A LEAP IN THE DARK
Thursday, the day following the writing and mailing of Bob's letter,
brought its own surprises. Came the order that a part of Company E's
men, along with a number housed in other barracks, were to be
transferred to a camp many miles south of Sterling. This in itself was
to be expected. The majority of the men ordered to pack received the
command with admirable tranquillity. It threw the four Khaki Boys into
panic, however. Not because, with the exception of Jimmy, they were to
be among those to go. Even Jimmy was to return. He was to have the proud
honor of going along merely to help escort the detachment to their new
quarters. What upset the equanimity of the four Brothers was the fact
that Bixton was among the number to be transferred. Fate had evidently
elected that Bixton should not suffer for his villainy.
Corporal Jimmy was divided between pride in the coming detail and
discouragement of the defeat of their crusade of Justice.
"I'd be all puffed up with pleasure over this trip if it weren't for
this business about poor Schnitz," he confided to his bunkies on the
Friday night before the start.
"I never thought I'd hate to see the last of Bixton," grumbled Bob, "but
I certainly do. It puts a crimp in the Slippery Sleuths' Society, all
right, all right. Anyhow, Eldridge is left. We may be able to tree him.
Keep your eye on Bixton, Blazes, all the way down. You might just happen
to stumble upon something."
"I would by Jimmy go, the care to him take," broke in Ignace. Up to this
point, he had watched his favorite Brother's preparing for sleep in
round-eyed, gloomy silence. "You take the good care yoursel', Jimmy," he
anxiously enjoined. "You get the hurt never I smile more."
"You never smile anyway, you old sobersides." Jimmy flashed him an
amused, but affectionate glance. "Don't you worry about me, Iggy, 'cause
I'll come back safe and sound. I'm not going across. I'll only be gone
four days."
"We'll sure miss you," declared Bob. "Now I move that we turn in, too,
and let Blazes alone. He has a hard trip ahead of him, and he needs a
long night's rest. You'll be up first in the morning, old man. If we're
asleep, waken us so we can say good-bye and good luck."
Bob and Roger were awake as soon as Jimmy. Ignace, however, slept
peacefully on until Jimmy roused him to say a hasty good-bye. Three
pairs of affectionate eyes watched Corporal Jimmy to the stairway, their
owners sincerely glad that they had the assurance of his return. There
was but one Jimmy Blaise.
Marched to the station under the graying light of a cloudy dawn, the
majority of the departing soldier boys were in good spirits. The
detachment numbered a little over three hundred men, including a
sergeant and two other corporals besides Jimmy, who would return to Camp
Sterling with him once their detail had been accomplished. Brimming with
the adventurous spirit of youth, the travelers were, for the most part,
exultant to be at last on the way "to the front."
Yet in the breast of one of the gallant little company, mingled fear and
resentment raged. Bixton was taking the removal very badly, though no
one save himself and Eldridge knew it. On the previous night he had
unburdened himself to his bunkie in a bitter denunciation against the
Service.
"Once they get you in the Army, they use you like a dog," he had
savagely asserted. "Expect you to crawl to every smarty that wears
chevrons, treat you as if you were dirt, and then think you ought to run
all the way to France to get croaked. It would serve this country right
if it lost out in this war. I was a fool to enlist. I could have
side-stepped the draft. A lot of fellows have. Don't see why I should
make a target of myself for a government that don't care a hoot about
me. I don't want to die. I want to live."
Now started on his way toward the thing he most dreaded, Bixton had
determined to take the bit in his teeth and bolt. From the time he
entered the train he busied himself with concocting schemes for a
successful get-away.
As the day wore on toward evening, Bixton grew desperate. He had managed
on entering the train to place himself in a seat near the rear end of
the last car. Only a few feet from the rear platform, it seemed
impossible to win it without being observed. To add to his difficulties,
Jimmy Blaise was also in the same car as himself. To be sure, he made
frequent trips to and through the two cars ahead, specially reserved for
the detachment. Still, he appeared to be spending most of his time in
the last one. Bixton regarded this merely as a "happen-so."
Following Christmas, the weather had moderated. A thaw had set in on the
Wednesday afterward that had rapidly turned the recent snowfall to
slush. Two days of brilliant sunshine had left the ground fairly bare of
white. Dawn that morning had hinted of rain before evening. Bixton
fervently hoped that it would rain. Given an early twilight, and a
pitch-black night, he could make good use of it.
By nine o'clock that evening the rain had come--a slow, dispiriting
mist, reinforced later by a heavy fog. It was an ideal night for a
deserter. Hunched in his seat, Bixton feigned a drowsiness he was far
from feeling. From under his half-closed lids his pale blue eyes divided
their vigil between his companions and the foggy world glimpsed through
the car windows. As time dragged on the low hum of voices around him
began to die out. One after another grew sleepy and dozed off. By ten
o'clock comparative silence reigned. Occasionally a soldier roused
himself with a jerk to make a trip to the water cooler directly behind
Bixton.
At five minutes to eleven o'clock, Jimmy Blaise walked through the car,
and dropped rather wearily into a vacant seat on the opposite side from
Bixton, but a little ahead. Jimmy was beginning to feel the strain of
the long day's responsibility. Still wide awake, he felt very tired, but
well content. Everything was moving along smoothly. Half the trip had
been made, and all was well. Not a man had yet attempted to desert. He
doubted if anyone would. Even Bixton had behaved like a lamb. Small
chance now of doing anything for Schnitz. With this thought Jimmy's
contentment vanished in a rise of bitter reflection against the
injustice of Fate. Poor Schnitz! How terribly he had been already
misjudged! And the worst was yet to come! With a deep sigh, Jimmy closed
his eyes and leaned back in the seat, sick at heart.
For perhaps ten minutes he remained thus, eyes closed, but otherwise
keenly aware of his surroundings. Due to increasing fog, the train was
running more slowly over a flat stretch of country, the roadbed of which
was almost level with the rails. Alert to catch every sound, the
monotonous hum of the train itself, as it sped along through the night,
had a slightly blurring effect on his acute hearing powers--not great
enough, however, to prevent him from distinguishing above it a faint
click from behind him. It brought him instantly to an erect sitting
posture, his head turned in the direction whence it had come.
There came a muffled cry, a flash of olive-drab down the aisle, the
reverberating slam of a door; then silence. At intervals throughout the
car, drowsy heads bobbed up, the glances of their owners sleepily
directed toward the rear door. Several of their comrades nearer to the
door than themselves were up, and making for it. Undoubtedly, something
unusual had happened. But what? They could not then know that already
some distance behind them, two soldiers, mud-plastered, and shaken by
their mad leap in the dark, were, nevertheless, engaged in the fight of
their lives. A battle in which Honor strove against Dishonor; a conflict
between Loyalty and Disloyalty.