HALF an hour before daylight was due everyone in the camp was stirring.
The two new cooks for the day had their work cut out for them. Other soldiers busied themselves with hauling wood and water.
Then, too, the four horses belonging to the transport wagons had to be curried, watered and fed.
By the time these first duties were out of the way broad daylight had come and breakfast was ready.
The meal over "police," or cleaning up, was performed as carefully as in barracks.
The hunters were now ready to set out, for, in the meantime, the antelope and bears killed the afternoon before had been skinned and the meat hung up in the dry, cool air.
"Anybody in this outfit been wearing moccasins?" queried Corporal Hyman, strolling back into camp.
No one admitted it.
"Then we've been having visitors in the night," continued Hyman. "No less than four of them, either, for the prints are right underthat tree over there, and they lead down to the trail."
"Moccasins? Indians, then?" thrilled Private William Green, who was one of the hunting party.
"Sorry to spoil your dream of glory in an Indian fight, Green," laughed the lieutenant, "but the last Indian in these parts died years ago."
"But what can the moccasins mean?" pondered Sergeant Hal aloud. "If there have been visitors about, and honest ones, they would naturally let themselves be announced. Dietz, you had the last trick of watch?"
"Yes, Sergeant."
"Did you see or hear any prowlers?"
"Nary one, Sergeant."
"Corporal Hyman, take me over to the moccasin prints. Lieutenant, do you mind taking a look at them, too, sir?"
Mr. Prescott stepped over in the wake of Hyman and Overton.
"There are the prints," declared the corporal, pointing. "On account of the hard ground they're not very distinct, but there were four of the fellows."
"More likely five," supplemented Lieutenant Prescott, pointing to still another set of footmarks.
"Here are other prints over here," called Sergeant Overton. "Aren't these still a different set?"
"Yes," agreed both the lieutenant and Corporal Hyman.
"Then there were at least six men prowling about here while we slept in the night," concluded Hal.
"And here is one of the trails," called the lieutenant, "leading toward camp."
"Suppose we follow the trail?" suggested the young sergeant.
They did so, halting at the end of the trail.
"From here I can see where the stool of the guard rested near the fire," continued Overton. "From that it would seem fair to conclude that one of the prowlers got this far, found our guard awake, and then retired."
"It would be interesting to know who our visitors were," nodded Lieutenant Prescott.
"I've changed my mind about going hunting to-day," went on Sergeant Hal. "While the rest of you are out after game I am going to remain right here."
"The camp is guarded by two reliable men," remarked Mr. Prescott.
"True enough, sir, but they're not real guards, for both will have their hands full with camp housework," objected the boyish sergeant."They can't do real guard duty, or else we'd all have to turn to get the evening meal in a rush. So I've decided to remain behind to-day."
"And, on the whole, I think you're wise to do it, Sergeant," approved the lieutenant.
So, while the main party hied itself away soon after, Hal Overton remained behind with the two camp duty men.
Having a couple of good books in his tent, Sergeant Hal donned his olive tan Army overcoat, spread a poncho and a pair of blankets on the ground and lay down to read.
But his rifle and ammunition belt rested beside him.
The morning passed without any event, other than two or three times Sergeant Overton paused long enough in his reading to do some brief scouting past the camp.
Nothing came of it, however. At noon Hal ate with Dietz and Johnson.
"The chuck is better back in camp," laughed the young sergeant. "But I've heard a gun half a dozen times this morning, and each time I've been curious to know how the hunting luck is running."
"Nobody will beat the haul you made yesterday, Sarge," offered Private Dietz.
"Oh, I'd like to see several of the fellows beatit," rejoined Overton. "I certainly hope to see both wagons go back loaded to the top with game. I don't want to have the only military command I ever enjoyed being the head of go back stumped."
"We're not stumped, with five bear carcasses," hinted Private Johnson.
"Those carcasses might afford two meat meals to the garrison," speculated Sergeant Overton. "But what we want to do is to take back so much game flesh that no man in Fort Clowdry will want to hear game meat mentioned again before next spring."
