AN OLD FRIEND TURNS UP.
The long, toilsome journey was completed at last, and late one afternoon
the weary and footsore recruits found themselves drawn up in line on the
parade-ground at Fort Lamoine. After the roll had been called and the
colonel commanding the post had hurriedly inspected them, they were
turned over to a sergeant, who marched them into the barracks. There
they found about two hundred or more soldiers, who, as soon as the order
was given to "break ranks," crowded about them inquiring for late papers
and asking a thousand and one questions in regard to what was going on
in the States.
Learning from the sergeant that no duty would be required of him that
day, Bob spread his blankets in one of the empty bunks, and, stretching
himself upon them, placed his hands under his head and looked about him
with no little curiosity. Presently a young trooper, a boy about his
own age, who looked as though he were just recovering from a long siege
of sickness, approached, and, seating himself on the edge of Bob's bunk,
began a conversation with him. Those of our readers who have met this
boy before in citizen's dress might have seen something familiar about
him, but still it is doubtful if they would have recognized in
him--Well, we will let him reveal his identity. After a few commonplace
remarks Bob inquired, as he nodded his head toward a soldier who was
hobbling about the room with the aid of a crutch,
"What's the matter with that man?"
"Raiders," was the sententious reply.
"Been in a fight?" asked Bob.
The young soldier nodded his head.
"How long since?"
"Last full moon."
"I hope these fights don't occur very often."
"Well, they do--much oftener than I wish they did. I have been in two
pretty hard ones, and that's enough for me. I suppose we shall have more
of them now, for I understand that we have received orders to follow the
raiders across the river and thrash them wherever they can be found."
"Were you wounded in one of those fights?" asked Bob. "Then you must be
sick," he added when the boy shook his head.
"Yes, I am sick," was the reply--"homesick and sick at heart. I have
been in the army nearly two years and a half, and I don't see how I can
live to serve out the rest of my time. I am dying by inches."
"What did you come into the army for, anyhow?"
"Because I was a fool," answered the young soldier bitterly.
"Shake," exclaimed Bob, extending his hand; "I came in for the same
reason."
"Did your parents give their consent?" asked his new acquaintance.
"No, they didn't. They live in Mississippi, and don't know anything
about it."
Bob's long tramp had taken a good deal of spirit out of him, and somehow
he could not muster up energy enough to tell any more falsehoods
concerning himself.
"My parents live in Ohio," said the soldier.
"Then how in the world did you happen to stray down here to Texas?"
asked Bob.
"I ran away from home."
"Shake," said Bob, again extending his hand; "that's just what I did."
The two runaways shook each other's hands in the most cordial manner,
and instantly all reserve between them vanished. They were companions in
misery and united by a bond of sympathy. The young soldier at once
became very communicative. He had closely guarded his secret for more
than two years, because there was not one among the rough men by whom he
was surrounded who could understand or appreciate his feelings. But here
was one who could sympathize with him, and it was a great relief to him
to know that he could speak freely and run no risk of being laughed at
for his weakness.
"My name is Gus Robbins," said he, moving up a little closer to Bob and
speaking in a low, confidential tone. "I had as good a home as any boy
need wish for, but I wasn't contented there; still, I don't believe that
I ever should have left it as I did if circumstances had not smoothed
the way for me. My father is the senior partner in the largest dry-goods
store in Foxboro', and he had in his employ two persons, father and son,
who are in a great measure responsible for all the trouble I have got
into. The buy was a clerk like myself, and his father was our
bookkeeper. They had a very wealthy relative, a rancheman, living here
in Texas, and when that relative died it was found that he had willed
his property to our bookkeeper, to be held in trust for his (the
rancheman's) son. They came to Texas to take charge of the estate, and
after a while I received a letter from Ned (that was the boy's name)
inviting me to pay him a visit. As he sent me money enough to bear the
expenses of the journey, I came; and I am very sorry for it. We got
ourselves into trouble by shooting some cattle that had broken into
Ned's wheat-field, and had to dig out for Brownsville at a gallop. Ned
went squarely back on me, and as I had no money to pay my way home, and
hadn't the cheek to ask my father for it, I did what I thought to be the
next best thing--I enlisted. I am very sorry for that too, for there was
where I made my mistake. I ought to have gone back into the country and
hired out to some stock-raiser. Then I could have gone home as soon as I
had earned and saved money enough to take me there; but now I must stay
my time out; that is, unless--"
Gus paused and looked at Bob. The latter understood him. Here was
another fellow who had made up his mind to desert at the first
opportunity.
"Don't do that," said Bob, earnestly. "You'll only get yourself into
trouble if you attempt it."
"I don't care if I am shot for it. I'll make a break for liberty the
very first good chance I get."
