ROLLO THE TERROR
On the evening when Ridge decided to take his departure for the seat of
war he was driven into the city by his father, who set him down near the
armory of the regiment in which he had been offered a lieutenant's
commission--for a consideration.
"I don't want you to tell me where you are going, son," said Mr. Norris,
"for I would rather be able to say, with a clear conscience, that I left
you at headquarters, and beyond that know nothing of your movements."
"All right, father," replied the young fellow. "I won't tell you a thing
about it, for I don't know where I am going any more than you do."
"Then good-bye, my boy, and may Almighty God restore you to us safe and
well when the war is over. Here is the money you asked for, and I only
wish I were able to give you ten times the sum. Be careful of it, and
don't spend it recklessly, for you must remember that we are poor folk
now."
Thus saying, the elder man slipped a roll of crisp bills into his son's
hand, kissed him on the cheek, a thing he had not done before in a dozen
years, and, without trusting his voice for another word, drove rapidly
away.
For a minute Ridge stood in the shadow of the massive building, listening
with a full heart to the rattle of departing wheels. Then he stooped to
pick up the hand-bag, which was all the luggage he proposed to take with
him. As he did so, two men brushed past him, and he overheard one of
them say:
"Yes, old Norris was bought cheap. A second-lieutenancy for his cub
fixed him. The berth'll soon be vacant again though, for the boy hasn't
sand enough to--"
Here the voice of the speaker was lost as the two turned into the armory.
"Thanks for your opinion, Major Dodley," murmured Ridge; "that cheap
berth will be vacant sooner than you think."
Then, picking up his "grip," the young fellow walked rapidly away towards
the railway station. He was clad in a blue flannel shirt, brown canvas
coat, trousers, and leggings, and wore a brown felt hat, the combination
making up a costume almost identical with that decided upon as a Cuban
campaign uniform for the United States army. Ridge had provided himself
with it in order to save the carrying of useless luggage. In his "grip"
he had an extra shirt, two changes of under-flannels, several pairs of
socks, a pair of stout walking-shoes, and a few toilet articles, all of
which could easily be stowed in an army haversack.
Our hero's vaguely formed plan, as he neared the station, was to take the
first east-bound train and make his way to one of the great camps of
mobilization, either at Chickamauga, Georgia, or Tampa, Florida, where he
hoped to find some regiment in which he could conscientiously enlist. A
train from the North had just reached the station as he entered it; but,
to his disgust, he found that several hours must elapse before one would
be ready to bear him eastward.
He was too excited to wait patiently, but wandered restlessly up and down
the long platform. All at once there came to his ears the sound of a
familiar voice, and, turning, he saw, advancing towards him, in the full
glare of an electric light, three men, all young and evidently in high
spirits. One, thin, brown, and wiry, was dressed as a cowboy of the
Western plains. Another, who was a giant in stature, wore a golf suit of
gray tweed; while the third, of boyish aspect, whom Ridge recognized as
the son of a well-known New York millionaire, was clad in brown canvas
much after his own style, though he also wore a prodigious revolver and a
belt full of cartridges.
He was Roland Van Kyp, called "Rollo" for short, one of the most
persistent and luxurious of globe-trotters, who generally travelled in
his own magnificent steam-yacht _Royal Flush_, on board of which he had
entertained princes and the cream of foreign nobility without number.
Everybody knew Van Kyp, and everybody liked him; he was such a genial
soul, ever ready to bother himself over some other fellow's trouble, but
never intimating that he had any of his own; reckless, generous,
happy-go-lucky, always getting into scrapes and out of them with equal
facility. To his more intimate friends he had been variously known as
"Rollo Abroad," "Rollo in Love," "Rollo in Search of a Wife," or "Rollo
at Play," and when Ridge became acquainted with him in Yokohama he was
"Rollo in Japan."
He now recognized our hero at a glance, and sprang forward with
outstretched hand.
"Hello, Norris, my dear boy!" he cried. "Whatever brings you here?
Thought you were still far away in the misty Orient, doing the grand
among the little brown Japs, while here you are in flannel and canvas as
though you were a major-general in the regular army. What does it mean?
Are you one of us? Have you too become a man of war, a fire-eater, a
target for Mausers? Have you enlisted under the banner of the screaming
eagle?"
