THE NEW SCOUT.
"Halt!" cried Bristow again. It was so dark in the passage-way that he
could not see the troopers, but the sound of their footsteps told him
that they were still advancing toward the dug-out. "That's twice," he
continued. "If I have to halt you the third time, I'll send a bullet out
there."
"Bristow, you had better not try that," answered Bob, without the least
tremor in his voice. "You have already done more than you will want to
stand punishment for. Besides, I have got you covered, and if you move
that carbine a hair's breadth you are a gone deserter."
"And I've got the drop on you, Sandy," said Carey, thrusting his cocked
revolver over Bob's shoulder, "so don't wink.--I say, corporal," he
added in a whisper, "I don't see Talbot anywhere."
"Neither do I," answered Bob. "Keep your eyes open, for he may be up to
playing us some trick."
Whether it was the cool determination exhibited by Bob and his men, or
the consciousness that they were in the wrong that took all the fight
out of the deserters, we cannot tell; but they were cowed by something,
and when Corporal Owens and his troopers filed into the dug-out, and the
former sternly commanded them to "throw up," every carbine was dropped
to the ground and five pairs of hands were raised in the air.
"Where's the other?" demanded Bob. "There ought to be six of you."
"Here I am," said a faint voice.
Bob looked in the direction from which the voice came, and saw Talbot
sitting in a dark corner, his carbine lying by his side and both his
hands raised above his head. He wore a handkerchief around his forehead,
and, dim as the light was, Bob could see that it was streaked with
blood.
"Are you badly hurt?" he asked with some anxiety.
"No, he isn't," exclaimed Bristow, before the wounded man could speak.
"A glancing ball cut a little crease in his scalp, and he thinks he is
killed."
"I wish you had this little crease in your own scalp," said Talbot,
looking savagely at Bristow. "If it hadn't been for you I never should
have been here."
"And if it hadn't been for _you_, and a few cowards just like you, we
never should have been captured," retorted Bristow. "We could have held
our own against a squad four times as big as the one Owens has brought
with him; but now--"
"That'll do," interrupted Bob. "I am not going to have any quarrelling
here; and, Bristow, there's a court-martial coming, and you had better
keep a quiet tongue in your head.--Carey, stand in the mouth of that
passage-way.--Phillips, pick up the carbines, and the rest of you sound
them."
These orders were promptly obeyed, and when the "sounding" had been
completed the deserters had not even a pocket-knife left.
"Now, boys," continued Bob, "as you seem to like these quarters so well,
you can stay here to-night--all except you, Talbot; you will come up and
have your wound examined. We didn't come prepared to take care of
injured men, but we will do the best we can for you.--We will get some
supper for you men, and when you feel so inclined you can spread your
blankets on the floor and go to sleep.--Go on, Carey."
At a sign from Bob the troopers followed Carey, who led the way along
the passage; then Talbot fell in, carrying his blanket over his
shoulder, and Bob brought up the rear. The trap-door was shut, and
Talbot was informed that the sleeping-room was to be his prison for the
night. His wound was dressed with some cold coffee that Bob happened to
have in his canteen, and the deserter was assured that there was no
cause for apprehension. The wound, which was scarcely an inch long, was
only skin-deep, but it bled profusely, and that was probably the reason
why Talbot was so badly frightened. When two sentries had been
posted--one at the door of the stable to keep an eye on Talbot, and the
other at the dug-out to see that the deserters who were confined there
did not attempt to work their way out during the night--Bob ordered
supper to be served at once. He had performed a brave act, and now that
the danger was over he began to realize that he had passed through
something of an ordeal. He lifted his cap, and found that his forehead
was covered with great drops of perspiration.
"You have done well," said Carey, extending his hand to Bob when the
latter came out of the sleeping-room. "I didn't know you had so much
pluck. I shall take particular pains to see that the lieutenant hears of
this day's work."
"He will tell you that I did nothing but my duty," replied Bob, who was
very glad to know that his men were satisfied with his conduct.
"But it isn't everybody who is brave enough to do his duty," said Carey
as he touched a match to the light-wood he had piled in the fireplace;
"and perhaps the lieutenant will say that you ought to be a sergeant.
