FLIGHT AND PURSUIT.
“Fourth company. All present or accounted for with the exception of
Private Albert Huggins,” said Bert Gordon, as he faced about and raised
his hand to his cap.
“Where is Private Huggins?” demanded Captain Clayton.
“I don’t know, sir. He had a pass last night, and he seems to have abused
it. At any rate he is not in the ranks to answer to his name.”
Captain Clayton reported to the adjutant, who in turn reported to the
officer of the day, and then the ranks were broken, and the young
soldiers hurried to their dormitories to wash their hands and faces, comb
their hair, and get ready for morning inspection. While Bert and his
room-mate were thus engaged, an orderly opened the door long enough to
say that Sergeant Gordon was wanted in the superintendent’s office.
“Hallo!” exclaimed Sergeant Elmer—that was the name and rank of Bert’s
room-mate—“you are going out after Huggins, most likely. If you have the
making up of the detail don’t forget me.”
Bert said he wouldn’t, and hastened out to obey the summons. As he was
passing along the hall he was suddenly confronted by Lester Brigham, who
jerked open the door of his room and shouted “Police! Police!” at the top
of his voice.
“What’s the matter with you?” exclaimed Bert, wondering if Lester had
taken leave of his senses.
“I’ve been robbed!” cried Lester, striding up and down the floor, in
spite of all Bert could do to quiet him. “That villain Huggins broke open
my trunk and took a clean hundred dollars in money out of it.”
Lester’s wild cries had alarmed everybody on that floor, and the hall was
rapidly filling with students who ran out of their rooms to see what was
the matter.
“Go back, boys,” commanded Bert. “You have not a moment to waste. If your
rooms are not ready for inspection you will be reported and punished for
it. Go back, every one of you.”
He emphasized this order by pulling out his note-book and holding his
pencil in readiness to write down the name of every student who did not
yield prompt obedience. The boys scattered in every direction, and when
the hall was cleared, Bert seized Lester by the arm and pulled him into
his room.
“No yelling now,” said he sternly.
“Must I stand by and let somebody rob me without saying a word?”
vociferated Lester.
“By no means; but you can act like a sane boy and report the matter in
a quiet way, can’t you? Now explain, and be quick about it, for the
superintendent wants to see me.”
“Why, Huggins has run away—he intended to do it when he got that pass
last night—and he has taken every dollar I had in the world to help
himself along. Just look here,” said Lester, picking up the hasp of
his trunk which had been broken in two in the middle. “Huggins did
that yesterday, and I never knew it until a few minutes ago. I went
to my trunk to get out a clean collar, and then I found that the hasp
was broken, and that my clothes were tumbled about in the greatest
confusion. I looked for my money the first thing, but it was gone.”
“Don’t you know that it is against the rules for a student to have more
than five dollars in his possession at one time?” asked Bert. “If you
had lived up to the law and given your money into the superintendent’s
keeping, you would not have lost it.”
“What do I care for the law?” snarled Lester.
“You ought to care for it. If you didn’t intend to obey it, you had no
business to sign the muster-roll.”
“Well, who’s going to get my hundred dollars back for me? That’s what I
want to know,” cried Lester, who showed signs of going off into another
flurry.
“I don’t know that any one can get it back for you,” said Bert quietly.
“It is possible that you may never see it again.”
“Then I’ll see some more just like it, you may depend upon that,” said
Lester, walking nervously up and down the floor and shaking his fists in
the air. “I was robbed in the superintendent’s house, and he is bound to
make my loss good.”
“There’s where you are mistaken. You took your own risk by disobeying the
rules——”
“The money was mine and the superintendent had no more right to touch it
than you had,” interrupted Lester. “My father gave it to me with his own
hands, because he wanted I should have a fund by me that I could draw on
without asking anybody’s permission.”
“Well, you see what you made by it, don’t you? How do you know that
Huggins has run away?”
“He told me he was going to. I offered to give him a dollar to help him
along, and so did Jones and Williams.”
“You ought not to have done that.”
“I don’t care; I did it, and this is the way he repaid me. I’ll bet he
had my money in his pocket when he refused my offer. I thought he acted
queer, and so did the other boys.”
“Do you know which way he intended to go?”
“He said he was going to draw a bee-line for Oxford, and ship on the
first vessel he could find that would take him to sea. Are you going
after him?” inquired Lester, as Bert turned toward the door. “Look here:
if you will follow him up and get my money back for me, I’ll—I’ll lend
you five dollars of it, if you want it.”
Lester was about to say that he would _give_ Bert that amount, but he
caught his breath in time, and saved five dollars by it. He knew very
well that Bert would never be obliged to ask him for money.
The sergeant hurried down to the superintendent’s office, where he found
the officer of the day, who had just been making his report.
