p091
Storming the Dug-Out.
"Cease firing!" shouted Bob.
He gently released himself from the embrace of the strong arms that had been thrown around him, and looked down at the gaping rent Bristow's bullet had made in the breast of his coat. The missile had passed through his thick carbine-sling and breast-belt, had cut into his coat, vest and shirt, and ploughed a deep furrow through a well-filled wallet which he carried in his inside pocket. Fortunately, it was a glancing shot, but the force with which it struck him was almost sufficient to knock him off his feet.
"I'm not hurt at all," said he as his men crowded about him, "but I shall have to put a patch on my coat when I get back to the post.—I say, there," he shouted, addressing himself to the inmates of the dug-out, "was there anybody hurt in there? I thought I heard a yell."
"Yes, and you'll hear another yell if you don't go away and let us alone," replied Bristow. "I'll make a better shot the next time I pull on you."
"All right!" said Bob. "I'll give you a chance in just about five minutes.—Loring," he added in a lower tone, "you and Phillips stay here and hold the horses, and the rest of you follow me."
"Are you going to storm them?" asked Loring.
"I am," was the decided reply. "It is the only way I can get them out, for they'll not come of their own free will."
"Then I sha'n't stay here and hold the horses; that's flat," declared Loring.
"Neither will I," chimed in Phillips. "The picket-pins will hold them as well as we can."
"All right!" replied Bob. "Stake them out, and while you are doing it Carey and I will see how we are going to get into the station."
The door to which Bob now turned his attention did not prove to be a very serious obstacle. It was made of heavy planks, and if it had been in good condition it would have taken a good deal of chopping with a sharp axe before one could have forced his way through it; but the hinges had rusted off, and the planks had shrunk to such a degree that the bar which held the door in its place could be seen and reached with a sabre. A few blows with one of these weapons knocked this bar from its place, and when that was done, the door, having nothing to support it, fell back into the stable with a loud crash. Bob entered, with Carey at his heels, and, making his way to a small apartmentwhich had once been used as a sleeping-room by the stable-men and drivers, he found there a trap-door, which he threw open, revealing a flight of rude steps leading into the underground passage that communicated with the dug-out. By this time the rest of the troopers arrived on the scene. They looked dubiously at the dark passage-way, and then they looked at Bob.
"Do you really mean to go down there, Owens?" asked Loring. "It's sure death."
"I believe so myself, but I am going all the same," replied Bob, who was thoroughly aroused by the attempt that had been made on his life. "If we are not willing to face death at any moment, we had no business to enlist. Must I go alone?"
"Not much," was the unanimous response. "If you are bound to go, we are going too."
"Leave your sabres and carbines here," commanded Bob. "They will only be in the way. Draw revolvers, but don't shoot except in self-defence."
Bob knew as well as his men did that he was about to enter upon a very perilous undertaking. Bristow had shown that he was desperate enough to shoot, and he had even threatened that if he gotanother chance at Bob he would make a better shot than he did before. Some of the men who were with him were known to be hard characters, and it was very probable that they would back him up in the resistance he seemed determined to make. But Bob, having made up his mind as to the course he ought pursue, never once faltered. He was a soldier, and a soldier's first duty was to obey orders. He had been commanded to find the deserters and arrest them at all hazards; and, having obeyed the first part of his instructions, he was resolved to carry them out to the letter or perish in the attempt.
"Now I think we are all ready," said Bob, after the sabres and carbines had been laid in the empty bunks and the revolvers drawn and examined. "Stick close to me, and remember that if we don't take them they will kill us. Bristow, Sandy and Talbot are the only men we have to fear, and if we can only get the drop on them we are all right. Come on."
Although Bob was the youngest soldier, he was the calmest one of the seven troopers who descended those steps. When he reached the bottom he looked along the passage-way toward the dug-out, which was dimly lighted by the sunbeams whichstreamed in through the loopholes on the western side, and saw the deserters standing in line awaiting his approach.
"Halt!" cried a voice. "Come a step nearer and you are all dead men."
It was Bristow who spoke, and the words were followed by the ominous click of the lock of his carbine.
TOP
"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 cuta 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 foryou, 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 willdo 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 hiscap, 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. ThatwasBryant 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 sameman 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 hishand 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 withthe 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 asIplease. 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-dancearound 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 gountil I could have time to make up my mind to something. I gotthatabout 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 thesacrifice 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 menow?"
