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 southwest, 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 up-lift 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 chum, somebody to talk to me.

I may be skilful 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 a 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 bass; 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 awhile 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 save 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 hill-top, 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 light-headed. It would require no common, normal pair of eyes to see so many lights dancing a jig. All the hill-tops seemed to be afire, and I was quite sure that was not natural.

The sound of a trumpet, loud, clear, and penetrating, mingled with the song 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 perforce 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 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 men, 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 heart-felt 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 humor.

"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 bough to bough. The wood snapped and cracked 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 hours or so 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 '64," 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 could not 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 Hetherill. "It will make it 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 that 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 lolled in the heat for a few minutes, and then the colonel, as I had 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; I will send you back to your own country."

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.

"Colonel," I said, "I may be a Yankee spy, as you call me, but you can scarcely expect me to tell you that." 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 soporific. 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 to-night."

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 it," 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 bough 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 Hetherill 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 awake 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, bethinking me that as the only prisoner present I was entitled to my share.

The colonel did not neglect me. When my turn came the tin cup filled with coffee was passed 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 fires, which still glowed red in the ravine, and began our return to Fort Defiance, Crothers leading the army, while I walked in the centre 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 Hetherill 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 Hetherill 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 cross-barred, looked out, like all the other windows, upon the mountains. When I had been locked up an hour Miss Hetherill came.

"You see I am back, Miss Hetherill," 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 Hetherill," 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 endeavoring 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 it, but it seems strange, Miss Hetherill."

"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—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 Hetherill 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. Pshaw! he was too old.

I thanked her very earnestly for her endeavors 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.