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<h2 id="VIII">CHAPTER VIII. THE RESULTS OF A SNOW-SLIDE.</h2></div> Dr. Ambrose and I stuck together, picking our way through the storm. Snow-covered mountains under an angry sky are not a cheerful prospect, and the work was fearfully tiresome. Down my boot would crush under my weight through a foot of snow, and to lift it out again was like drawing a wedge from a log. It was winter, but I grew hot, and my brow produced sweat. My breath shortened, and my muscles said they were tired. The doctor noticed me. "You'd better go back, Mr. West," he said. "This is very exhausting business for one who is not used to it." [196] But I was a bit ashamed of playing out so soon, and insisted upon going on. He said nothing then, but when he raised the question a half-hour later I was forced to confess that he was right. A tuckered-out man was of no use on such a trail. "You'd better go straight back to the camp, and I've no doubt you'll find one or two there who played out before you did," he said. Leaving him regretfully, I faced about and began to plough my way through the snow on the return journey. I had noted the landmarks well, and recognized them easily. The snow, still falling, had buried all trace of our footsteps under two or three inches of white. I tugged along with a fair degree of patience, wishing at the same time that I was back at the camp, drying my boots and drinking a hot toddy,—unpicturesque but pleasant occupations. But walking beat wishing, and at last I saw the smoke[197] of our camp-fire over a hill. I increased my speed, trying to make a run through the deep snow. I passed near the edge of a cliff, but no nearer than we had gone when we started on the search. I forgot that the snow had grown deeper and more weight was pressing down upon the slopes. When I was nearest the edge the snow seemed to slip from under my feet; the mountain tilted up at a new angle; there was the rumble of tons of snow sliding over the steeps, and away it went in a huge white avalanche, bearing me, who had started it, upon its crest, sick with sudden fear. The itch of life was in my fingers; it, and no thought of mine, made me reach out and grasp at the sturdy shrubs which grew on the mountain-side. With each hand full, I hung on, and shouted and kicked. Big waves of snow tumbled over me and loosened my arms in their sockets, but I swung to my brave bushes until I had received my last douse[198] of snow and the slope was swept clean. I managed to get my toes into a cleft, and my arms felt better. My head was beginning to think and come to the relief of instinct. I saw that I was about ten feet from the crest of the cliff; which was not far, but too far. I tried to draw myself up by the bushes, but I was no sailor, and I failed. Then I shouted with all my might. I had seen the smoke of the camp just before my fall, and I hoped my voice would reach the men there. I never knew before that I had such a good voice. "Hello-o-o-o!" I shouted. The mountains took up the cry and sent it back to me. "What's the matter down there?" called out some one. "The matter?" I said, angrily. "There's no matter at all; I came down here merely for amusement. I do this sort of thing often." [199] I looked up and saw the red face of Colonel Hetherill peeping over the brink at me. "Ah, it's young West, the Yankee spy," he said. "I'm young West, I'll admit, but I'm no Yankee spy," I replied. "I insist that you are a Yankee spy," he said, in an infernally calm and convincing manner. "What proof can you give that you are not?" "Colonel," I cried, and I'm sure that my tone was convincing, "for heaven's sake drop that Yankee spy business and get me out of this." "Sir," he said, very stiffly, "I have accused you of being a Yankee spy, and I will compel you to admit that you are a Yankee spy." "Colonel," I shouted, "my arms are growing tired, and so are my toes, and it is at least two hundred feet to the bottom." "Sir," he said, still very stiff and[200] haughty, "I despise falsehoods, and so do all Southern gentlemen. You are a Yankee spy, and you still have the face to deny it." "Pull me up colonel," I cried. "I'm getting awful tired." "Are you not a Yankee spy?" he asked. I thought I felt some of the muscles in my arms cracking. The time to despise trifles had arrived. "Yes, colonel," I said, "I'll admit that I'm a Yankee spy or anything else you want to charge against me." "Good enough," he said. "Now when I let my coat down, grip it with your right hand, and hold on as if you had grown to it." He pulled off his Confederate overcoat, curved his left arm around a jutting rock, and with his right hand lowered the coat to me. I embedded my right hand in the gray garment, and, grasping with the other at the short shrubs, tried to[201] scramble up. I did get about half-way, but as I could find no more crevices for my toes, I hung there, limp and exhausted. "I can't do it, colonel," I gasped. "You must," he said. He tried to draw me up, but I was too heavy a weight for a single arm. He was half over the gulf himself, but his left arm was wound like a cable around the rock. His face was red as a beet and his breath was short, but he showed no inclination to let go. "You can't do it, colonel," I gasped. "Save yourself! No need for both of us to drop." "What sort of a man do you take me to be?" he asked, indignantly. He breathed hard and made a great effort