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,'
'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 finishedthe 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 aboutthat 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 ofthe 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.
TOP
"Well, old fellow, what do you think of me now?"
It was George Ackerman who uttered these words, and the question was addressed to his herdsman, Zeke. The former stood in front of a full-length mirror that hung against the wall (among other extravagant and useless things for which Uncle John had spent his nephew's money were two elegant pier-glasses, one for his own room and the other for Ned's), and Zeke was sitting on the edge of a chair, with his elbows resting on his knees and his chin supported by his hands.
When the commander of Fort Lamoine accepted his proffered services, George had asked for and received a furlough for thirty days to enable him to procure an outfit and to consult with his guardian in regard to the management of the rancheduring his absence. That furlough had nearly expired, and George was about to start for the fort. The honest fellows who had so long been employed on the ranche that they began to look upon themselves as members of the Ackerman family could not bear the thought of parting from him, and Zeke especially felt very gloomy over it. He had often denounced, in the strongest terms, the circumstances which seemed to render it necessary that his young friend should cast his lot among the soldiers for a season, and on this particular morning he looked as though he had lost everything that was worth living for.
George had just put on his new uniform for the first time, and no one, except a very intimate acquaintance, would have recognized in him the rough-looking cowboy whom we introduced to the reader in the first volume of this series of books. During the eighteen months he had lived in the pilot-house he had fallen in with some of the ways of those by whom he was surrounded, and grown very particular in regard to his personal appearance, although he did not by any means go to extremes, as his cousin Ned had done. As he placed the jaunty fatigue-cap over his long,curly hair he looked rather complacently at the handsome face and figure that were reflected from the polished surface of the mirror.
"Come, Zeke, don't be cross," said he, walking up to his herdsman and giving him a slap on the back. "Say just one kind word to me before I go."
"I won't," growled Zeke in reply.
"Then wish me good luck in my new calling," added George.
"I won't," repeated the herdsman in a still louder tone. "You're always going off on some new callin' or another, an' I don't see no sort of sense in it. Didn't I stay home here, quiet an' peaceable, takin' care of your critters, while you was a-philanderin' up and down the river on boats that was likely at any minute to burn up or bust their boilers? Now that you have got safe home again, why in creation don't you stay here? Good land o' Goshen!" shouted Zeke, jumping up, spreading out his feet and flourishing both his huge fists in the air, "of all the fool notions that ever a livin' boy got into his head—"
"That'll do, Zeke," interrupted George with a laugh. "I have heard that a thousand times, moreor less, already. You will bid me good-bye when I get ready to go, I suppose?"
"I s'pose I won't do nothin' of the kind," exclaimed Zeke. "Of all the fool notions that ever a livin' boy—"
"I understand. Come here and pack my clothes-bag for me; you can do it better than I can."
"I won't. Them things is goin' to hang you higher'n the moon the first you know," said Zeke, scowling savagely at the elegant Mexican costume which George lifted from the bed. "Don't you never go 'crost the river with them duds on, 'cause if you do Fletcher'll string you up for a spy."
"Not in peace-times, I guess," answered George.
"What odds does it make to sich as him whether it's peace-times or not? You'll see."
"Well, he will have to catch me before he hangs me. Go and tell the cook that I am getting tired of waiting for breakfast."
"I won't; I won't never do nothin' for you no more, nor say another word to you, nuther."
"I am sorry you feel so bad about it," said George as he proceeded to pack his clothes away in a canvas bag he had provided for that purpose; "but the thing is done, and it can't be undone."
"I don't care if the Greasers come over here next full moon an' steal every huf an' horn you've got," exclaimed the angry herdsman.
"I do," replied George; "I don't want them to do anything of the kind. I don't want them to steal another steer from me or anybody else, and that is the very reason I became a scout. Our troops are going to teach those fellows to stay on their own side of the river, and I am going to help them do it."
"There's enough without you," growled Zeke.
"Suppose that everybody thought so; where would we get the men to fight our battles?—What in the world is that?"
