A RACE AGAINST DEATH

It was inevitable that sooner or later April and Dorothea should understand each other and be free to express the warm feeling each had in her heart for the other. And here was the incident that was to break down all barriers of misunderstanding. April realized that Dorothea, with a quick sympathy, had hurried to her with the news that would be more welcome than any other. For an instant they looked deep into each other’s eyes and then April took her cousin in her arms and hugged her close.

“And so it was poor Lee you saw at the window that night,” April said an hour or so later. “I didn’t know he was there.”

“And I thought you had gone out to meet him,” Dorothea explained.

“Oh, no,” exclaimed April with a blush. “If I’d known he was there I shouldn’t have gone. I was such a stubborn, stupid girl. No, I didn’t go to meet him, but, you know, Dee, it was an anniversary, that night, the anniversary of the day Lee asked me to marry him. I didn’t forget that, you know, and—and—well, I couldn’t stand it any more. I had to get away by myself for a minute or two and I didn’t want any one to know. And Lee remembered too. I wish I could see him and ask him to forgive me.”

And then for the first time Dorothea recollected that Lee Hendon might be in peril of his life at that moment. In the excitement of discovering the real truth about him she had forgotten what Tracy had told her, and her heart held a sudden pang of anxiety.

“April,” she said, gently, “I think I ought to tell you that Mr. Hendon may be a prisoner.”

“With the Yankees?” April demanded with a sudden whitening of her face.

“No, with some one of the Confederate bands,” Dorothea answered, and then told her cousin all that Tracy feared.

“But all Lee would have to do is to say what he had been doing,” April insisted. “If he told his captors that he was really a Southern spy, although he wore a blue uniform—” She broke off suddenly, realizing that her words did not ring true. She herself would be very skeptical of a man who had apparently shown no enthusiasm for the Confederacy and later had been taken in the garb of its enemies.

“Dorothea,” she cried, her eyes widening with apprehension, “did Val believe there was any danger?”

“Yes,” Dorothea answered, thinking no good would come of hiding anything. “He was afraid Mr. Hendon might have been captured by men who would take the law into their own hands.”

April jumped to her feet with a sharp cry.

“But they mustn’t have their own way!” she exclaimed. “Something must be done at once. Where did Val say Lee was?”

“He didn’t know,” Dorothea answered. “He went out to look for him. You see, he put the men on Mr. Hendon’s trail, fancying he was a Union spy who was trying to warn the Federal soldiers in Savannah. When I saw Captain Tracy last he didn’t know that Mr. Hendon had been captured, though he thought it likely. I don’t know where either of them are now.”

“But there must be something we can do,” April insisted. “We can’t sit here and just wait. They may kill Lee. Oh, Dorothea,” she sobbed, “it was I that set Val Tracy after Lee. If I hadn’t been so suspicious of you, he would have been out of harm’s way now. Oh, what shall I do if anything happens to Lee?”

She sank down in a chair, sobbing as if her heart would break and Dorothea, her own eyes wet with sympathetic tears, tried to comfort her, knowing all the while how inadequate were words to lighten such anxiety.

But April was not one of those girls who do nothing but cry when misfortune overtakes them. In a very few minutes she dried her tears and became her brave, resolute self.

“Dorothea, there must be something we can do,” she said emphatically. “Didn’t Val give you a hint of where he might be going?”

Dorothea shook her head.

“He had no idea himself, April,” she replied. “Captain Tracy had roused the whole country, hoping to capture Mr. Hendon before he could get through to Savannah.”

She would have gone on but, on answering a knock at the door, they found Lucy.

“Please, Miss Dee,” began the colored maid, “there’s a boy down stairs wantin’ mighty bad to see you-all.”

“To see me?” Dorothea questioned, not knowing who it could possibly be. “What kind of a boy, Lucy?”

“Oh, jes’ one of ’em ordinary boys, Miss,” answered the girl as if she were giving an entirely adequate description. “I reckon he’s come some ways, seein’ he’s ridin’ a poor, skin-and-bones mule.”

Together the girls went down and found a farmer’s boy, twelve years old or so, who, in answer to their questions, silently produced a folded sheet of paper with Dorothea’s name written on the outside.