to pull me up. A flake of blood appeared on his temple. I was raised up about a foot and got a new grip on some of the shrubs, but there I stopped. I could not lift myself up any farther, nor could the colonel lift me. [202] I could hear men plunging through the snow in their haste; so my shouts had been heard by more than the colonel. I put my voice to its best uses again. The colonel said nothing, but how he hung on to that old army overcoat! The men had begun to shout, and I never ceased, wanting them to make sure of the direction. Weather-seamed faces looked over the brink. Two or three pairs of hands grasped the overcoat and pulled me up. Somebody else seized the colonel, and I have but a hazy idea of the next five minutes. A man who has been hanging at the verge of death gets tired in both brain and muscle, and I needed rest. When things came around all right again, I was sitting up on the snow and drinking out of a brown bottle. The colonel was lying on that blessed overcoat, his head in his daughter's lap and his face quite pale. They were binding a white cloth around his temples. [203] "What's the matter?" I asked, weakly. "An old wound on his head has broken," replied one of the men, in a low voice. "I'm afraid he's in a pretty bad way." I put down the brown bottle which had comforted me, and I saw that the colonel in fact was in a bad way. He was unconscious, and his breathing was weak. He seemed to have collapsed after a season of fever and excitement followed by the great physical strain put upon him by the attempted rescue of me. I was struck with remorse. My arrival at Fort Defiance had caused all this trouble. Yet my going there was an accident, not a matter that I could have helped. I sent one of the men after Dr. Ambrose, pointing out the direction in which he had gone, and urging the man to make all haste. Then we lifted the colonel and carried him to the hut, where with overcoats and blankets we fixed up[204] a warm bed for him and did what else we could until the doctor came, which was not till late. "He has about an even chance, Miss Hetherill," said the doctor, after he had made his examination. "The odds might be his if I had here all that I need, but this is no hospital. I think it is best to tell you the exact truth." I thought so too. There are women and women; some are brave and some are not; I like the brave ones best. She became chief nurse at once. Lucky it is for a man, ill in such a place, to have a woman's care. I, still feeling remorse, although my reason told me I was not at fault, helped all I could. The snow ceased, and toward evening the colonel grew stronger. Dr. Ambrose had managed to close up the reopened wound and stop the bleeding, but a burning fever came over him and he began to talk very wildly. Then I saw how the things on which a man's mind is centred[205] when he wakes come out again in sleep or delirium. His talk was all of the war and the old battles, which he was fighting as if he rode and charged in them again. I, who loved the Union, could not help feeling a deep sympathy for him, he seemed to have taken the matter so much to heart. When he rambled on to the end of the war,—that is, the end according to history,—and repeated again and again his declaration to stand out forever, I was touched, and touched very deeply. Some one brought him the news that Lee was dead. "I will not believe it," he cried, in his delirium. "It's a lie. He is living, and he will lead us again." He rose suddenly, and, fixing his fever-filled eyes upon me, demanded of me to bear witness that it was a lie. "Yes, colonel," I said, as soothingly as I could, "it's a lie: the general is living, and he is your commander still." [206] I think I will get forgiveness for my own lie. After a while he sank into something which resembled sleep more and delirium less, and was quiet. Miss Hetherill stepped to the little door for air. Only she and I were there. "Miss Hetherill," I said, reproaching myself, "how you must blame me for bringing all this grief upon you and yours!" "You could not help it," she said, very gently, "and perhaps, as I told you before, it may be for the best, after all. A rough cure may be the best cure." Dr. Ambrose came up then and insisted that we should take rest while others watched. We fenced off a corner of the camp for Grace. I sought my own place, and was soon sound asleep. In the morning I found the colonel in delirium again, though not so violent as he had been in the early part of the night. He was talking about me. I[207] seemed to weigh upon his conscience, as he had weighed upon mine. He had never meant to do it, he said. He would not have executed me, though he still seemed to think that his military duty commanded it. At any rate, he was apologizing to me in his sleep, when a man's talk speaks his thoughts and no falsehoods or evasions. "How could I execute him?" he said. "And we slept under the same blanket, too." The second attack of delirium did not last long, and Dr. Ambrose then said that the patient's progress was good: if we could only get him back to Fort Defiance he would guarantee his recovery. The snow had ceased and the clouds had gone, leaving a cheerful sun shining on a white wilderness. We decided to undertake the journey to Fort Defiance, and our preparations were brief. We had sufficient skill and material to make[208] a rude litter for the colonel, and we lifted him gently into it. Then