“I understand that Private Huggins abused my confidence, and that
he stayed out all night on the pass I gave him yesterday,” said the
superintendent, after returning Bert’s salute. “Perhaps you had better
take a corporal with you, and look around and see if you can find any
traces of him.”
Bert was delighted. Here was an opportunity for him to win a reputation.
“Shall I go to Oxford, sir?” said he.
“To Oxford?” repeated the superintendent, while the officer of the day
looked surprised.
“Yes, sir. There’s where he has gone.”
“How do you know?”
“His room-mate told me so. He has run away intending to go to sea.”
“Well, well! It is more serious than I thought,” said the superintendent,
while an expression of annoyance and vexation settled on his face. “He
must be brought back. Was he going to walk all that distance or steal a
ride on the cars? He has no money, and his father took pains to tell me
that none would be allowed him.”
“He has plenty of it, sir,” replied Bert. “He broke into Private
Brigham’s trunk and took a hundred dollars from it.”
The superintendent could hardly believe that he had heard aright.
“That is the most disgraceful thing that ever happened in this school,”
said he, as soon as he could speak. “I didn’t suppose there was a boy
here who could be guilty of an act of that kind. Sergeant,” he added,
looking at his watch, “you have just fifteen minutes in which to reach
the depot and ascertain whether or not Huggins took the eight o’clock
train for Oxford last night. Learn all you can, and go with the squad
which I shall at once send in pursuit of him.”
“Very good, sir,” replied Bert.
“Can I go?” asked Sergeant Elmer, as Bert ran into his room and snatched
his overcoat and cap from their hooks.
“I hope so, but I am afraid not. The superintendent will make up the
detail himself or appoint some shoulder-strap to do it, and it isn’t
likely that he will take two sergeants from the same company. You will
have to act in my place while I am gone.”
“Well, good-by and good luck to you,” said the disappointed Elmer.
Bert hastened down the stairs and out of the building, and at the gate
he found the officer of the day who had come there to pass him by the
sentry. As soon as he had closed the gate behind him, he broke into a
run, and in a few minutes more he was walking back and forth in front
of the ticket-office, conversing with a quiet looking man who was to be
found there whenever a train passed the depot. He was a detective.
“Good morning, Mr. Shepard,” said Bert. “Were you on duty when No. 6 went
down last night?”
No. 6 was the first southward bound train that passed through Bridgeport
after Huggins left the academy grounds.
“I was,” answered the detective. “Was that fellow I came pretty near
running in last night on general principles one of your boys?”
“I can’t tell until you describe him,” said Bert.
“There was nothing wrong about his appearance, but I didn’t like the
way he acted,” observed the detective. “He looked as though he had been
up to something. He didn’t buy a ticket, and he took pains to board the
train from the opposite side. He wore a dark-blue overcoat, Arctic shoes,
seal-skin cap, gloves and muffler, and had something on his upper lip
that looked like a streak of free-soil, but which, perhaps, on closer
examination might have proved to be a mustache.”
“That’s the fellow,” said Bert. “Did he go toward Oxford?”
“He did. Do you want him? What has he been doing?”
“I do want him, for he is a deserter,” replied Bert. He said nothing
about the crime of which Huggins was guilty. The superintendent had not
told him to keep silent in regard to it, but he knew he was expected to
do it all the same.
“Then I am glad I didn’t run him in,” said Mr. Shepard. “You boys always
see plenty of fun when you are out after deserters. But you can’t take
that big fellow alone. He’ll pick you up and chuck you head first into a
snow-drift.”
“There are one or two fellows in that squad whom he can’t chuck into a
snow-drift,” said Bert, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder toward
the door.
The detective looked, and saw a party of students coming into the depot
at double time. They were led by Captain (formerly Corporal) Mack, who,
having been permitted to choose his own men, had detailed Curtis, Egan,
Hopkins, and Don Gordon to form his squad. A long way behind them came
the old German professor, Mr. Odenheimer, who was very red in the face
and puffing and blowing like a porpoise. The fleet-footed boys had
led him a lively race, and they meant to do it, too. They didn’t want
him along, for his presence was calculated to rob them of much of the
pleasure they would otherwise have enjoyed. He was jolly and good-natured
when off duty, but still pompous and rather overbearing, and if Huggins
were captured and Lester Brigham’s money returned to him, the honor of
the achievement would fall to him, and not to Captain Mack and his men.
“Young sheltemans,” panted the professor, stopping in front of the squad
which Captain Mack had halted and brought to a front preparatory to
breaking ranks,“I use to could go double quick so good like de pest of
you ven I vas in mine good Brussia fighting mit unser Fritz; but I peen
not a good boy for running not now any more. Vere is Sergeant Gordon?”
“Here, sir,” replied Bert, stepping up and saluting.
“Vell, vere ish dat young rascals—vat you call him—Hukkins?”
