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Updated: May 29, 2025
"Everything all right, Aunt Debby?" asked Fortner, as, after entering, he turned from firmly securing the door, by placing across it a strong wooden bar that rested in the timbers on either side. "Yes, thank God!" she said with quiet fervor. She stepped with graceful freedom over the floor, and hung the lamp up by thrusting the nail into a crack in one of the logs forming the walls of the room.
Fortner saddled his colt an' galloped off ter his cousin Jim Fortner's, ter rouse the Home Gyard. The colt reached Jim's house, bekase hits mammy wuz thar; but my son never did. In takin' the shortest road, he hed ter cross the dangerousest ford on the Rockassel. The young beast wuz skeered nigh ter death, an' hits rider wuz drowned." James Russel Lowell.
She began to brood wretchedly over her position as a spy inside the enemy's lines, and upon all the consequences of that position. It was late that night when Fortner came in. As he entered the two expectant women saw, by the ruddy light of the fire, that his face was set and his eyes flashing.
But Thou'st gi'n hit free ez Thy marcy, without axin' blood sacrifice from any on us. I kin on'y praise Thee an' Thy goodness all my days." Fortner rose and listend with bowed head while she spoke. When she finished he snatched up the ball of shriveling yarn and quenched its smoking with his hand. Looking fixedly at this he said softly: "Aunt Debby, honey, I hain't tole ye all yit." "No, Jim?"
"That's a wonderful sight," said Harry, as they paused on a summit to rest and catch breath. "It reminds me of some of the war scenes in Scott, or the Illiad." "Hit looks ter me like a gineral coon-hunt," said Fortner, "on'y over thar hit's the coons, an' not the hunters, that hev the torches. I wish I could put a bum-shell inter every fire." "You are merciless." "No more'n they are.
"An' how is hit with ye?" she asked, facing Fortner, with her large gray eyes eloquent with solicitude. "O, ez fur me, I'm jes ez sound ez when I left heah last week, 'cept thet I'm tireder 'n a plow mule at night, an' hongrier nor a b'ar thet's lived all Winter by suckin' hits paws."
"Ye done God's vengence," said Aunt Debby sternly. "An' yit hit wuz very soon ter expect hit." She clasped her hands upon her forehead and rocked back and forth, gazing fixedly into the mass of incandescent coals. "Hit's gwine to cla'r up ter-morrow," said Fortner, returning from an inspection of the sky at the door. "Le's potter off ter bed," he continued rousing up Harry.
Their camp-fires lighted up the country at night for miles, in all directions. Just at dusk Tuesday night Fortner came in, and was warmly welcomed. "There are such countless hosts of the Rebels," Rachel said to him after the first greetings were over, "that I quite despair of our men being able to do anything with them.
As he neared the last of his second bowl of milk Fortner bethought himself, and glanced at Aunt Debby. Her work had fallen from her nervous hands and lay idly in her lap, while her great eyes were fixed hungrily upon him. "They've bin fouten over ter Wildcat to-day," he said, answering their inquiry, without waiting to empty his mouth.
His hands relaxed and his gun dropped with a crash and a splash. Then his foot touched the other side with nervous doubtfulness. It slipped, and he felt himself falling falling into all that he feared. Fortner grasped his collar with a strong hand, and dragged him up against the rocky wall of the path.
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