That _was_ Bryant back there in that squatter's cabin, wasn't it? I
looked for him the minute we entered the dug-out."
"So did I," answered Bob, "and I saw at a glance that he wasn't there.
We will attend to him to-morrow."
"But perhaps he won't be there."
"I think he will. It is my opinion that he has hired out to that
squatter, and that he intends to trust to disguise to escape
recognition. A man in citizen's clothes doesn't look much like the same
man in uniform; did you ever notice that? But even if he isn't there,
what odds does it make to us? We are having a good time, and I would
just as soon stay out here on the plains for a week or ten days as to go
back to the fort and drill."
"I say, corporal," exclaimed the sentry who was stationed at the door,
"here's somebody coming, and unless my eyes are going back on me he is
dressed in uniform."
"Who in the world can it be?" exclaimed Carey.
"We'll soon find out," replied Bob, "for if he has got any of our
uncle's clothes on we are bound to take him in, unless he proves to be
an officer."
Bob and his men hurried to the door, and, looking in the direction in
which the sentry was gazing, saw a horseman about a quarter of a mile
away. He had halted on the top of a ridge, and Loring, who had good
"Plains eyes," declared that he was looking at them through a
field-glass. He certainly was dressed in uniform, and had with him a
small black mule which bore a good-sized pack on its back.
"I can't make him out," said Bob, waving his hand in the air and
beckoning the horseman to approach. "He is a soldier, but what is he
doing with that pack-mule? It isn't Bryant, is it? If it is, where did
he get that mule and that field-glass?--Loring, you and Phillips put the
bridles on your horses--never mind the saddles--and stand by to give him
a race if he tries to run away. Don't mount until I give the word."
But the horseman had no intention of running away. He replied to Bob's
signal by waving his hand over his head, and after putting away his
field-glass rode down the ridge and came toward the station at a gallop.
As he approached nearer the troopers saw that he was a stranger, and a
very good-looking one, too. He was almost as dark as an Indian, his hair
was long enough to reach to his shoulders, and the eyes that looked out
from under the peak of his fatigue-cap were as black as midnight and as
sharp as those of an eagle. He rode a magnificent horse, and his seat
was easy and graceful. His only weapon--that is, the only one that could
be seen--was a heavy Winchester rifle, which was slung at his back. If
he was a soldier, he was a very fancy one, for his cavalry uniform,
although in strict keeping with the regulations, was made of the finest
material; he wore white gauntlet gloves on his hands; and instead of the
ungainly, ill-fitting army shoe he wore fine boots, the heels of which
were armed with small silver spurs. The troopers thought from his dress
and carriage that he must be an officer, and when he drew rein in front
of the station they stood at "attention" and saluted him.
"I don't deserve that honor, boys," said the stranger with a laugh; "I
am not a shoulder-strap."
"You are not?" exclaimed Bob, who was not a little astonished as well as
provoked at the mistake he had made. "Well, it seems to me that you are
throwing on a good many frills for a private. Where do you belong?"
"At Fort Lamoine," said the stranger; and the answer was given in a tone
quite as curt as was that in which the question was asked.
"So do I, but I don't remember to have seen you there, and so I shall
have to ask you to give an account of yourself. Dismount."
"I shall do as I please about that," replied the stranger, who had all
the while been staring very hard at Bob.
"Well, you won't do as you please about it," returned the corporal,
while Carey walked up and took the stranger's horse by the bit. "You
will do as _I_ please. If you belong at Fort Lamoine you will go there
with me in the morning, and then I shall be sure you get there. I am
acting under orders."
The horseman thrust his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, and
pulling out a bill-book took from it a paper which he opened and handed
to Bob to read.
"If you are acting under orders I have no more to say," said he, "but
there is something which I think will see me through until day after
to-morrow. It is my furlough. Look here, partner," he added suddenly,
"isn't your name Bob Owens?"
The latter started as if he had been shot, his under jaw dropped down,
and for a few seconds he stood looking at the speaker as if he could
hardly believe his ears. Then a light seemed to break in upon him, and
springing forward he grasped the horseman by the arm and fairly pulled
him out of the saddle. After that he shook one of his hands with both
his own and executed a sort of war-dance around him, while the troopers
stood and looked on in speechless amazement.
