“Slow now, boys,” said Sherburne, as they rode into the stream. “We don’t want to make too much noise splashing the water. Are there many boulders in here, Mr. Lankford?”
“Not enough to hurt.”
“Then you lead the way. The men can come four abreast.”
The water was about a foot deep, and despite their care eight hundred hoofs made a considerable splashing, but the creek soon turned around a hill and led on through dense forest. Sherburne and Harry were satisfied that no Union horseman had either seen or heard them, and they followed Lankford with absolute confidence. Now and then the hoofs of a stumbling horse would grind on the stones, but there was no other noise save the steady marching of two hundred men through water.
The things that Lankford had asserted continued to come true. The creek presently flowed between banks fifty feet high, rocky and steep as a wall. But the stone bed of the creek was almost as smooth as a floor, and they stopped here a while to rest and let their horses drink.
The enclosing walls were not more than fifty or sixty feet across the top and it was very dark in the gorge. Harry saw overhead a slice of dusky sky, lit by only a few stars, but it was pitchy black where he sat on his horse, and listened to his contented gurglings as he drank. He could merely make out the outlines of his comrades, but he knew that Sherburne was on one side of him and Lankford on the other. He could not hear the slightest sound of pursuit, and he was convinced that the Union cavalry had lost their trail. So was Sherburne.
“We owe you a big debt, Mr. Lankford,” said the captain.
“I’ve tried to serve my side,” said Lankford, “though, as I told you, I’m not goin’ on the firin’ line. It’s not worth while for all of us to get killed. Later on this country will need some people who are not dead.”
“You’re right about that, Mr. Lankford,” said Sherburne, with a little laugh, “and you, for one, although you haven’t gone on the firing lines, have earned the right to live. You’ve done us a great service, sir.”
“I reckon I have,” said Lankford with calm egotism, “but it was necessary for me to do it. I’ve got an inquirin’ mind, I have, and also a calculatin’ one. When I saw your little troop comin’, an’ then that big troop of the Yankees comin’ on behind, I knowed that you needed help. I knowed that this creek run down a gorge, and that I could lead you into the gorge and escape pursuit. I figgered, too, that you were on your way to see about McClellan crossin’ the Potomac, an’ I figgered next that you meant to keep straight on, no matter what happened. So I’m goin’ to lead you out of the gorge, and some miles further ahead you’ll come to the Potomac, where I guess you can use your own eyes and see all you want to see.”
“The horses are all right now and I think we’d better be moving, Mr. Lankford.”
They started, but did not go faster than a walk while they were in the gorge. Harry’s eyes had grown somewhat used to the darkness, and he could make out the rocky walls, crested with trees, the higher branches of which seemed almost to meet over the chasm.
It was a weird passage, but time and place did not oppress Harry. He felt instead a certain surge of the spirits. They had thrown off the pursuit-there could be no doubt of it-and the first step in their mission was accomplished. They were now in the midst of action, action thrilling and of the highest importance, and his soul rose to the issue.
He had no doubt that some great movement, possibly like that of the Second Manassas, hung upon their mission, and Lee and Jackson might be together at that very moment, planning the mighty enterprise which would be shaped according to their news.
They emerged from the gorge and rode up a low, sloping bank which gave back but little sound to the tread of the horses, and here Lankford said that he would leave them. Sherburne reached over his gauntleted hand and gave him a powerful grasp.