Quickly she opened it, glanced at the signature and saw that it was from Val Tracy; then she read as follows:

“I have found Hendon. He is in the hands of a band of Irregulars who insist upon executing him as a spy. I have done everything I can, but it is of no use. They won’t let me even see him, but have brought me a message from him. He wants to see April before he dies, and the men have given us twenty-four hours. That means sunset to-morrow. I don’t know whether she will consent to come, but the least I could do was to make this effort to get her. I should, perhaps, have gone to her myself, but it would seem like abandoning Hendon and I am still trying to persuade these men that, although he is an enemy, they have no right to kill him. Somehow I feel dreadfully sorry for Hendon, but I am afraid he is doomed. If you can persuade April to come, the boy who bears this will show her the way. I shall see you as soon as this dreadful business is over. Yours faithfully, Val Tracy.”

Dorothea read the letter through rapidly, then, handing it to April, who stood beside her, she addressed the boy.

“When did you get this letter from Captain Tracy?” she demanded in a businesslike tone.

The boy was visibly embarrassed and hung his head.

“I done brung it as fast as I could, considerin’,” he mumbled.

“But when did you get it?” Dorothea repeated impatiently.

“Las’ night,” he answered sullenly; “but I didn’t see no call to go ridin’ in the dark. ’Sides, some o’ them swamps is ha’nted!”

“How far did you ride?” April asked. She had read Val Tracy’s letter and realized the well-nigh hopeless situation in which her lover stood; but she wasted no time in tears or vain repinings. There blazed in her brilliant eyes a look of determination that meant action.

“How far did you ride?” she questioned again impatiently.

“I reckon it’d be a matter of thirty-five miles or so,” the boy answered reluctantly. “I come as fast as I could and left home long before daylight—long before; but them swamps is ha’nted—”

“Dorothea,” April broke in upon the boy’s excuses, “Val expected us to get this message hours ago. We shall have to start at once and perhaps, even then, we’ll be too late. Will you help me?”

“Of course,” answered Dorothea promptly.

“Then if you’ll have Uncle Jastrow put the best pair of horses in the light carriage and tell him to come to the Heath House at once, with the boy, I shall go with him to save Lee.”

She was moving as she spoke. Inside she found a hat and glanced at the tall clock in the hall. “I shall only have five hours before sunset.” She paused a moment and put her hand to her heart as if there were a sharp pain there. “Thirty-five miles in five hours,” she murmured under her breath. “I must do it. I must do it!” she cried loudly.

“We will do it!” Dorothea exclaimed.

By this time April was out again and starting down the drive.

“I am going to President Davis to get an order from him for Lee’s release. Send Jastrow there for me and you explain to mother. Good-by.” And April hurried away.

Dorothea, as ready to act as her beautiful cousin, went to the abashed boy and grasping him by the shoulder led him into the house where she handed him over to Aunt Decent to be fed. At the same time she sent word to Uncle Jastrow. Then she sought her Aunt Parthenia.

It took but a moment or two to explain the situation and immediately Mrs. May, grown used to meeting sudden emergencies, got to work to further the expedition with all speed.

While Uncle Jastrow was being informed of what was before him, Harriot saw to having a lunch prepared and in a surprisingly short time all was ready.

Dorothea meanwhile had gotten some warm wraps for April, and she came down from her room dressed for the journey.

Mrs. May seeing her preparations and realizing Dorothea’s intentions, kissed her lovingly.

“I was going with April but I shall feel that she is safe with you, dear.”

A little later the traveling carriage driven by Uncle Jastrow, with the boy beside him on the box, stopped in front of the Heath House and April came running to meet them.

At sight of Dorothea she paused a moment.

“I didn’t think of your coming,” April murmured as she jumped in and settled down beside her cousin.

“Of course I meant to go with you all the time,” said Dorothea in a matter-of-fact tone, and April kissed her, tears too near for speech.

Under constant urging from April, Uncle Jastrow had driven the horses at as fast a gait as they could go. But the shadows were lengthening and there were still untraveled miles ahead of them. During the long hours the girls had scarcely spoken to each other, but much of the time had sat, hand in hand, looking at the ribbon of road ahead of them as the horses galloped mile after mile. Under the most favorable circumstances the task set would have been a hard one, but there was a determination behind April’s quiet manner that meant a battle against any force that might attempt to hold her back.