"Huh! By that time the old Thirty-fourth will probably be in the Philippines," retorted Dietz, forking eight ounces more of wood-broiled bear steak to his tin plate.
"I wonder!" cried Hal, his eyes blazing with eagerness.
"Crazy to get out to the islands, Sarge?"
"Humph! I put in three years there with the Thirty-fourth," grunted Dietz. "I'll never kick at a transfer to another regiment whenever the regiment I'm in gets the islands route."
"What have you against the Philippines?" Hal wanted to know.
"Well, Sarge, don't you enjoy this cool, crisp, bracing air up here in the hills?"
"Certainly. Who wouldn't? This air is bracing—life-giving."
"Nothing like it in the Philippines," answered Dietz. "It's hot there—hot, you understand."
"Yet I've been told that a soldier always needs his blankets there at night," objected Hal.
"Yes; if you have to sleep outdoors, then you need your full uniform on, including shoes and leggings, and you wrap yourself up tight in your blanket. But that isn't to keep warm; it's to keep the mosquitoes from eating you alive. So, after you get done up in your blanket, you put a collapsible mosquito net over your head to protect your face and neck. Then there's a trick you have to learn of wrapping your hands in under your blanket in such a way that the skeeters can't follow inside. After you've been in the islands a few weeks you learn how to do yourself up so that the skeeters can't get at your flesh."
"Then that ought to be all right," smiled Hal hopefully.
"Yes; but you never heard a Filipino skeeter holler when he's mad. When they find they can't get at you then about four thousand settle on your net and blanket and sing all night. You've got to be fagged out before you can sleep over the racket those little pests make."
"I guess the whole trick can be learned," predicted Overton.
"The night trick can be learned after a while," agreed Dietz. "But, in the daytime, there's nothing that can be done to protect you. You simply have to suffer. Then the hot days! Why, Sarge, I've marched north up the tracks of the Manila & Dagupan railroad, carrying fifty pounds of weight, on days when the sun sure beat down on us at the rate of a hundred and forty degrees Fahrenheit."
"Yet you're alive, now," observed Overton.
"Oh, yes; just as it happens."
"But surely there's some marching in the shade, too?"
"Oh, yes; sometimes you spend the whole day, everyday for a fortnight, hiking through the dense jungles after a gang of bolomen or Moros or ladrones. Shade enough there in the jungle, but it has a Turkish bath beaten to a plum finish. You drip, drip, drip with perspiration, until you'd give a week's pay to be out in the sun for ten minutes with a chance to get dried off."
"I'm going to like it, just the same," retorted Hal. "I know I am. And, if the natives put up any real trouble for us, then we'll see some actual service. That's what a very young soldier always aches for, you know, Dietz."
"Yes, and it's sure fun fighting those brown-skinned little Filipino goo-goos," grunted the older soldier. "First they fire on you, and then you and your comrades lie down and fire back. After you've had a few men hit the order comes to charge. Then you all rise and rush forward, cheering like the Fourth of July. You have to go through some tall grass on the way, and, first thing you know, a parcel of hidden bolo men jump up right in front of you. They use their bolos—heavy knives—to slit you open at the belt line. Ugh! I'd sooner fight five men with guns than step on one of those bolo men in the jungle!"
"Just the same," voiced the young sergeant, "the sooner the Thirty-fourth is ordered to the island the better I'll like it. I'm wild to see some of the high foreign spots."
"Wish I could give you all the chances that are coming to me in my service in the Army," grunted Private Dietz, as he rose from the table.
The afternoon was one of harder work for the two camp duty men. Hal tried to read again, but found his thoughts too frequently wandering to the Philippines.
The afternoon waxed late, at last, though still there was no sign of the hunters. Once in a while a gun had been heard at some distance, and that was all.
All the time Sergeant Hal had trailed his rifle about camp with him. Now, tiring of reading, he went to his tent, standing his rifle against the front tent pole.
Hearing a swift step the young sergeant reached the tent flap in time to see a roughly-dressed, moccasined white man running away with Hal's Army rifle.
Then, in the same instant, he heard a voice call:
"Throw your hands up there, man!"