we gathered up our baggage and set out, four men carrying the litter and relieved at brief intervals by the other sets. We had to trample a way through the deep snow, and there was plenty of hard work for us, but we became a cheerful little army. The colonel was asleep in his litter and seemed to be growing steadily better; the doctor reported that his pulse was stronger and his fever was departing. Grace passed from sadness into cheerfulness, almost gayety. I called her our vivandiere: she replied she was proud of the place. "You heard what my father said about you in his delirium?" she said, when we became the last two of the procession. "He would not have executed you." "Colonel Hetherill is a fine man, and he has my gratitude," I replied, not liking to see her under the necessity of excusing him. "He saved my life a[209] second time. If it hadn't been for him, I'd now be a very cold corpse at the bottom of a two-hundred-foot precipice, under about fifteen feet of snow." "That would have been a chilly tomb," she said, gayly; "but it was not for you, and we are all thankful." The weather, it seemed, wished to make some amends for its previous wickedness. The sun was bright and the air fresh and full of tonic. Only the snow stood in our way. But we made good progress in spite of it. At night we devised another rude camp, and took plenty of sleep. The colonel continued to improve, and his head became quite clear again. He talked a little, but in a weak tone, and the doctor ordered him to be silent for his own good. He obeyed like a little child. In fact, his change in manner and appearance was very striking. He was no longer the haughty, high-tempered colonel. He was crushed and forlorn. All the spirit[210] seemed to have gone out of him. It was most pitiful. I felt sorrier than ever for him, for I knew he looked upon himself as a defeated man. We caught the first glimpse of Fort Defiance that afternoon. I saw the comb of its roof shining like a great white sword-blade in the sun. The valley, like the mountains, was in garments of white, but the sight of the houses and fields, under snow though they were, warmed the heart after the weary tramp among the clefts and peaks. We descended the slopes and entered the valley. It was my turn to be one of the four at the colonel's litter. As we swung along at a good pace, I noticed suddenly that the old man had put his hands to his face and a tear was dropping between two fingers. I was silent for a while from respect, but, as he did not take his hands away, I asked at last, though as quietly as I could,— [211] "What is the matter, colonel? Do you feel worse?" He took his hands away, and his face was like that of a dead man. "Not worse in body, Mr. West," he replied, "but worse, much worse, in mind. I have failed in everything, and through the treachery of my own people. You have corrupted them all. Even my own daughter has turned against me. I am going to Fort Defiance, which was our last stronghold, a prisoner." "Colonel," said I, "what are you thinking about? What are you dreaming of? You a prisoner! Fort Defiance betrayed! Look yonder!" We were near the fort now, and I pointed to the Confederate flag, that waved over it, folding and unfolding in the clear frosty breeze. The colonel looked, and his face changed in a moment from death to life. The blood flowed into his cheeks; his eyes sparkled like a soldier's eager for battle. [212] "Why, what does that mean?" he exclaimed. "Mean?" I said. "It means that you've been dreaming, or you wouldn't talk about being betrayed, a prisoner. What made you rush off in such haste? Dr. Ambrose's suggestion of surrender was a sudden thought, of which he has repented. Fort Defiance is as loyal to you as ever. You are its absolute commander. I am the prisoner, not you." Dr. Ambrose had been walking by the litter. The colonel beckoned to him. "Is this so, Dr. Ambrose?" he asked. "Is what Mr. West tells me true? Am I still master of my own?" "Certainly: how could it be otherwise," replied the doctor, with great emphasis. "What are your orders, colonel?" "Tell one of the men," he said, in a voice very firm despite his physical weakness, "to go on ahead to the fort,[213] and direct those who are there to salute us as we approach. Mr. West, you are my prisoner, but there are certain circumstances in your favor which I will consider. You shall have the liberty of the fort and valley, if you pledge your word not to attempt to escape for the present." "With pleasure, colonel," I said; "and I thank you for your kindness." "Grace," he said to his daughter, "remember that while Mr. West is our prisoner he is to be treated as our guest. See to it, for I am afraid this unfortunate illness will interfere somewhat with my duties as host." "I will do my best," she said. We proceeded at a deliberate pace across the plain. As we came close to the fort, the little brass cannon boomed again and again. The drawbridge was down, and the men whom we left at the fort were drawn up at parade in their best uniforms on either side of the[214] bridge-head. They saluted as the colonel rode proudly and triumphantly between their lines in his litter. He looked up at the flag which he loved so well, took off his hat, his face flushing with pride, and thus we carried him into the fort. <hr class="chap" /> [215] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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