THE NIGHT RIDE


By five o'clock we were safe at Colchester, and while our horses rested
and refreshed themselves on some confiscated grain, the two of us lay
lazily back on a grassy knoll, well within the shadow of a ruined wall,
and watched the round, red sun drop slowly down behind those western
hills we had to climb.

We scarcely spoke regarding the work we knew was ahead, except to
discuss briefly the better route to be selected for our hard night's
ride. We were both old campaigners, inured by years of discipline to
danger and obedience. This special duty, however arduous and desperate
it might prove to be, was silently accepted as part of the service we
owed the State. Reckless and hardened as I know Craig to have been, I
have no doubt he reflected upon Lee and his kindly words and was
touched and softened by their memory, as he lay there stretched at full
length on the grass, his pipe glowing cheerily between his lips. But if
so, his thoughts remained unuttered, nor did I feel inclined to dwell
upon the theme; and so, in the strength of a simple comradeship which
could remain silent, we waited patiently for the night to close us in.

As early as we deemed it safe to venture, we were again in saddle,
riding now straight to the westward, along the smooth-beaten pike,
until we caught sight of the black shadow of Colton Church in our
front; then we swerved to the left, and still moving rapidly but with
considerate care for the horses, headed directly across the more broken
country toward the foot-hills.