"Holding me up with my own gun, are you?" raged Private Dietz.
"Yes; and we've got the other chap's lead-piece, too. Up with your hands, both of you."
Hal dropped back behind the flap of his tent, peering out through a little crack in the canvas.
There were now seven men outside, all strangers, all rough-looking and all moccasined.
Between them they had the three rifles belonging in camp that day.
"Bring out that other fellow, the kid sergeant," commanded the same voice, after Dietz and Johnson, hopelessly surprised, had hoisted their hands skyward.
"Humph!" growled Sergeant Hal, his eyes snapping. "I don't like the idea of surrendering the camp that I command!"
WHATEVER was to be done would have to be done in a very few seconds.
For one of the rifle-armed strangers had started briskly for the tent that concealed the boyish sergeant.
"Whatever happens, he isn't going to get me alive, if I can help it!" quivered young Overton. "I'd sooner be killed at once than disgrace my chevrons."
Two swift steps backward, and Sergeant Hal caught up his revolver.
With this in his right hand, and stepping panther-like, he returned to the fallen tent flap.
The approaching man with the rifle bent forward, sweeping the tent flap aside.
"Come out, Sarge!" he ordered.
"If I have to," retorted Hal, setting his teeth.
Grasping the revolver by the barrel end, he sprang through, before the other fellow could comprehend what was happening.
"Look out, there!" yelled one of the invaders, coming up behind the man with the rifle.
It was too late.
Crack! It was a fearful blow, the butt of the heavy Army revolver landing on the fellow's jaw and fracturing it.
"O-o-o-h!"
It was a wail of fearful agony, but under the circumstances Sergeant Overton could not afford to regret it.
The stricken man staggered back.
Hal poised for a bound, intending to snatch the rifle from him.
As the fellow dropped back, however, his companion coming up behind him was in time to snatch the rifle, turning the muzzle on Overton.
There being not a second to lose, and the fight unequal, Hal darted, instead, back to his tent pole.
There hung a mirror that he had used in shaving.
It took but an instant to get this. Then Hal raced for a tree thirty feet away.
Dropping the small mirror into a pocket, Overton started to climb the tree.
"Come down out of that tree, or we'll bring you down!" roared an ugly voice.
"You'll have to drop me, then, if you want me," taunted Hal coolly.
He was a dozen feet up the trunk by the time that the man who now held that rifle gained the base of the tree.
"Coming down, you——?" called the ruffian with an oath.
"No," responded Hal. "Coming up?"
"Come down, I tell you!"
"Some mistake," sneered Hal, still climbing. "I'm headed for the roof."
Below him he heard a threatening click as the bolt of the rifle was thrown back.
"Hey! Don't shoot the kid—yet," ordered another voice. "He'll come down when he sees what we can do to him. He hasn't any show."
So the fellow under the tree went back to join his six companions.
Dietz and Johnson were still holding up their hands. This fact was no reflection on their courage. They were trained fighting men, and had sense enough to realize when the enemy had "the drop" on them.
"You two soldiers," ordered the leader of the ruffians, "lie down on your faces and hold your hands behind your backs for tying."
Neither soldier, however, stirred as yet.
"You heard that, Sergeant?" calledDietzdryly.
"Yes," admitted Hal.
"What shall we do?"
"You fellows get down on your faces—flop!" broke in the leader of the ruffians. "That's what you'll do!"
"Will you be kind enough to shut up?" retorted Private Dietz coolly. "We're taking our orders from the sergeant."
"Let him come down here and give the orders, then," jeered the leader of the invaders.
"You'd better give in, Dietz and Johnson," order Sergeant Hal. "You can't do anything and I don't want to see you killed."
"That's your order, then, is it, sergeant?" inquired Private Johnson.
"Yes; it can't be helped."
Dietz and Johnson, therefore, lay down as directed. Some of the scoundrels who were not armed busied themselves with tying the soldiers, and this work the miscreants did with a thoroughness that spoke eloquently of practice.
But the diversion gave Hal a chance to do something that had popped into his head at the instant when he had stepped back for the mirror.
