned with the daylight, and his little army reflected his manners. My attempts at conversation were repelled, and soon it became apparent to me that I was the condemned spy again. The day was cold but very bright and well suited for our rough walking. The breakfast ended, we abandoned the fire which still glowed red in the ravine, and began our return to Fort Defiance, crothers leading the army, while I walked in the center of it. Ours was a silent walk. If their feelings had changed with the day, so had mine. I regretted that I had not escaped. In the bright sunlight the mountains did not look so unfriendly and formidable, but I made up my mind to ask few questions and to abide the issue. Near noon I saw the same column of smoke which had once been such a cheering sight to me, and in a quarter of an hour more I looked down on Fort Defiance and its peaceful valley. The place had lost none of its beauty. The glow of red and brown and yellow in the foliage was as bright and as deep as ever. The little river was fluid silver in the sunshine. We paused a few moments at the last slope to rest a little. The quiet landscape, set like a vase in the mountains, seemed to appeal to Colonel Heatherill as it appealed to me. We were standing a little apart from the others. I said, It is too much like a country seat, Colonel, to be invaded by an enemy. I thought once it was secure from invasions, he said, looking at me suspiciously. But since there are traitors within my own walls, I must prepare for anything. He spoke as if he intended to make trouble about the matter, and since I had no fit reply I said nothing. We descended into the valley, and when we crossed the drawbridge we met Grace Heatherill standing at the door. She expressed no surprise, but looked at me reproachfully. I felt that she wronged me, for certainly I had tried to escape. I was sent to a new room, much like the other but with a heavier door. The window, well crossbarred, looked out like all the other windows upon the mountains. When I had been locked up an hour Miss Heatherill came. You see, I am back, Miss Heatherill, I said, jauntily. Who comes oftener than I? Why did you not escape when I gave you the chance, she said, with the utmost reproach in her voice? I felt hurt at her manner. I knew she was thinking less of my death than of her father's responsibility for it. I hold myself to be of some value, and did not wish to be cheapened in any such manner. I did my best to escape Miss Heatherill, I said, but the activity of the Confederate army was too great for me. Her eyes flashed with such anger that I saw my mistake at once. I beg your pardon, I said. I will not jest again at the Colonel's faith. I have come to tell you, she said, that you are in as much danger as you were yesterday. I do not think my father will alter his sentence. But first, I said, he is going to find out the traitor who helped me to escape last night. I supposed, of course, that she would tell him her part in it, having nothing to fear, and I was surprised when she answered me. He has been endeavouring to ascertain it already, she said, but has failed. He thinks Dr. Ambrose is the man, and both the doctor and I are willing for the present to let him think so. You will under no circumstances tell him that it was I. Will you promise me that? I will promise, since you ask, but it seems strange, Miss Heatherill. It is because I wish to be free to help you. If my father knew it was I, he would lock me up until you were executed. Yes, that is it, though I did not like to say it. I could not say no to such a plan, for I valued my life, and any one in my place would have been acute enough to see that Grace Heatherill would be the most powerful friend I could have inside of Fort Defiance. The doctor too must be weakening in his confederate faith, if he were willing for my sake to rest under his commanding officer's suspicion. But that might be done for love. He was too old. I thanked her very earnestly for her endeavours to save me. I will seek to delay action on my father's part, she said. Our chief hope rests in that. I trusted that she would secure the delay, indefinite delay. When the door was opened for her to leave, I saw a sentinel on guard in the hall, and became convinced that the colonel was taking very few chances with me.