“He has gone to Oxford, sir,” said Bert, who then went on to repeat the
substance of his conversation with the detective. Now and then his eyes
wandered toward the boys in the ranks, who came so near making him laugh
in the professor’s face that he was obliged to turn his back toward them.
They were indulging in all sorts of pranks calculated to show their
utter disapproval of the whole proceeding. Don was humped up like old
Jordan, the negro he had so often personated; Hopkins was mimicking the
professor; Egan, who had assumed a very wise expression of countenance,
was checking off Bert’s remarks on his fingers; Curtis was watching for
a chance to snatch an apple from the stand behind him; while Captain Mack
held himself in readiness to drop a piece of ice down his back the very
moment he attempted it. These boys all liked the professor in spite of
his pomposity and his constant allusions to his military record, but they
would have been much better satisfied if he had remained at the academy.
If they had taken time to consider the matter, they would have seen very
clearly that the superintendent had acted for the best, and that he would
not have showed any degree of prudence if he had left them to pursue and
capture the deserter alone and unaided. There was no play about this, and
besides Huggins was something worse than a deserter.
Just then the whistle of an approaching train was heard; whereupon
Captain Mack was ordered to break ranks and procure tickets for himself
and his party, Bert included. This done they boarded the cars, and in a
few minutes more were speeding away toward Oxford.
“I don’t at all like this way of doing business,” observed Captain Mack,
who occupied a seat with Bert. “I am not personally acquainted with
Huggins, but if there is any faith to be put in his appearance, he is
nobody’s fool. He’ll not go to Oxford after stealing that money. If he
went this way, he will stop off at some little station, buy another suit
of clothes and keep dark until he thinks the matter has had time to blow
over.”
“Perhaps you had better say as much to the professor,” suggested Bert.
“Not I!” replied Captain Mack, with a laugh and a knowing shake of his
head. “I have no desire to give him a chance to turn his battery of
broken English loose on me. He has done it too many times already. While
I am very anxious that Huggins should be caught and the money recovered,
I can see as much fun in riding about the country as I can in drilling;
and if the professor wants to spend a week or two on a wild-goose chase,
it is nothing to me. I put in some good solid time with my books last
vacation, and I am three months ahead of my class.”
The captain was right when he said that Huggins did not look like
anybody’s fool, and he wasn’t, either. When he first made up his mind
to desert the academy, he laid his plans just as he told them to Lester
Brigham; but one morning an incident occurred that caused him to make
a slight change in them. He saw Lester go to his trunk and take a
five-dollar bill from a well-filled pocket-book which he kept hidden
under his clothing. The sight of it suggested an idea to Huggins—one
that frightened him at first, but after he had pondered upon it for a
while and dreamed about it a few times, it became familiar to him, and he
ceased to look upon it as a crime.
“It is easier to ride than it is to walk,” he often said to himself.
“Lester doesn’t need the money, and I do, for I don’t know what I shall
have to go through with before I can find a vessel. Oxford is a small
place, and I may have to stay there a week or two before I can secure a
berth, and how could I live all that time without money? I am not going
to steal it—I shall borrow it, for, of course, my father will refund
every cent of it. I know he will not like to do it, but he ought to have
let me go to sea when I asked him.”
After reasoning with himself in this way a few times, Huggins finally
mustered up courage enough to make himself the possessor of the coveted
pocket-book. Unfortunately, opportunities were not wanting. Lester was
hardly ever in his room during the day-time, and it was an easy matter
for Huggins to lock the door and break open the trunk with the aid of a
spike he had picked up in the carpenter-shop. Then he bundled up some of
his clothes, intending to ask for a pass and leave the academy at once.
He got the pass, as we know, but found, to his great surprise and alarm,
that he could not use it until after supper. It was no wonder that he
showed nervousness and anxiety when Jones and the rest offered to lend
him money to help him along. If he had not succeeded in satisfying them
that he would not accept assistance from them, and Lester had gone to
his trunk after the dollar, there would have been trouble directly. He
escaped this danger, however, and as soon as he could use his pass, he
made all haste to get out of Bridgeport.
“But I’ll not go to Oxford yet,” said he, when he found himself safe on
board the cars. “The fellows said they wouldn’t tell where I intended to
go, but when they made that promise they didn’t know that I had borrowed
Brigham’s money.”
Just then the conductor tapped him on the shoulder and held out his hand
for the boy’s ticket.
“What is the fare to the next station?” asked the latter.
“One twenty-five,” was the answer.
Huggins produced the money, and then buttoned his overcoat, settled
back into an easy position on his seat, and tried to make up his mind
what he should do next. Before he had come to any decision on this
point, the whistle blew again, and the train came to a stop; whereupon
Huggins picked up his bundle, which he had carried under his coat when
he deserted the academy, and left the car. The few men he saw upon the
platform were running about as if they were very busy—all except one,
who strolled around with his hands in his pockets. Huggins drew back
out of the glare of the lamps that were shining from the windows of the
depot, to wait for an opportunity to speak to him. He had got off at a
tank-station, but he did not find it out until it was too late to go
farther.