The sun was still sufficiently high for him to catch the rays strongly on his small mirror.
Now, in the Army signaling work, one branch has to do with heliographing; that is, flashing a message by means of reflected rays of the sun's light.
Swiftly enough the young sergeant caught the flash, and found to his delight that he was able to throw a fairly long flash.
"Camp in hands of ruffians. Help quick!"
The Mirror Was Shot From Hal's Hand.The Mirror Was Shot From Hal's Hand.
Despite his tremendous excitement, Sergeant Overton endeavored to steady his right hand enough to enable him to send the message quite clearly.
Again and again he flashed the message, until one of the invaders, glancing up at the tree top, caught sight of the work that was going on.
"That kid's trying to send word to some one," guessed the leader. "Here, cub, hand me that rifle."
Crack!
Smash!
It was a true shot, though how much of it was due to luck Sergeant Hal could not surmise.
But the glass was shot from his hand, the splintered bits falling to the ground.
"Next shot for you, kid!" warned the marksman below.
"Yes?" mocked Overton.
"Surest thing in the world? Coming down, or shall I bring you down?"
Crack!
Hal drew his own weapon up, firing as the sight passed the human target.
It was a close shot, the revolver bullet carrying away the fellow's cloth cap.
"I'm firing too high," spoke Hal as composedly as though he did not feel any excitement. "I'll fire for your belt line after this."
That was too much for the ruffian's composure. He turned, running in a zig-zag line.
So Hal held his fire, awaiting results for a moment. As he waited he felt for his revolver ammunition.
Then he made a sickening discovery. He had no revolver ammunition beyond the five cartridges remaining in the cylinder of his weapon.
As for the invaders, they had more than three hundred rounds of rifle ammunition now at their disposal.
And they had fled to cover, too, but now Sergeant Overton had the uncomfortable conviction that three rifles were trained on him.
"Now, come down out of that tree on the double quick!" commanded the leader of the invaders.
"My coming will suit myself only," boasted Hal in a tone conveying ten times the confidence that he felt.
"That shot of yours may start help this way," continued the leader threateningly. "We ain't going to take any chances. Start on the second, or we'll begin shooting, and keep it up until we tumble you out of that tree."
"You may fire whenever ready," mocked Hal. "Every shot you fire will be a signal that will make my friends come faster."
Bang! It was the leader himself who fired.The bullet clipped off a leaf within an inch of Sergeant Overton's ear.
Crack! The boyish young sergeant was all there with the grit. He fired straight back at the leader, the bullet striking the rock before the other's face.
Now two more shots clipped close to the young soldier. Hal answered with one.
But he tried to steady himself. He realized that he had but three fighting shots left, and that he must make them count.
"But maybe three are enough to last me as long as I'm going to live, anyway," reflected Sergeant Overton grimly.
There was not much comfort in that thought, but Hal drew himself around more behind the tree trunk in order to shield himself as much as possible, although the tree trunk would be no real protection from bullets.
The Army bullet, at an ordinary range, will pierce three solid feet of standing oak.
"GIVE it up?" queried the leader.
"I answered you before on that head," retorted Sergeant Overton.
"Don't be a fool, kid. We don't want to hurt you. All we want is that revolver."
"I don't want to give it up," rejoined Hal.
"You'd better!"
"It isn't mine to give, anyway. It belongs to the United States Government."
"Uncle Sam will never see that revolver again," declared the leader of the invaders, with profane emphasis. "And you'll never see your friends again if you don't hit it fast for the ground."
"I'm here until further orders."
"You've got your orders!"
"I don't take any orders from you," retorted Hal with fine scorn.
"Open up on the fool, boys—all together!"
Three spurts of flame jetted out from the cover that the ruffians had taken.
Hal steadied his arm by resting it across a branch before him, and fired back, his aim, as before, at the leader.
He had the satisfaction of seeing that rascal's head duck below cover.
Though he could not know it then, Overton had clipped a lock of hair from the fellow's hatless head.
Another volley, which Hal answered with another shot.
"What do you fellows want with guns if you can't shoot better!" hailed Overton derisively.