For just then there was a terrific uproar on the porch. Above the stamping of heavy boots and hoarse but subdued ejaculations of rage, such as men sometimes utter when they are engaged in a fierce struggle, arose the voice of one who spoke in pleading accents, but whose words suddenly ceased with a kind of gasping sound, as if his throat had been seized by a strong hand. Zeke sat up on his chair and looked at George, whose face expressed the utmost bewilderment. Before either of them could speak the door was thrown open withgreat violence, and a dishevelled and half-strangled man, dressed in a dingy blue jacket and a pair of dirty leather trousers, was pitched into the room, with such force that when he brought up against Zeke that worthy herdsman was knocked out of his chair, and the two came to the floor together.
"What do you mean by such work as this?" demanded George, looking first at the prostrate man and then toward the door, where stood Jake and Bob with their hands clenched and their faces flushed with anger.
"Jest take a good squint at that feller's figger-head an' answer the question for yourself, Mr. George," answered Jake, shaking his fist at the man who had been so unceremoniously introduced into the room.—"Give it to him good an' strong, Zeke!—Well! I'll—be—blessed!—Won't you, Bob?"
This exclamation was called forth by an action on the part of George Ackerman that astonished Jake and Bob beyond measure. Zeke had instantly recognized the man who had so unexpectedly prostrated him, and, seizing him by the back of the neck in his iron grasp, began shaking him as a dog would shake a rat. George also recognized the man after he had taken a second look at him, and springingforward he seized Zeke's arm and tore his grasp loose. Then he assisted the man to his feet, and taking his hand in his own shook it cordially.
"Well, Iwillbe blessed!" repeated Jake, who stood looking the very picture of astonishment.—"Won't you, Bob?"
"I should say I would," replied the latter, who was equally amazed. "That's somethingInever expected to see—an Ackerman shaking hands with a cattle-thief!"
"Springer," exclaimed George, "I am glad to see you again; and without your crutches, too! I hope you have entirely recovered."
Yes, the man who had made his entrance into George's room in so unusual a manner was Springer, whom we have often spoken of as the wounded cattle-thief. He had, as we know, once been in the employ of George's father; but proving to be utterly unfit for the position he held, Mr. Ackerman had discharged him, and Springer had sought revenge by making an unsuccessful effort to burn the ranche. Of course he could not stay in Texas after that, so he fled across the river and joined his fortunes with the Contra-Guerrillas, a regiment of desperadoes in the employ of the ill-starred Maximilian. He belonged, with other renegade Americans, to Fletcher's band, who were the principal foragers for Maximilian's army; but instead of robbing the adherents of Juarez, who probably had no stock worth stealing, they made numerous raids across the river and ran off the cattle belonging to the Texans. Springer was one of the band who stampeded George's herd at Catfish Falls, and during the short skirmish that followed Zeke sent a bullet through each of his legs, wounding him severely. He managed to keep up with the band a few miles, but the rapid motion was too much for him, and he was finally abandoned by his companions, who hurried the captured cattle toward the river, leaving Springer to look out for himself.
The pain occasioned by the wounds that had been inflicted upon him by Zeke's Winchester was so intense that the raider was forced to travel very slowly. Arriving on the banks of a little stream that ran across the trail he was pursuing, he rolled out of his saddle to quench his thirst, which had became almost unbearable; but his bridle slipping from his hand, his horse wandered away, and, as Springer was not able to walk, he could not catch him again. He sank helplessly down beside a tree,where he was presently discovered by George Ackerman, who was making his way on foot toward Mr. Gilbert's ranche. The boy ministered to his wants by bringing him water in his hat and sharing with him his slender stock of provisions, and Springer showed his gratitude by warning George of a plot which his uncle John and cousin Ned had laid against him. He went into all the details, but George refused to believe a word of it until subsequent events, which we have already described, proved to his entire satisfaction that the thief had told him nothing but the truth.
After spending half an hour in the man's company, George caught his horse, assisted him into the saddle, and Springer succeeded in crossing into Mexico without being discovered by any of the settlers whom Zeke had gathered together to recapture George's herd. He made his way to Don Miguel's ranche, and there our hero found him when he was captured by Fletcher's men. The raider seemed to be sorry for his misdeeds, and George had assured him that if he ever made up his mind to turn over a new leaf and lead a different sort of life, he would assist him by every means in his power.
"Springer," said George, drawing up an easy-chair for the use of his guest, "what brought you over on this side of the river? Have you abandoned Fletcher for good?"
The cattle-thief gasped and coughed three or four times, as if he were trying to clear his throat of something that stuck there and choked his utterance, and finally nodded his head in reply.