"George Ackerman, I am delighted to see you again," cried Bob as soon as
he could speak. "I take it all back, George: I didn't mean to insult
you."
"It's Owens, isn't it?" said George, for it was he.
"Of course it is; and if you hadn't been blind you would have known it
as soon as you saw me," replied Bob.
"I don't think my eyesight is any worse than your own, for you didn't
know me until I called you by name," retorted George. "Your uniform
tells me where you have been and what you have been doing since I last
saw you, but it doesn't tell me how I came to lose you in Galveston so
suddenly and mysteriously. If we had kept together a little while longer
we should have been all right, for I had scarcely missed you before I
ran against Mr. Gilbert--the friend to whom I wrote for money, you know.
If you belong at Fort Lamoine, what are you doing here?"
"Stake out your horse and mule and I will tell you all about it,"
answered Bob. "But first tell me what right you have to wear those
clothes."
"I am a United States scout," replied George. "At least, that was the
title under which I was sworn in, but it does not clearly explain the
duties that are expected of me. I am to act as guide to the troops when
they cross the river in pursuit of the raiders."
"Oh yes," exclaimed Bob; "I remember all about it now. I was off after
the hostiles when you came to the post and offered your services to the
colonel. When I came back I found that the men had a good deal to say
about our new scout, who, they said, looked about as much like a scout
as they looked like the queen of England; but I had no idea who he was;
and, seeing it's you, I'll not arrest you," he added with a
laugh.--"Great Cæsar! that was the second close call I have had to-day."
"If I had had any idea that you were going to touch him I should have
warned you," said George. "It won't do for a stranger to come within
reach of him, and it's the greatest wonder in the world that he didn't
knock your brains out."
While the two friends were talking, George Ackerman, with the dexterity
acquired by long experience, relieved the mule of his heavy pack and
slipped the halter over his head, leaving the animal at liberty. Bob,
judging the mule by those unruly members of his species that were
employed in the quartermaster's department at the fort, stepped up and
attempted to lay hold of his foretop; but the animal dodged him very
cleverly, and, wheeling like lightning, sent both his heels at the boy's
head. The latter dropped just in time to escape the blow, but he felt
the "wind" of the heels in his face and heard them whistle close by his
ear.
"Does he always act that way when strangers approach him?" asked Bob as
he picked up his cap. "If he does, you need not be afraid that anybody
will steal him. I tried to catch him because I was afraid he would run
off."
"Oh, he'll not do that. I never think of staking him out, for he always
stays by my horse, and I can catch him anywhere. There's a horse for
you, Bob, and the best one I ever owned. He is a present from Mr.
Gilbert, who bought him in Kentucky for his own private use, but when he
found that I was going into the army he gave him to me, with the
assurance that Fletcher and his band could never make a prisoner of me
while I was on his back. I lost my old horse, Ranger, at the time I was
captured by the Greasers, and he was killed at the battle of Querétaro.
Now, what are you doing so far away from the fort?" asked George as he
picked up his picket-pin and led the horse around the station to find a
good place to stake him out. "How did you come to go into the army,
anyway, and what have you been doing to win those stripes?"
"It would take a long time to answer your last two questions," answered
Bob, "and so we will leave them until the rest of the boys have gone to
bed. I came here in pursuit of seven men who deserted last night."
"You did? Well, Bob, your superiors must have a good deal of confidence
in you to send you off on such an expedition. Where do you expect to
find them?"
"I have found them already, and arrested them too; that is, I have
caught six of them, and I know where the other one is. I intend to take
him in hand to-morrow, though, to tell the truth, I don't know just how
I am going to do it. I could have arrested him to-day if I had had
authority to take him out of a house; but I wasn't sure on that point,
and so I let him go until I could have time to make up my mind to
something. I got _that_ about fifteen minutes before you came up," said
Bob, directing his friend's attention to the hole in his coat that had
been made by Bristow's bullet. "My men returned the fire and slightly
wounded one of the deserters, who is now laid out on his blanket in the
sleeping-room. By the way, do you know Gus Robbins?"