“Faster, Uncle Jastrow!” she said, in a steady voice.

“’Deed, Lil’ Miss,” the old darky answered, “they’s doin’ all they can, ’less yoh want ’em dyin’ on the road.”

“Faster!” was all the reply April made, and the driver, with a shake of his white head, urged on the tiring beasts.

They watched the shadows growing longer and longer. It was a race, with everything against the weary horses reaching their destination before the descending sun gave the signal for the death of April’s lover.

“Faster, Uncle Jastrow!”

The words were becoming more and more frequent, and April, sitting straight and tense, gazed ahead with burning eyes.

Through woods and swamps; past fields of green grain, over small bridges that rattled as they sped by; up hill and down they hastened on under the direction of the boy who pointed out the turnings. Dorothea had tried not to consider the possibility of being too late; but now she was unable to control the despair clutching at her heart.

“How much farther is it?” she demanded of the boy in the seat directly before her.

“It must be a matter of ten mile yet,” he replied over his shoulder. Stolid as he was, his youth had caught the spirit of the grim contest and seemed to resent being forced to take his eyes from the road before them.

At his words a sort of sob came through the tightened lips of old Uncle Jastrow.

“’Deed, Lil’ Miss, we can’t make it!” he murmured.

“We must!” came April’s unfaltering words. “We must make it!”

“It’s bound to kill ’em!” the old darky answered.

“What are a dozen horses to the life of Marse Lee Hendon, Uncle Jastrow?” the girl replied firmly. “Faster! Faster!”

In that last ten miles of the journey, the horses, tiring rapidly, seemed to stumble at every step. The old colored man, driving with the skill he had learned from his father before him, kept his team on their feet and seemed to help them on step by step. Their labored breathing would have pained those who heard, had their errand been of less moment. But nothing could be spared if Lee Hendon’s life was to be saved.

“Faster, Uncle Jastrow, faster!”

The words were almost continuous now as the horses staggered over the remaining miles and the sun dropped lower and lower.

“There’s only three more miles now,” the boy cried as they turned a corner. But the colored driver shook his head anxiously.

“They jes’ cain’t do it!” he said under his breath and to prove his words, one of the exhausted horses, stumbling, made a brave effort to keep its feet, but too weak, fell with a gasp and the carriage came to a sudden stop.

With a cry of distress April leaped to the ground.

“Come with me!” she cried to the boy. “Show me the way. We’ll run the rest of the distance. Hurry!”

But before they had well started a mounted man galloped around the bend and, with a shout, reined up beside them.

It was Val Tracy, coming to look for them, and with barely a word of greeting April thrust the order she had secured from Mr. Davis into his hand.

“Ride back, Val; read that on your way!” she commanded, and Tracy, knowing that there was not a moment to lose, glanced at the darkening sky and driving his spurs into his horse, tore back along the road he had come. In a moment he was out of sight.

April and Dorothea sitting on a fallen log beside the road waited while the slowly passing minutes marked the gathering shadows or the night. The sun had set long since, and at the moment of its setting the sound of a distant rifle shot sent a tremor of apprehension through the girls, but neither dared acknowledge she had heard it. Words were of no avail in that tense hour of agonized waiting. In the mind of each was the one question that banished all other thoughts until it should be answered.

“Had Val reached there in time?” They could not know until the young Captain returned, and so they waited in an agony of suspense.

Uncle Jastrow and the boy worked over the horses, which slowly recovered from their heart-breaking race; but the girls were scarcely conscious of what went on about them. Their ears were strained to catch the first sounds of a galloping horse coming back over the road by which Val had departed. And each heard the distant thud of hoofs at the same instant. Dorothea turned to April and in her eyes read the strain that well-nigh had broken her cousin’s proud spirit.

But a moment later both had jumped to their feet in a feverish glow of hope. Two horses, not one, were coming swiftly toward them and soon, galloping around the bend in the road ahead, they saw a single horseman followed, ten yards behind, by another. In an instant they recognized Lee Hendon in the lead.

“April! April!” he shouted at the top of his voice and in the tone were notes of happiness and freedom.