"Don't pay no attention to him, Mr. George!" exclaimed Bob. "He don't know nothin' but stealin' an' lyin', that feller don't, an' I wouldn't trust him as far as I could sling a yearlin'."
"If it wasn't for sich fellers as him you could stay to hum quiet an' peaceable like, an' not have to go off fur a soldier," added Jake.
"When I was a prisoner among the Greasers he gave me advice that assisted me in making my escape, and why should I not treat him kindly?" demanded George, turning indignantly upon the speakers. "No visitor at the Ackerman ranche was ever treated so shamefully before, and I tell you I don't want the thing repeated."
"Why, Mr. George," stammered Jake, "he rid up to the porch an' said he wanted to speak to you, an' so we brung him in—me an' Bob did."
"Go and tell the cook to put another plate on the table and to hurry up breakfast," said George with an air of disgust.
"Mr. George," said Zeke solemnly, "do you mean by that that you're goin' to break bread with this—this varmint?"
"I mean that Springer is going to eat a good breakfast with me, if that is what you want to know," replied George.
"Then, Bob, you needn't say nothin' about that there other plate," continued the herdsman, picking up his hat and moving toward the door. "Springer can have the one I was goin' to use."
"Zeke, sit down and behave yourself," exclaimed George.
"No, I won't. I ain't agoin' to eat salt with a man what tried to burn this ranche over your dead father's head, an' you a little babby at the time, without no power to help yourself. I don't know what this family is comin' to, anyhow."
"No more do I," chimed in Bob, while he and Jake looked daggers at their employer's new guest. "Things ain't as they used to be in the good ole days. I won't wait on no table that he sets at."
As if moved by a common impulse, the three men left the room, Zeke closing the door behind him with no gentle hand. The cattle-thief seemed to be greatly relieved to see them go, but their extraordinary conduct made him very uneasy, and he looked toward George to see what the latter thought about it.
"Never mind them," said the boy encouragingly. "They were employed on this ranche before I was born, and have finally come to think that they have more rights here than I have. Now, what did you want to see me for? How can I help you? If I were going to stay at home, so that I could stand between you and the settlers, I would give you a herdsman's berth, if that is what you want; but I am going to Fort Lamoine as soon as I have packed my things and disposed of my breakfast, and I may not be back for a year. I am a United States scout."
"I wondered what you were doin' with them soldier-clothes on; an' that explains it," said Springer, speaking with difficulty. "I don't reckon you can help me none jest now, but mebbe I can help you by puttin' you on your guard agin' Fletcher."
"Is he after me again?" cried George. "I was in hope I had seen and heard the last of him."
"Them kind of fellers is always turnin' up when they isn't wanted," replied Springer. "He's come back to his ole hole at that there ranche, bringin' a good many of his ole men with him, an' some new ones that would be wusser than he is, only that ain't possible. Amongst them all, they have laid a plan to visit you next full moon."
"Let them come," said George, snapping his fingers in the air; "they'll not get me, or any stock either."
"He wants you more'n he wants stock," continued Springer. "That is, he wants you first. Your uncle John put the very mischief into that there feller's head, an' he's goin' to make a pris'ner of you, like he did afore. He knows that you are master here now—that you've got more money an' cattle than you know what to do with; an' he thinks you would rather give 'em all up than lose your liberty."
"No doubt I would," answered George, "but before he can make any demands upon me he must catch me. That he will never do, for the next time—"
He was about to say that the next time he saw Don Miguel's ranche he would be so strongly backed up that he would stand in no fear of the boss cattle-thief and his band. But he didn't say it, for he did not know how far it would be safe to trust his friend Springer. He need not have been so particular on this point, however, for the cattle-thief knew as much about the contemplated movements of General Ord's forces as George did himself. The Mexican authorities had been notified that if the raids from their side of the river were not stopped our troops would take the matter in hand and punish the thieves wherever they could be found; and those same authorities had been accommodating enough to warn Fletcher, and so put him on his guard.
"Where have you been since I last saw you?" inquired George, "and what has become of my horse? What did the 'boss' say when he found I had slipped through his fingers? I told you I shouldn't stay there and allow myself to be robbed. Did he follow me?"
