The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1911-08-22


 emissary's hand and pressed it heart lily.
 As the words. "Go, and God bless you" rang again In memory the soldier touched the Hanks of his horse lightly with his great brass spurs and began to descend the mountain.
 An hour later he entered the little ern he refined in his horse and let him drink at the rough wooden trough in front. A number of country people were sitting on the veranda, and every one fixed his eyes on the soldier. who sat on his horse looking about him with as much apparent indifference as if he were within the Union lines. When the animal bad drunk his fill his rider cast the reins to a negro and bine from where he had hooked it to his saddle. he took it in his hand and tramped into the house to the jingle of his spurs.
 Not a word was spoken by those watching in admiration the strapping young fellow with so young face set Gn so stalwart frame. He paid no attention 10 them, but walked into the dining room and called for supper. After devoting himself to plate of bacon and corn bread. with cup of chickory in lieu of coffee (for the blockade of the southern ports had stopped the flow of the coffee bean from foreign countries,, he walked out on the gallery. and seating himself on a wooden bench took a brierwood pipe and a tobacco pouch out of his pocket and began to smoke.
 Jasper was mo mans land" The people living there and thereabout were nearly all Confederate sympathizers. but had learned to look for Union or Confederate troops with an equal chance of either. From the moment of the soldiers arrival they had dis cussed his coming in whispers. Sol diers of either side usually came in numbers. It was seldom that single trooper had the. hardihood to enter the town of Jasper alone, especially one wearing the blue. Presently an old man dressed in "butternut" got up from his seat among the loungers and approached the stranger for the pur- pose of reconnoiter:
 Reckon y come from Decherd. Yank?"
 ''Thereabout."
 You uns got many sojers over thar?"
 'Where?'
 ''At Sparty."
 .sNo."
 "Murfreesboro?"
 "I don't know"
 Reckon thar's a powerful sight at McMinnvilleT
 "A division perhaps"
 "Thet's an all fired pert rife O yourn. Wouldn't mind letten me ham, dle it. would y?
 Mark cooked the piece. took off the cap and handed it to his fnterrogator He still had his revolver. while the man had a weapon which could not be fired without percussion cap.
 "Waal. now. thet's quar-"
 The man looked from the rife to the soldier, not knowing which to admire most-the mechanism of the former or the coolness of the latter. Then he handed it back.
 You ain't no Yank."
 "Why notT"
 "Yanks don't come down hyar all alone. Besides Yankee sojer wouldn't ride a blooded mare like that a-one. Morgan's men rides them kind O crit ters and wears them uniforms some times"
 Mark smiled knowingly.
 You think Pm one of Colonel Nor gan's men, do you"
 Reckon yer one O ourn anyway"
 And the man walked away well sat ssfied with his penetration.
 The soldier got up, went into the tav- ern and paid for his supper with one of the postal shinplasters used at the time in lieu of silver: then he came out and called for his horse. While waiting he stood leaning against post of the gallery. maintaining the same easy confidence that had characterized him since his arrival. Presently a ne- gro came around from the barn. lead ing the slender legged mare. and the soldier, sauntering up to her leisurely. stroked her neck; then mounting. with out once looking at his observers, he rode away.
 But Private Malone's confidence was all assumed. He did not start on the road he designed to follow; he trotted off up the valley. intending later to find path or crossroad which would take him southward to the Chattanooga pike. He suspected that the group he was leaving would not suffer him to ride that night in safety, and he did not care to let them know his true route.
 When he was riding in the open he felt comparatively confident. but upon entering a thicket he would uneasily reach down and put his hand upon his rife. He knew the bushwhacker or the period. and fancied that rifle or a shotgun lurked behind every tree.
 The twilight was nearly faded. Mark had gone about three miles from the tavern when. nearing a fork in the road. he heard:
 Halt, thari"
 Instinctively his hand went to the handle of his revolver. for the sound was near enough to indicate that pis- tos rather tLSa a rife might be needed.