"I should say I did," replied George, after he had followed the course
of the bullet through Bob's clothing and expressed his surprise at his
friend's narrow escape. "He ran away from his home in Foxboro', and came
down here to visit my cousin, who was at that time living with his
father at my ranche. He and Ned, who were constantly pluming themselves
on the numerous scrapes from which they had narrowly escaped, could not
rest easy until they kicked up a row in the settlement, and they did it
by shooting Mr. Cook's cattle. The consequence was, that I had to show
them the way out of the country. Don't you remember I told you all about
it on the morning we walked from that trapper's cabin to White River
Landing? I say, Bob, have you any idea of becoming a trapper when your
term of service expires?"
"Nary idea," was the emphatic reply. "A soldier's life is hard enough
for me, and there is quite as much danger in it as I care to face."
"What do you know about Gus Robbins?" continued George. "He left my
cousin Ned very suddenly in Brownsville, and none of us ever heard of
him afterward. It can't be possible that he enlisted too?"
"Yes, he did. He belongs to my troop, and is just as fond of getting
into scrapes as he ever was. When he is not in the guard-house he is
almost sure to be doing extra duty for some offence against military
discipline. He was one of the deserters I was ordered to capture, and he
is in the dug-out now. But I almost wish he had got away. You know him,
and when I was arresting him I almost felt as if I were doing something
against you. I haven't forgotten that you offered me a home, and--"
"The obligation is all on my side," interrupted George. "You saved my
life twice. Let's sit down here and talk a while. Go ahead and tell me
something."
The boys threw themselves on the grass near the place where George had
staked out his horse, and Bob began and described some of the
interesting incidents that had happened since he last saw the cub pilot.
He told the truth in regard to everything, not even excepting the
parting in Galveston. His experience in the army was rapidly working a
change in him, and he had not told a wilful lie since he assured the
recruiting-officer that he was an orphan and that there was no one in
the world who had a right to say whether he should enlist or not.
"I have done a good many mean things in my life, I am sorry to say," Bob
added in winding up his story, "but about the meanest trick I ever
played upon anybody I played upon you on the day we parted. I found
fifty cents in my watch-pocket, which I had carelessly shoved in there
when money was plenty, and I knew it would buy me supper and lodging. It
wasn't enough for both of us, so I ran away from you and went off by
myself. That's the way we became separated, and I tell you of it at the
risk of losing your friendship."
"You risk nothing at all," replied George, extending his hand. "I
couldn't expect that you would take care of me and pay my way at the
sacrifice of all your own personal comfort; but I do wish you had waited
just a little longer, for then you never would have had to enlist. I am
ready to prove that I think as much of you now as I ever did. I shall
keep an eye on you until your term of service expires, and then you must
go home with me. I am sole master there now--Mr. Gilbert is my guardian,
but he never has a word to say--and as you have no home of your own--"
"That was a lie, George," interrupted Bob. "I have a home at Rochdale, a
few miles below Linwood, where I first pulled you out of the river--you
know where it is--and as kind a father and mother as any scoundrel of my
size ever had. When I ran away I intended to drop my identity
altogether, and that was the reason I told you I was alone in the world.
What do you think of me _now_?"
George was greatly astonished at this confession, for he had put
implicit faith in Bob's story. He was strictly truthful himself, and he
could not understand how a boy as physically brave as Bob Owens had
showed himself to be could be coward enough to tell a lie.
"I feel sorry for you," said he at length; "and if I were in your place
I would go home as soon as I received my discharge--if you keep on as
you have begun you may rest assured that it will be an honorable
one--and try to make amends for my misdeeds. Remember that
'No star is ever lost we once have seen;
We always may be what we might have been,'
and go resolutely to work to 'live it down.' You've got the pluck to do
it, I know."
"Coffee!" shouted Carey, thrusting his head around the corner of the
station.
"By the way," continued George as he and Bob arose to their feet, "what
did you mean by saying that, seeing it was I, you wouldn't arrest me?"