The tone in which these words were uttered satisfied Bob that it would
be of no use whatever to argue the matter. It was plain that Gus had
made up his mind after mature deliberation, and that he was not to be
easily turned from his purpose.
"Where did your friend Ned go after you reached Brownsville?" asked Bob,
who was much interested in the young soldier's story.
"I don't know; I left him at the hotel. He will come to some bad end,
and so will his father, for they are both rascals. The property of which
they have charge, and which brings in a big fortune every year,
rightfully belongs to George Ackerman, Ned's cousin; but Ned and his
father--"
"George Ackerman?" exclaimed Bob, starting up in his bunk.
Gus nodded his head, and looked at the recruit in great surprise.
"Is he a cub pilot?" continued the latter.
"'A cub pilot'?" repeated Gus. "No, he's a herdsman, or I ought rather
to say he _was_ a herdsman. He had stock of his own worth six thousand
dollars. Where he is now I don't know, for on the morning after we left
his ranche, while we were camped in the edge of the timber making up for
the sleep we had lost the night before, we were surprised by a couple of
Greasers, who made a prisoner of George and carried him across the river
into Mexico. I don't know what they did with him, for all George could
induce them to say was that 'Fletcher wanted to see him.'"
"It's the same fellow," exclaimed Bob, rising from his blanket and
seating himself on the edge of the bunk by his companion's side. "He
told me all about it, but his story was so very remarkable that I didn't
know whether to believe it or not. He gave those Greasers the slip,
secured a berth as cub pilot on a Mississippi River steamer, and that
was where I found him."
With this introduction Bob went on to tell how he had saved George from
going to the bottom when Uncle John Ackerman pushed him overboard from
the Sam Kendall; related all the thrilling incidents connected with the
burning of the steamer; described how Uncle John had tried to separate
them in New Orleans; in short, he gave a truthful account of his
intercourse with the cub pilot up to the time he deserted him in
Galveston. Bob was heartily ashamed of that now, and could not bear to
speak of it.
"I became separated from him in some way--it is very easy to lose a
companion in the crowded streets of a city, you know--and that was the
last I saw of him," said Bob in conclusion; and when he told this he
forgot that he had afterward seen George go into a hotel accompanied by
Mr. Gilbert. "Then I didn't know what to do. I had no money; I was
hungry and sleepy, utterly discouraged; and, like you, I sought to end
my troubles by enlisting. I see now that I made a great mistake, but I
am going to serve faithfully during my term of enlistment, if I live. Is
George's ranche far from here?"
"I don't know, for I am not much acquainted with the country east of
here, never having scouted in that direction. It is about one hundred
and fifty miles from Palos, if you know where that is. As you are
George's friend, I am sorry that you enlisted, for I know that you are
going to have a hard time of it; but since you _did_ enlist, I am glad
you were ordered to this post, for misery loves company, you know. Let's
walk out on the parade, where we can talk without danger of being
overheard. Perhaps you would like to take a look at the place which will
always be associated in your mind with the most unhappy days of your
existence."
It was plain that Gus took a very gloomy view of things, and of course
his discouraging remarks made an impression upon Bob, although they did
not take away the interest he felt in his surroundings. Everything was
new to him, and he asked a great many questions as he and Gus walked
slowly around the parade toward the stables.
Fort Lamoine was situated on a high, rocky eminence which overlooked the
surrounding country for half a dozen miles or more in every direction.
The stockade, which enclosed about two acres of ground, was built of
upright logs deeply sunk in the earth. The tops were sawed off level,
and a heavy plate of timber, through which stout wooden pins had been
driven into the end of each log, held them firmly in their place. The
officers' quarters, barracks, store-houses and stables were built in
the same manner. On the outside of the parade were long rows of stately
cottonwood trees, interspersed with shrubs and flowers. In one corner,
on the right-hand side of the principal gate, was the well that supplied
the garrison with water, and in the other was the flagstaff, from which
floated the Stars and Stripes.
"Emblem of liberty!" said Gus with a sneer as he pointed up at the
flag--"emblem of tyranny, rather."
"What do you mean by that?" demanded Bob quickly.
"Oh, you will find out before you have been here long," replied Gus,
shaking his head and looking very wise. "A bigger lot of tyrants than
the officers who command us were never crowded into any one post."
"Perhaps you don't do your duty as well as you might?" mildly suggested
Bob.
"I know I don't. I do no more than I am obliged to do, I tell you, and
for the simple reason that I didn't enlist to act as lackey to a lot of
shoulder-straps. I am just as good as they are, but they say I am not.
Why, the last time the paymaster was here his little snipe of a clerk
remarked in my hearing that enlisted men were nothing more than servants
to the officers. What do you think of that?"
Bob did not know what to think of it, so he said nothing in reply. He
simply resolved that he would not pass judgment upon his superiors until
he had had some experience with them himself.
