TWO MIDNIGHT PROWLERS.
On the night of the day we are writing about, there was something
unusual happening. It was neither a sentry nor an officer, this stealthy
figure that stole out of a tent in the street of Company A. He waited
cautiously until the sentry behind his tent had passed on to the other
end, and then with the slyness of an Indian he crept down the path. And
when he disappeared again, it was the big tent of the first captain that
swallowed him up.
Fischer was expecting that visit. He was up and dressing, and ready for
the other.
"There are the clothes, Mr. Powers," he whispered. "Leave your uniform
here and slip into them quickly."
The captain's voice was trembling with excitement, and some little
nervousness, too. This was a desperate errand for him. It might cost him
his chevrons, if not worse; for he had desperate deeds to do that night.
"Have you got the guns?" he whispered.
By way of answer Texas slipped two shining revolvers into the other's
hands. Fischer gripped the cold steel for a moment to steady his nerves,
and then thrust the weapons into the pocket of the rough coat he wore.
"Come on," he said. "I'm ready."
He stepped out of the tent, Texas close at his heels. The two crept
around the side, then crouched and waited. Suddenly Fischer put his
fingers to his lips and gave a low whistle. The effect was
instantaneous. Sentries Number Three and Four promptly faced about and
marched off the other way. It was contrary to orders for sentries to
face in opposite directions at the same time. But it was handy, for it
kept them from "seeing any one cross their beats." Texas and his
companion had sprung up and dashed across the path and disappeared over
the earthworks of old Fort Clinton.
"That was neatly done," chuckled Texas. "We're safe now."
"It would be a sad state of affairs, indeed," laughed the other, "if a
first captain couldn't 'fix' two sentries of his own class. We're all
right if we don't make any noise."
A person who glanced at the two would not have taken them for cadets.
They were clad in old dilapidated clothing, with collars turned up to
increase the effect. To complete this disguise, they took two black
handkerchiefs from their pockets, and in a few minutes more were as
desperate-looking burglars as ever roamed the night.
"Burglary's not much worse than conspiracy, anyway," muttered Fischer,
as he hurried along. "I wonder what time it is."
"Twelve o'clock and all's we-ell!" rang the voice of the sentry
from camp just then--an answer to the question. And the two
villainous-looking men crept on in silence, gripping their weapons the
tighter as they went.
The hotel lies very near the camp; it was only a short walk for the two,
even creeping and dodging as they were, before they were safely hidden
close to the porch of the building. The house is in Colonial style, with
big, high pillars, painted white. It was a difficult climb, but the two
lost not one moment in hesitation. They evidently knew just why they
came, and had planned their task beforehand. Texas sprang up on the
shoulders of the other, and a short while later was lying breathless
upon the tin roof of the piazza.
Fischer had dodged back into the shadow to wait. The other lay where he
was for a short while, to glance about him and recover his breath; then
he rolled over and crept softly and silently along until he reached one
of the windows. Texas had found out which one beforehand; he could
afford to waste no time now, for this was a State's prison offense he
was at.
He raised himself and glanced over the sill of the open window; he
glanced hastily about the room inside, and then dropped down again and
crept to the edge of the roof.
"They aren't there," he whispered. "S-sh!"
"Not there!" echoed the other. "Then they haven't come home yet. Drop
down."
Texas slid down that pillar with alacrity that would have scared a cat.
And the two were hiding in the bushes a moment or two later.
"Gee whiz!" muttered Fischer. "Just think of the risks we took. They
might have come in on us."
"Where can they be?" whispered Texas, anxiously. "I hadn't any idea they
wouldn't be in by twelve."
"There's nothing they can be doing around here," said Fischer. "I don't
know----"
"Look a here!" muttered Texas, excitedly, as a sudden idea occurred to
him. "I saw 'em a-goin' down to Highland Falls this evenin', an----"
Fischer gripped him by the arm.
"Jove!" he cried. "We'll go down and lay for 'em. It's a faint chance,
but if we catch 'em there it'll be a thousand times less dangerous for
us. And if we miss them we can come back. Let's hurry."
It was a dangerous business, that getting down to Highland Falls. There
were the camp sentries and the sentries of the regular army, besides,
patroling most of the paths. And any of them would have stopped those
two rough-looking men if they had seen them skulking about the post. But
Fischer had been there three years, and he knew most of the "ropes." He
dodged from building to building, always keeping the road in view so as
to see their victims if they passed--and finally came out upon the road
just at the beginning to cadet limits. Here they hid in a thick clump of
bushes and lay down to wait amid the silence of that dark, deserted
spot.
"I wonder if they'll come," whispered Texas. "I wish I had one of 'em by
the neck. The rascals----"
The words were choked in their utterance; for the officer suddenly
nudged his companion and pointed down the road.
"Look!"
That was all he said. Texas turned and glanced as he directed. There
were two figures, clearly outlined in the moonlight, walking slowly up
the road.
"It's they," whispered Fischer. "Shall we try it?"
And Texas gripped the two revolvers in his pocket and muttered, "Yes, we
shall!"
The two came nearer and nearer. Out of the black shadows where they lay
the cadets stared hard, watching them anxiously, waiting, panting with
impatience and excitement. The strangers were slightly built, both of
them, and young; Texas recognized one of them plainly. It was Benny
Bartlett; that the other was the printer's boy, he took for granted.
Then suddenly he noticed one of them stagger.
"That solves it," whispered Fischer. "They've been down to Cranston's
getting drunk. The beasts!"