"No, he didn't foller you, 'cause nobody knowed till mornin' come that you had skipped out," answered Springer. "When Fletcher went to callyou to breakfast, an' you wasn't there, he thought you was a-loafin' around somewheres about the ranche; but when somebody told him that the hoss with the four white feet, that follered us acrost the river on the night we tried to get the strong-box out of this house, was gone, he knowed in a minute what was up, an' he was about the maddest man you ever see. But he couldn't take time to hunt you up, an' all he could do was to swear that he'd hold fast to you the next time he got his hands on to you."
"He'll never get his hands on me again," said George confidently.
"I hope he won't, but if he does it'll be worse for you. That there black hoss of your'n is dead," continued Springer; "he was shot at Querétaro. You see, when we got down to the place where the fightin' was goin' on, we knowed in a minute that Max couldn't hold out much longer, so we started one dark night to cross over to Juarez. His soldiers seen us comin', an', thinkin' that we were up to some trick or another, they turned loose on us an' cut us up fearful."
"It served you just right," said George, with honest indignation. "You had no business to goin with Maximilian in the first place, but having joined him you ought to have stood by him to the last."
"Wedidstand by him after that, 'cause we had to," answered Springer. "But it didn't take 'em long to captur' the place, an' it didn't take them long either to say what should be done with Max. He an' Mejia an' Miramon were took out on a hill near the ruins of an old stone fort an' shot. I didn't see it, 'cause I was under guard with Fletcher an' the rest; but I heared some of 'em who did see it say that just before the shooting was done Max he says to Miramon, 'The bravest man should have the post of honor;' so he puts Miramon in the middle, an' Max he stood on the left. It was a mean piece of business all the way through," said Springer, drawing his hand nervously across his forehead, "an' I am powerful glad that I am well out of it. Now, Mr. George, seein' as how you belong to the army, mebbe I had oughter tell you something. You remember them two Greasers who shot that cowboy down to Rio Grande City, an' was put in jail for it, don't you? Well, they belong to our gang, an' Fletcher an' the rest are getting ready to go down there an' take 'em out."
"Very well. Go right down to the commanding officer at Eagle Pass and tell him of it," said George promptly. "Then come up to Fort Lamoine, and we'll see if the colonel won't do something for Fletcher when he comes over here to capture me."
"An' there's another thing I had oughter tell you, Mr. George," continued Springer, sinking his voice almost to a whisper. "I come over here as a sort of spy, like. I am to find out all I can about your ways—where you go of nights, an' all that, you know—an' then I am to go down to Rio City, take a look about the jail, see how many guards there are, an' everything else that is worth knowin', an' after that I am to go back an' tell Fletcher."
"I am glad you didn't say so while my men were in here," observed George.
"I was just a trifle too sharp for that," said Springer, shaking his head and looking very wise. "I don't want to make them any madder at me than they be now."
"But you are not going back to Fletcher with any news, are you? You told me you had left him for good."
"Mr. George," said Springer earnestly, "I ain'tagoin' to take no news acrost the river that will do anybody there any good. I ain't forgot that you helped me when I was a-starving for grub an' water, and I ain't likely to forget it, nuther. I did say I had quit them fellers for good, an' when I said it I meant it; but you can see by the way your own men used me, right here under your nose, that I couldn't stay here without nobody to back me up. I can't starve, so I'll have to go back till you come home again."
"If you will stay on this side of the river I will see that you don't starve," replied George. "After you have told the commanding officer at Eagle Pass of the attempt that is to be made to release those murderers, come up to Fort Lamoine and I will find some honest work for you to do. The soldiers at the post are not acquainted with you, and consequently there will be no one to trouble you. I will say that you used to work for my father, and that will help you to a position."
While Springer was trying to make the boy understand how grateful he was to him for his kindness, there was a rap at the door, and Bob thrust his head into the room to announce in a surly tone that breakfast was ready.
"Where's Zeke?" asked George.
"Gone," was the laconic reply.
"All right! If he is foolish enough to go off without any breakfast, let him go. He'll meet me somewhere along the trail and say good-bye, I know. Bob," added George, pointing to the clothes-bag, which he had packed while he and his visitor were conversing, "put this into the pack-saddle, and have everything ready, so that I can start as soon as I have eaten breakfast.—Come on, Springer."
George led the way into an adjoining room, and found an excellent breakfast waiting for him. The cook, knowing that this was the last meal the young master of the ranche would eat at that table for long months to come, had exhausted all his knowledge of the cuisine in the effort to serve up a breakfast that would tempt George to eat, no matter whether he was hungry or not.