"This is by no means the gloomy place that I expected to find it," said
Bob as he and Gus resumed their walk.
"Oh, the fort itself is good enough," replied Gus; "it's the people who
live in it that I object to. If one could pick his own company, and
could do as he pleased, he might manage to live here for a few years
very comfortably; but we have to associate with some rough characters
there in the barracks, and the officers hold us with our noses close to
the grindstone all the time. They look upon a private as little better
than a dog, and they'll slap him into the guard-house on the slightest
provocation. Now, this is one of the stables; it will accommodate
seventy horses. Those you see in here are blooded animals, and they
belong to the officers. The government horses are always picketed
outside, except when there is danger of a visit from the raiders, and
then they are brought in for safe-keeping. Now, take a good look at the
stable, and then come out and take another look at the stockade. Every
night there are two sentries placed over this stable--one at the front,
and the other at the rear, between the stable and the stockade--and a
guard sleeps inside. Would you believe that, after all these
precautions, it would be possible for anybody to come into the fort and
steal a horse?"
Bob said he would not.
"Well, it was done not more than two weeks ago," continued Gus. "One
stormy night these two logs were removed from the stockade, and four of
the best horses in the stable were run off. It must have taken hours to
do the work, and although the sentries were changed while it was going
on, no one knew that a theft had been committed until the next morning."
"Who did it?" inquired Bob.
"A couple of Comanches, who were surprised and killed by the squad that
was sent in pursuit of them. The Comanches are acknowledged, even by the
Indians themselves, to be the most expert horse-thieves on the Plains.
Why, one night, when a scouting-party to which I was attached were in
camp and fast asleep, a Comanche crept up and stole the lieutenant's
horse; and in order to do it he had to cut the lariat that was tied to
the officer's wrist. He got away with the horse, and never awoke one of
us."
Gus Robbins had accumulated an almost inexhaustible fund of such
anecdotes as these during his two and a half years of army-life, and he
related a good many of them to Bob while they were walking about the
fort examining the different objects of interest. From some of them Bob
gained a faint idea of what might be in store for himself.
The next morning the newly-arrived recruits were formed into an awkward
squad and turned over to the tender mercies of a grizzly old sergeant,
who proved to be anything but an agreeable and patient instructor. He
drilled them for four hours without allowing them a single moment's
rest, abusing them roundly for every mistake they made; and when at last
he marched them to their quarters, it was only that they might eat their
dinner and take half an hour's breathing-spell preparatory to going
through the same course of sprouts again in the afternoon. This routine
was followed day after day until the members of the awkward squad were
declared to be sufficiently drilled to warrant their appearance on
dress-parade. After that they were assigned to the different troops (or
companies) that stood the most in need of men, Bob, to his delight,
finding himself in the same troop to which his new friend, Gus Robbins,
belonged. But even then their troubles did not cease. Instead of
drilling eight hours each day, they drilled six, and were obliged to do
guard-duty besides. Among the three hundred and eighty men who composed
the garrison there were not a few old soldiers who hated this hard work
as cordially as some of the new-comers did, and there was a good deal of
grumbling among them; but Bob Owens never uttered a word of complaint.
Firmly adhering to the resolution he had made when he first enlisted, he
set himself to work to learn just what was required of him, and when he
found out what his duty was, he did it cheerfully and faithfully. He was
always on hand when he was wanted, his equipments were always ready for
inspection, and his horse shone like satin. When his own steed had been
fed and groomed, he turned his attention to the horse belonging to the
lieutenant who commanded the troop to which he belonged, and thereby
aroused the indignation of some of his brother-soldiers.
"What are you doing that for?" demanded Gus Robbins one day as he and
Bristow entered the stable and found Bob busy at work grooming the
lieutenant's horse. "You are in pretty business, I must say!"
"Yes, I rather like it," answered Bob. "I always liked to work about
horses, and I am doing this because I haven't anything else to do just
now."
"Well, I wouldn't do it any more if I were in your place," continued
Gus. "The law expressly prohibits an officer from compelling, or even
hiring, an enlisted man to do his dirty work."
"It does, does it?" exclaimed Bob. "Didn't you tell me when I just came
here that enlisted men were nothing but servants to their officers?"
"I didn't mean that, exactly," stammered Gus. "What I _did_ mean was,
that they don't treat us like human beings. If an officer wants a
servant, he must hire a civilian and pay him out of his own pocket;
that's what the law says."
"I am aware of that fact; but the law doesn't say that I shall not groom
the lieutenant's horse if I choose to do it of my own free will, does
it?"
"Let the toady alone, Robbins," said Bristow angrily. "The troop hasn't
got all the non-coms that it is entitled to, and Owens is working for
chevrons. You know the lieutenant said the other day that there were
four corporals' and two duty sergeants' warrants waiting for those who
were willing to win them; and this is the way Owens is going to work to
get one of them."