Having taken on a fresh supply of coal and water the engine moved off,
dragging its long train of sleeping-cars behind it, the station agent
went into his office, closing the door behind him, and Huggins and the
unemployed stranger were left alone on the platform.
“Good evening to you, pard,” said the latter, walking up to the boy’s
place of concealment.
“How are you?” replied Huggins, who did not like the familiar tone in
which he had been addressed. “Can you tell me which way to go to find a
hotel?”
“Hotel!” repeated the stranger. “There’s none around here.”
Huggins started and looked about him. Then he saw that he had got off in
the woods, and that there were only one or two small buildings within the
range of his vision.
“Is there no house in the neighborhood at which I can obtain a night’s
lodging?” asked Huggins, growing alarmed.
“I don’t suppose there is,” was the encouraging reply.
“Where does the station-agent sleep?”
“In his office.”
“How far is your house from here?”
“Well, I can’t say just how many miles it is.”
“What is your business?” asked Huggins, growing suspicious of the
stranger.
“I haven’t any just now. I am a minister’s son, traveling for my health.
I’ll tell you what we might do, pard: if you are a good talker you might
coax the agent to let us spend the night in the waiting-room. There’s a
good fire there——”
Huggins waited to hear no more. The man was a professional tramp, there
was no doubt about that, and the idea of passing the night in the same
room with him was not to be entertained for a moment. He started for the
office to have a talk with the agent, the tramp keeping close at his
heels.
“I made a mistake in getting off here,” said Huggins to the agent, “and I
would be greatly obliged if you will direct me to some house where I can
put up until morning.”
“I should be glad to do it,” was the answer, “but there is no one right
around the depot who can accommodate you. There is a boarding-house for
the mill-hands about a mile from here, but I couldn’t direct you to it so
that you could find it. The road runs through the woods, and you might
miss it and get lost.”
“Why, what in the world am I to do?” asked Huggins, who, having never
been thrown upon his own resources before, was as helpless as a child
would have been in the same situation. “Must I stay out doors all night?”
“Not necessarily. Where did you come from?”
“I came from Bridgeport and paid a dollar and twenty-five cents to go
from there to the next station.”
“Well, the next station is Carbondale, which is three miles from here.
There is where you ought to have stopped.”
“Could I hire a horse and cutter to take me there?”
“I don’t think you could.”
“I am able and willing to pay liberally for it.”
“Oh, you would have to go out to the mills to find a horse and a man to
drive it for you, and you might as well walk to Carbondale at once as to
do that.”
“When is the next train due?”
“The next train won’t help you any, for it is the lightning express,
and she doesn’t stop here. You can’t go on the next one either, for she
is the fast freight, and doesn’t carry passengers. You’ll have to wait
for the accommodation which goes through here at six fourteen in the
morning.”
“Then I suppose I shall have to pass the night in your waiting-room,”
said Huggins, who was fairly at his wits’ end.
“Well, I suppose you won’t,” said the agent in emphatic tones. “I shall
have to ask you to go out now, for I am going to lock up.”
“Don’t you leave a room open for the accommodation of passengers?”
exclaimed Huggins, wondering what would become of him if the agent
turned him out in the snow to pass the night as best he could, while the
thermometer was only a degree or two above zero. If it had been summer
he could have bunked under a tree; but as it was—the runaway shuddered
when he thought of the long, cold hours that must be passed in some way
before he would see the sun rise again. Here the tramp, who stood holding
his hands over the stove, put in a word to help Huggins; but he only
made a bad matter worse. The heart of the station agent was not likely
to be moved to pity by any such advocate as he was. He carried a very
hard-looking face, he was rough and unkempt, and his whole appearance was
against him. Besides, he did not speak in a way calculated to carry his
point.
“I don’t see what harm it will do for us to sit by your fire,” said he,
in angry tones.
“I don’t care whether you see any harm in it or not,” said the agent,
taking a bunch of keys from his pocket. “I know what my orders are, and I
intend to obey them. Come now, move; both of you.”
“I wish you would tell me what to do,” said Huggins, as he turned toward
the door. “I am not in this man’s company, and neither am I interceding
for him. I am speaking for myself alone.”
“I can’t help that. If I let you in I must let him in too; but my orders
are to turn everybody out when I lock up. The best thing you can do is to
strike out for Carbondale at your best pace. The night is clear, and you
can’t miss the way if you follow the railroad. There are no bridges or
trestle-works for you to cross, and no cattle-guards to fall into. If you
make haste, you can get there before the hotels shut up. Go on, now!”
The agent arose from his chair as he said this, and Huggins and the tramp
opened the door and went out into the cold.