He didn't want them to shoot any better, but he was trying to anger them and thus make their shooting wilder.
"It won't take us more than half a minute more to get you," flung back the leader.
Now that fellow raised himself, exposing himself more, but getting a solid left-hand rest for his rifle.
Hal could see and feel that the rifle was pointed fairly at him.
On the instinct of the moment the young sergeant fired. And he would have scored, had he not seen the other two riflemen leaving their cover also to get a better aim. That realization spoiled his shot.
"Gracious! That was my last cartridge, too!" groaned the young sergeant inwardly.
The realization made him feel creepy. It is one thing to fight bravely, when one has the fighting tools and a knowledge of their use. Butit is quite another thing to face the certainty of being helpless with so many armed foes bent on one's destruction.
None the less, summoning up all his courage, Hal broke the revolver at the breech, allowing the ejector to shed the empty shells on the ground underneath.
With lightning motions Hal went through the sham of filling his cylinder with fresh cartridges.
"No use, little man! No use at all. If you had any more cartridges you'd get me now—but you can't. Come on, boys! We'll go under the tree and smoke him out!"
As he spoke, the leader moved boldly from cover, exposing the whole length of his body.
It would have made a splendid mark for as expert a shot as Sergeant Hal Overton. The soldier boy did raise his revolver, as though to shoot, but the leader, coolly confident, continued to come forward.
Of course Hal could not shoot, and the rest seeing that, also came out from cover.
Chuckling, all but the one whose jaw Hal had injured, the wretches moved forward, halting just under the tree.
"Coming down now?" demanded the leader, directing the muzzle of his stolen rifle up the tree.
"I don't know," mimicked Hal.
"Ever hear what the treed 'coon said to Davy Crockett?" inquired the scoundrel facetiously.
"If it's a chestnut I'll stand hearing it again," proposed the young sergeant.
"Well, friend, when the raccoon saw Davy pointing his gun upward, he called down: 'Don't shoot, Davy! I'll come down.'"
"Great!" mocked young Overton.
"Are you going to do like the 'coon?"
Hal's answer was to raise his right hand suddenly and hurling his now useless revolver.
There was no time to dodge. One of the riflemen below received the impact of the descending weapon squarely on top of his head and he keeled over, falling into a bush.
"You said all you wanted was my revolver," announced Sergeant Hal. "Well, you have it. Now on your way with it."
The dropped revolver had been picked up by another of the crowd, and now two men raised their guns to shoot Hal Overton out of the tree.
But their leader struck down their guns.
"None of that, unless we have to," he commanded. "The sergeant's a game one, and he's not to blame for trying to defend his camp. He can't do any more harm now, and I won't have him hurt unless he forces us to do it. Now, then, young man, are you coming down out of that tree?"
"Why?" challenged Hal. "You said that all you wanted was my revolver. You have that now, and all the rifles in camp. What do you need of me?"
"We've got to slip away from here quick," retorted the leader with a deceptive show of good-nature and fair-mindedness. "But do you think, Sergeant, we're going to be fools enough to dust out of here and leave you to come down out of the tree and trail us along, then come back here for help and bag us all. No, no, young man! We know the regulars, and we're not going to leave any cards in the hands of the fighting line of the Army."
"But it's so comfortable up here," objected Hal.
"I'm going to give you, Sergeant, until I count three. Then, if you haven't started, we'll simply have to bring you down like a cantankerous grizzly. Or, if you start and then stop again, we'll shoot just the same. We can't afford to waste any more time talking."
Where had Hal seen this man before? Where and when had he heard that voice?
Face and voice both seemed strangely familiar, yet, to save him, Overton could not place the fellow at that moment.
"One!" counted the leader, and Hal saw three rifle muzzles pointed at him.
"Two!"
"All right! I'm the 'coon. Be with you in a minute, Davy Crockett," laughed Sergeant Hal Overton.
It was hard luck, but the soldier boy felt that he had made all the fight that could be expected of any one. There seemed no sense in being killed for sheer stubbornness, now that he had not a ghost of a chance of fighting back.
Having once started groundward, Overton continued to descend rapidly.