"Not yet," laughed Ridge, "but I am on my way East to do so in the first
regiment uncontaminated by politics that I can find."
"Then, old man, you don't want to go East. You want to come West with
us. There is but one regiment such as you have named, and it is mine;
for, behold! I am now Rollo in the Army, Rollo the Rough Rider, Rollo
the Terror. Perhaps it would be more becoming, though, to say 'Ours,'
for we are all in it."
"I should rather imagine that it would," growled he of the golf
stockings, now joining in the conversation. "And, 'Rollo in Disguise,'
suppose you present us to your friend; for, if I am not mistaken, he is a
gentleman of whom I have heard and would like much to meet."
"Of course you would," responded Rollo, "and I beg your pardon for not
having introduced you at once; but in times of war, you know, one is apt
to neglect the amenities of a more peaceful existence. Mr. Norris, allow
me to present my friend and pupil in the art of football-playing--"
"Oh, come off," laughed the big man.
"Pupil, as I was saying when rudely interrupted," continued Rollo, "Mr.
Mark Gridley."
"Not Gridley, the famous quarter-back!" exclaimed Ridge, holding out his
hand.
"That's him," replied Van Kyp.
"And aren't you Norris, the gentleman rider?" asked Gridley.
"I have ridden," acknowledged Ridge.
"So has this my other friend and fellow-soldier," cried Van Kyp.
"Norris, I want you to know Mr. Silas Pine, of Medora, North Dakota, a
bad man from the Bad Lands, a bronco-buster by profession, who has also
consented to become a terror to Spaniards in my company."
"Have you a company, then?" asked Ridge, after he had acknowledged this
introduction.
"I have--that is, I belong to one; but, in the sense you mean, you must
not use the word company. That is a term common to 'doughboys,' who, as
you doubtless know, are merely uniformed pedestrians; but we of the
cavalry always speak of our immediate fighting coterie as a 'troop.'
Likewise the 'battalion' of the inconsequent doughboy has for our behoof
been supplanted by the more formidable word 'squadron,' to show that we
are _de jure_ as well as _de facto_ men of war. Sabe?"
"Then you are really in the cavalry?" asked Ridge, while laughing at this
nonsense.
"Yes, I really am, or rather I really shall be when I get there; for
though enlisted and sworn in, we haven't yet joined or been sworn at."
"What is your regiment?"
"You mean our 'command.' Why, didn't I tell you? 'Teddy's Terrors,'
Roosevelt's Rough Riders. First Volunteer Cavalry, U.S.A., Colonel
Leonard Wood commanding."
"The very one!" cried Ridge. "Why didn't I think of it before? How I
wish I could join it."
"And why not?"
"I thought there were so many applications that the ranks were more than
full."
"So there may be, but, like lots of other full things, there's always
room for one more, if he's of the right sort."
"Do you imagine I would stand the slightest chance of getting in?"
"I should say you would. With me ready to use my influence in your
behalf, and me and Teddy the chums we are, besides you being the rider
you are. Why the first question Teddy asks of an applicant is 'Can you
ride a horse?' And when you answer, 'Sir, I am the man who wrote--I mean
who won the silver hurdles at the last Yokohama gym.', he'll be so
anxious to have you in the regiment that he'd resign in your favor rather
than lose you. Oh, if I only had your backing do you suppose I'd be a
mere private Terror? No, siree, I'd be corporal or colonel or something
of that kind, sure as you're born. But come on, let's get aboard, for
there's the tinkle-bell a-tinkling."
"I haven't bought my ticket yet," remonstrated Ridge.
"You won't need one, son. We're travelling in my private car
'Terror'--used to be named 'Buster,' you know--and the lay-out is free to
all my friends."
Thus it happened that kindly Fate had interposed to guide our hero's
footsteps, but it was not until he found himself seated in the luxurious
smoking-room of Rollo Van Kyp's private railway carriage that it occurred
to him to inquire whither they were bound.
"To the plains of Texas, my boy, and the city of San Antonio de Bexar,
where Teddy and his Terrors are impatiently awaiting our advent," replied
Rollo. At the same time he touched an electric bell and ordered a
supper, which, when it appeared, proved to be one of the daintiest meals
that Ridge Norris had ever eaten.