That last word cut Texas like a knife; he had been that way not a week
ago himself. Texas was slowly learning the civilized view of
drunkenness.
He forgot that in a few moments more, however. There was excitement,
plenty of it, to fill his mind. The pair drew nearer still in the bright
moonlight, and the time for their desperate deed was almost upon the
cadets.
"For Heaven's sake don't let them get away," whispered Fischer. "If they
cry out, make a break for camp, and I'll fix it."
That word was the last to be spoken; they lay in silence after that,
listening to the others. Benny Bartlett, it appeared, was the more
hilarious of the two, as such feeble hilarity goes. The other was trying
hard to keep him quiet. The bushes that hid the cadets were right beside
the road; and as Benny drew near they made out that he was trying to
sing.
"We won't go home till morning; we won't go----"
"Shut up, you fool!" the other muttered, shaking him by no means gently.
"You'll wake the old man, and----"
The two watchers rose upon their knees. Two revolvers clicked gently,
which made the printer's boy start in alarm, and then came a subdued
"Now!"
Before the victims could move or utter a sound two stalwart, roughly
dressed, black-masked figures sprang out into the road. And the
half-drunken pair found themselves gazing into the muzzles of two
glistening revolvers.
"Hold up your hands!"
Half dead with terror the printer obeyed; the other sunk in a heap to
the ground, his teeth fairly chattering.
"Not a sound!" was the next gruff order, obeyed equally well; and then
the robbers got quickly to work.
It was all done so expeditiously that the victims scarcely realized it.
One of the men covered the two with his weapons and the other went
swiftly through the pockets of both.
He did not seem to care for watches or money. It was papers he looked
for, and he glanced at what he found with feverish impatience. He had a
matchbox in his hand, and he turned away from the party as he struck a
light and read one after the other, tossing them aside with an angry
exclamation. He searched the printer first and seemed to find nothing.
Then he went for Benny, tumbling him about the ground and not forgetting
to administer sundry vigorous kicks.
He had almost searched Benny, too, without success, when suddenly he
gave an exclamation of joy, an exclamation which almost caused the other
to drop his revolvers. The searcher had put his hand into a small,
out-of-the-way pocket, and found a bit of carefully folded paper.
"This'll do it!" he whispered. "Come on."
Texas' heart began to throb with joy--Texas was the one with the gun.
"Victory! Victory!" he muttered. "Wow!"
Ready to shout with excitement at his success he started to follow the
other, who was already making for the dense woods at the side of the
road. He backed away slowly, still facing the two horrified lads, still
leveling his weapons at them.
"Not a sound!" he muttered gruffly. "Remember!"
He reached the edge of the shadow in safety, and then suddenly a noise
caught his sharp ear. It was not from the two, but from up the road. It
was the sound of a horse's hoofs, accompanied by a jingling of sword and
spur. Texas glanced around quickly; it was a horseman trotting up the
road, an officer from the cavalry post! And in an instant more Texas had
sprung into the woods and was dashing away with all his speed.
"Run, run!" he whispered to the cadet just in front. "Somebody's
coming."
Benny Bartlett had not nerve to give an alarm; but the printer's boy
had. The fleeing pair heard his voice shouting:
"Help! help! Murder!"
And an instant later came a clatter and thunder of hoofs as the soldier
dashed up.
"What's the matter?" he cried.
"Robbers!" shrieked the two. "We've been held up! They ran in there!
Help! Help!"
The rescuer wheeled his horse sharply about; he whipped his sword from
its scabbard and plunged furiously into the woods. The two heard his
horse dashing up, and they knew their danger was great indeed.
Texas was flying on ahead, running for his life; but Fischer, who was a
good deal the cooler of the two in the emergency, seized him by the arm
and forced him into a clump of bushes on one side.
"Lie there!" he cried. "S-sh! Not a sound!"
The wisdom of the ruse was apparent. Crashing footsteps gave the officer
something to follow; without it he might not find them in the black
woods. They heard his horse thrashing about in the underbrush; the man
was evidently afraid of nothing even in the darkness, for he plunged
through it furiously, riding back and forth and beating the bushes. Once
he passed so near to them that Texas heard the sword swish and felt for
his revolvers instinctively. But that was the best the man could do,
and finally he gave it up in disgust and rode out to the road again.
Then the two highwaymen arose and stole softly away in the darkness,
congratulating themselves upon that narrow escape and still more upon
their success.
When they reached the camp, which they did in a great hurry, for they
knew the officer would alarm the post, they passed the sentry in the
same way, and separated, Texas hurrying into his own tent. To his
amazement he found his tent mates awake and sitting up, for what reason
he had no idea.
"What's the matter?" he cried anxiously, for he saw at once that
something horrible had happened.
"Matter enough!" cried Mark in just as much anxiety. "It's not enough
for me to get dismissed, but you have to go to work and get yourself in
the same scrape."
"I dismissed!" echoed Texas, in amazement. "How?"
"Your absence has been noticed," groaned Mark. "Lieutenant Allen has
ordered an inspection of the tent every half hour until you return.
They've been here twice now, and you're a goner. And what makes it ten
thousand times worse, I know it's on account of me. You've been doing
something to clear me."
All this was said in about as lugubrious a tone as one could well
imagine. But as for Texas, he merely chuckled as if he didn't care in
the least.
"I reckon it'll be all right," he chuckled, as he began to shed his
"cits" clothing. "Jes' you fellers go to bed an' be good. I reckon it'll
all come out all right. Good-night."