Bob straightened up, looked sharply at Bristow for a moment, and then
drew back the brush he held in his hand, as if he had half a mind to
throw it at his head.
"That's what all the boys say, Bob," observed Gus. "If you want to keep
on the right side of the privates, you must not try to curry favor with
the officers."
"If you want a non-com's warrant, why don't you wait until you get a
chance to win it in battle?" added Bristow. "That's what I intend to do,
and I shall think much more of a promotion earned in that way than I
should of one I had gained by cleaning an officer's horse."
"Look here, fellows," said Bob earnestly: "I don't do this work for the
lieutenant because I hope to gain anything by it. I do it simply to pass
away the time, for I can't see any fun in loafing about the quarters
doing nothing. If the boys don't like it, let's see them help
themselves."
"If the lieutenant was a decent man, I wouldn't say a word," answered
Bristow. "But he is so mean that I wouldn't turn my hand over to save
his life."
"Anybody with half an eye could see what is the matter with you,"
retorted Bob. "You have been in the guard-house about half the time
since you have been here, and spent the other half in doing extra duty;
and that's the reason you don't like the lieutenant. If you will wake up
and attend to business, he will treat you well enough."
Bob's prompt and soldier-like way of performing the work that was
required of him very soon attracted the attention of Lieutenant Earle
(that was the name of the officer in command of the troop to which Bob
belonged), and he took his own way to reward him for it. If he was
ordered off on a scout, Bob Owens was always one of the "picked men" who
accompanied him. If he was sent out with a squad during the full of the
moon to watch the ford a few miles below the fort, Bob was one of the
members of that squad. This did not excite the jealousy of the good
soldiers, for they were always glad to have a brave comrade to back them
up in times of danger, no matter whether he was a greenhorn or a
veteran; but the grumblers and the discontented ones, especially those
who belonged to his own troop, had a good deal to say about it, and
declared that the lieutenant took Bob with him on his expeditions to pay
him for grooming his horse. They disliked him cordially, and it was not
long before an incident happened that caused the dislike of at least one
of them to grow into positive hatred.
One pleasant afternoon some of the men received permission to go outside
the gates for a short stroll. They wandered off in squads, some going
one way and some another, and Bristow and two companions--one of whom
was Gus Robbins--bent their steps toward the crumbling remains of an old
adobe outpost which marked the spot where more than one desperate fight
with the Apaches had taken place in the days gone by. There they seated
themselves and entered into conversation, Bristow's first words
indicating that they were about to discuss a subject that had before
occupied their attention.
"I tell you, Robbins," said he, "if you are in earnest in what you say,
now is the time to prove it."
"I certainly am in earnest," answered Gus; "but, to tell you the honest
truth, I am afraid."
"'Afraid'!" repeated Bristow in a tone of contempt. "What in the world
are you afraid of?"
"Of pursuit," replied Gus. "If we resist, we run the risk of being shot;
and if we are captured, we stand an excellent chance of going to
prison."
"Now, Robbins," said Bristow earnestly, "let me once more explain our
arrangements to you, and you will see that we do not risk anything. In
the first place, the horses are left picketed outside the stockade every
night. They are never brought in, as you know, unless there is danger of
a visit from the raiders. Four of the six men who are to act as
horse-guards to-night belong to our party. When the time for action
arrives, these four men will go to work on the other two and try to
induce them to accompany us. If they don't succeed, they'll bind and gag
them, and so put it out of their power to give the alarm. The sentry who
will be on duty between the stable and the stockade is also one of us,
and of course he will raise no objection when we slip out of the
quarters, one by one, and climb the stockade. As fast as we get over we
will select our horses--I've got mine picked out, and I could put my
hand on him in the darkest of nights--and when the last one has made his
escape we'll mount and put off. Of course we hope to escape by running,
but if we can't do that, we shall turn at bay and make a fight of it. We
have all sworn to stand by one another to the last, and thirty
determined, well-armed men can make things lively for a while, I tell
you."
Bristow continued to talk in this strain for half an hour, his companion
now and then putting in a word to assist him; and he talked to such good
purpose that Gus Robbins finally consented to make one of the large
party that was to desert the post that very night. Bristow then gave him
the names of the other members--there were several non-commissioned
officers among them--and after urging him to be very careful of himself,
and to say and do nothing that might arouse the suspicions of
"outsiders," the three got upon their feet and walked toward the fort.
They had scarcely left the ruins when a fatigue-cap arose from behind a
pile of rubbish scarcely a dozen feet from the place where the three
conspirators had been sitting, and a pair of eyes looking out from under
the peak of that cap watched them as they moved away.