Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1954 Read Free

           At
once Grimes came racing across the yard, a dark hat
pulled low above his bearded face and his right hand hoisting a heavy
carpetbag. He joined Barry, and they headed along the alley. At the street
beyond, Grimes’ free hand caught Barry’s arm and pulled him to a stop.
                 “You
know these folks who want to scoop me up,” he said. “Slide on across, but be
dead sure none of them are in sight. Then signal again from the other side.”
                 From
across the street, Barry again mopped his face to tell Grimes that all was
safe. Again Grimes hurried after him with the bag. Thus they went the length of
two alleys, then emerged to walk together along a side
street with thick-boughed shade trees.
                 “There’s
Mr. Talliver’s house up ahead,” volunteered Barry, pointing to where, on the
opposite corner, stood a pleasant, two-story frame house.
                 “Good.”
Grimes drew himself and his bag between two close-growing trees. From his
pocket he fished a pencil and a scrap of paper, and scribbled hurriedly.
                  “One more favor,” he said. “Give this
to Mr. Talliver. He’ll hitch up my buggy. Then drive it back here, to this
point. Will you do that?”
                 “I’ll
be proud to, Captain.”
                 Barry
went on alone, and knocked at the door. Grim, gaunt Mr. Talliver answered his
knock, read the note, and let him in.
                 “I
reckon the cap’n hasn’t any time to waste,” he grunted. “Come out to the stable
and help me hitch up for him.”
                 It
was quickly done. Captain Grimes’ buggy looked shabby—perhaps on purpose, to
attract less attention—but it was built along trim, easy-running lines, and the
bay horse looked swift and steady. As Barry climbed in and took the reins, he
saw that there were numerous bags and packages on the buggy floor. He spoke
softly to the bay and rolled out into the street.
                 At
that moment Barry felt as though every Union soldier and Union sympathizer in Missouri must be drawing close around him, but the
street was quiet. Only two rigs and a few pedestrians moved. He walked the bay
horse along to the point where he had left Grimes.
                 “Don’t
stop,” cautioned a low voice, and from between the two trees sprang the mail
runner, hurling the carpetbag into the buggy, then springing in after it and
taking the reins from Barry. Grimes turned them right at the next corner and
quickened the bay’s speed toward the edge of town.
                 “I’ll
drop you at the next corner—” he began.
                 “Halt!”
rang a clear voice behind them.
                 Grimes
whistled sharply, and the buggy leaped forward as the bay broke into a swift
trot. Looking back, Barry saw a horseman following. He recognized the sturdy
figure in blue.
                 “It’s
Corporal Karl Batz,” he said.
                 “Drive,
fast,” commanded Grimes, and thrust the reins back into Barry’s hands. He
himself turned halfway around on the seat, his two hands sliding inside his
coat. Barry headed them past a row of new houses that marked the edge of town.
                 “Halt!”
cried Karl again, but Barry snatched the buggy whip and lashed the bay to
greater speed. Beyond showed fields, and a wagon road leading westward.
                 “Pull
up a trifle,” came Grimes’ soft voice.
                 As
Barry did so, Karl Batz galloped alongside. His right hand poised a big dragoon
revolver, muzzle in air.
                  “Who are you?” Karl was yelling. “Why
didn’t you stop when— ”
                 A
shot cracked suddenly, and Karl gave a gasping cry. Barry almost jumped out of
the seat and glanced around, his heart sick.