"Oh, the colonel was mad when he started me out this morning, and
ordered me to gobble up everybody--that is, privates and
non-commissioned officers--I caught outside the stockade. But of course
I couldn't touch you if I wanted to, for your leave of absence protects
you. You will stay here to-night and ride to the fort with us to-morrow,
will you not?"
"Certainly I will. Having found you again, I am not going to leave you
in a hurry. Say, Bob, would you have any objections to bringing Gus
Robbins up to eat supper with us?"
"None whatever. I am sorry to be obliged to keep him and the rest so
closely confined, but I know that they are a slippery lot--every one of
them has deserted before--and if I should let them get away now that I
have got a grip on them, the colonel would give me Hail Columbia. Gus
has got himself into a mess, George. The first time he deserted he was
simply put into the guard-house and fined, but this escapade is going to
land him at Leavenworth. Now I will make you acquainted with our boys,
and then I will go down and tell Gus that you want to see him."
After the new scout had been introduced to the troopers, Bob raised the
trap-door and descended into the dug-out, while George opened his
pack-saddle and took out of it a tin cup and plate, a can of condensed
milk, a box or two of sardines and a few other delicacies, which he laid
upon the table beside the simple fare that Carey had just served up. By
the time he had finished the work of opening the cans with the aid of a
formidable-looking hunting-knife which he drew from his boot-leg, Bob
returned, followed by a soldier who looked so unlike the dashing,
fashionably-dressed Gus Robbins he had seen in company with his cousin
Ned that George could hardly bring himself to believe that he was the
same boy. He looked pale and haggard; and that was not to be wondered
at, for the prison at Fort Leavenworth was constantly looming up before
him.
George, as we know, had a very slight acquaintance with Gus Robbins,
having passed only a few hours in his company, and he was under no
obligations whatever to interest himself in his behalf; but when he saw
how utterly miserable he was, his heart bled for him, and he at once hit
upon a plan for getting him out of the trouble he had brought upon
himself. He greeted Gus very cordially, gave him a seat beside himself
at the table, and tried to put a little life into him by talking about
almost everything except life in the army.
The deserters must have thought that their captors felt very much elated
over their success, for a noisier party than that which was gathered
about that rough board table was never seen anywhere. Being almost
entirely free from military restraint--sergeants and corporals do not
hold their men with so tight a rein as the commissioned officers do,
although they exact just as prompt obedience to their commands--they
told stories and said witty things and sung songs until they were
hoarse. The additions to their larder which George had been able to
supply gave them a better supper than they were accustomed to, and they
were merry over it.
None of the members of Bob's squad had ever seen the new scout before,
and, although they treated him with the greatest respect, they were
sadly disappointed in him. The scouts with whom they were familiar were
great, rough, bearded men, strong of limb and slovenly in dress, who had
lived among the Indians all their lives, and had the reputation of being
able to whip their weight in wild-cats; but this one looked as though he
had but just come out of a fashionable tailor's shop, and, moreover, he
was nothing but a boy in years. What could the colonel have been
thinking of when he engaged this stripling to lead men across the river
and into the midst of the desperadoes who were known to have their
strongholds there? It was dangerous work, and the guide ought to be a
person of courage and experience; and George didn't look as though he
had either. That was what the troopers thought as they sat at the table
casting furtive glances at the new scout, who was talking earnestly with
Gus Robbins; but it was not long before they found out that it took a
brave man to follow where he dared lead.
The first trooper who finished his supper took the place of the sentry
at the door, and the next relieved the one who was standing guard over
the dug-out. When these two had satisfied their appetites the dishes
were washed, the table was laid again and the deserters were ordered up.
Some of them appeared to be very much disheartened, and would scarcely
look their comrades in the face, while the others were so defiant, and
had so much to say about the colonel who had ordered their arrest and
the men who had carried those orders into execution, that Bob was
obliged to warn them that if they did not eat more and jaw less he would
put them back into the dug-out without any supper.
When the deserters had had all they wanted to eat they were sent down to
their prison, the outside sentry was relieved, and Bob stood guard at
the door, with George for company. They had much to talk about, and it
was long after midnight when they went to bed. They slept on the same
blankets, and the new scout went off into the land of dreams with his
arm thrown lovingly around the boy who had twice saved his life, and
whom he had never expected to see again.