True to his promise, Bob kept out of the breakfast-room, and George and his guest were obliged to wait on themselves; but as they were used to that, they got on very well. While they were eating George once more repeated the instructions he had given Springer, and reiterated his promise tofurnish him with steady employment and give him a chance to make an honest living.
Breakfast over, George accompanied his guest to the door, and saw him ride away toward Eagle Pass. As soon as he was out of sight the boy went into the house after his weapons and to take leave of the servants, who were good-natured enough now that Springer was gone. After shaking them all by the hand, and listening to their hearty wishes for his safe and speedy return, he mounted his horse, which stood at the porch saddled and bridled, took his pack-mule by the halter and rode away toward Mr. Gilbert's ranche. The first person to greet him as he drew rein in front of the door was Zeke, who had so emphatically declared that he would not have another word to say to him.
"Where's that pizen varmint?" demanded the herdsman in no very amiable tones.
"Look here, Zeke," replied George, "if you should happen to meet that man while I am gone, I want you to treat him civilly; do you understand? If you see him in trouble, I want you to help him out. He is sorry for what he has done, and intends to lead a better life; andif you don't assist him in every way you can, you are not the fellow I take you for."
"Humph!" exclaimed Zeke contemptuously. "Sorry, ain't he? Wants to lead a better life, don't he? Well, it's mighty little chance he'll have if he makes a business of bumpin' up agin me the way he did this mornin', I bet you."
"He couldn't help it; Jake and Bob threw him against you. I know he is in earnest, for he has proved it. He came to the ranch to tell me that my old friend Fletcher is coming over to capture me next full moon, and he has now gone down to warn the officer in command at Eagle Pass that an attempt will soon be made to liberate the murderers who are in jail there.—Good-morning, Mr. Gilbert. I have stopped to say good-bye."
"Why don't you slap your foot down an' tell him he sha'n't go, Gilbert?" demanded Zeke.
"I am as sorry to have him go as you are," replied Mr. Gilbert. "But it is to our interest to do all we can to break up this raiding business, and George can do more than any of us. In fact, he is the only one in the settlement who can do anything, for you know the colonel wouldn't accept the services of our company of Rangers whenwe offered them to him.—Come in, George, and say good-bye to Mrs. Gilbert and the girls."
This was soon done, for the boy did not like to linger over the parting; but still, it was much harder for him to take leave of these good friends than he thought it would be. The whole family accompanied him to the door, and when he came out Zeke turned his back to him.
"Say good-bye to me," said George, giving him a pat on the shoulder; "it's your last chance."
"I don't care if it is," shouted the old fellow; "I won't do it."
"Then I will say it to you: Good-bye, Zeke. It will be a long time before I see you again, if indeed I ever do, but I never shall forget you. You have been a good friend to me."
This was altogether too much for the honest herdsman. He faced quickly about, and, seizing George's hand with a grip that brought tears to his eyes, churned it up and down like a pump-handle. Then he dropped it and turned away, while George, without saying another word, vaulted into his saddle and rode off. Zeke watched him as long as he remained in sight, and then in broken accents addressed the silent group who stood in the doorway:
"Thar's that there boy."—here he waved his hand in the direction in which George had disappeared—"he was all I had, an' now he's gone off to fight them Greasers without askin' me would I let him go. I toted him in them there arms when he was a yellin' babby not knee-high to a duck; I put him on the fust hoss he ever rid; I slept under the same blanket an' herded cattle with him when he got bigger; I larnt him how to throw the lasso an' shoot the rifle; an' now he's went off an' left me alone! Dog-gone them pizen Greasers!" roared Zeke, flourishing both his fists in the air.
He lingered a moment, looking rather sharply at Mr. Gilbert, as if he had half a mind to take him to task for giving his consent to George's "fool notion," and then, thinking better of it, he lumbered down the steps, mounted his horse and galloped off toward the place where he had left his herd in charge of an assistant.
George camped two nights on the prairie, and on the third afternoon, an hour or two before sunset, he arrived within sight of one of the stage-company'sdeserted stables. Or, rather, itwasdeserted the last time he saw it, but now there was an armed soldier in front of the door, and he was presently joined by others, one of whom, by signs, invited him to approach. George complied, and presently found himself surrounded by a squad of troopers under the command of Corporal Bob Owens, who greeted him as we have described.