As he reached the last limb on his descent he took a swift slide and landed among his captors.
"Good boy," mimicked the leader of the invaders. "Now continue to be sensible. Just lie down on your face and put your hands behind your back the way your two men did. Nothing happened to them and nothing worse will happen to you."
The wretch's words were smooth and oily. To Hal it really looked as though this fellow respected gameness enough not to take it out on a defenseless enemy.
So Hal lay face downward and gave up his hands for binding.
Wrap! wrap! He felt the cord passing swiftly around his wrists, and then an extra turn was taken around his ankles.
"Your name's Overton, isn't it?" asked the leader with a wicked grin on his face.
"Yes."
"Then you're the man we want."
"From the way you acted I judged that you wanted me," mocked Hal dryly.
"Yes; but we wanted you for more than general reasons. In fact, we want you, most of all, for purely personal reasons. Or, at least, one of our fellows does. Here he comes."
An eighth man of the wretched crew now came swiftly forward from the hiding that he had kept from the first.
As he came he chuckled maliciously, and Hal Overton knew that sinister laugh.
Then the fellow halted, bending over the prostrate, tied young sergeant.
The face was the face of that evil deserter from the Army—ex-Private Hinkey!
"I'D much better have stayed up the tree and been shot out of it!" flashed through Sergeant Hal's startled brain.
"Howdy!" jeered Hinkey, leering wickedly. "Didn't expect to see me, did you?"
"No," Hal admitted frankly.
"It's my inning now, Overton."
"It looks like it."
"And I'm to have my own way with you—you officers' boot-lick!"
"That's a lie, Hinkey, and you know it!" broke in the deep, indignant voice of Private Dietz. "Overton's a man, first, last and always. He's worth a million of your kind."
"Good!" added Private Johnson valiantly. "And true, too! I never realized it until to-day, either."
"Oh, you both hold your tongues," ordered Hinkey, glaring over at the pair of bound soldiers who lay beyond. "You fellows are no good, either. No man that'll stay in the Army is any good."
"I'm glad to know why you left, Hinkey," jeered Dietz. "I've wondered a lot about that."
"Oh, have you?" snarled Hinkey. "Nobody but a boot-lick would stay in the Army, and I don't lick any man's boots, not for the whole Army."
"Come, hurry up, Hink, and have your grudge satisfied, and come along. We don't want to be caught by a lot of soldiers. All the shooting we've done here will be sure to attract the hunters."
"No it won't," rejoined Hinkey. "We trailed the hunting parties, and they went out in three squads, in three different directions. Now, any of the hunters that hear a lot of firing will only think that one of the other parties has run into a lot of game."
This was true. Hal Overton hadn't thought of it before in that light. And, in addition, it was rather unlikely that any of the hunters had chanced to see his mirror-thrown signals in the short time that had passed before the glass had been shot from his hands.
The rascal floored by the revolver which the sergeant had thrown was now coming to, for one of the crew had been dashing water in his face.
Not far away sat the man whose jaw Hal had damaged. He was groaning a bit, despite his efforts to make no fuss.
"Look at our two mates this sergeant boyhas put out of action," growled Hinkey, trying to inflame his comrades.
"They were hit in fair fight," replied the leader. "The sergeant kid doesn't belong to our side, but I don't hold his fighting grit against him."
"You'd hold anything and everything against him if you knew him as well as I do," retorted Hinkey.
He was still standing over his young victim, gazing down gloatingly at him.
"And now the time has come to square matters up with you, younker," went on Hinkey tauntingly. "It's all my way now."
Hal looked up at him steadily, but without speaking. The boy knew better than to say anything foolish that would needlessly anger this brute, who now held the situation all in his own hands.
"Well, why don't you talk back, Overton?" demanded Hinkey sneeringly.
Just the ghost of a smile flickered over Overton's face.
"Laughing at me, are you?" yelled Hinkey, trying to work himself into a more brutal rage.
Hal spoke at last.
"No," he answered.
"If you ain't laughing," continued the brute, "what are you doing?"
"Just thinking how sorry I am for you," Hal flashed back coolly.
"Sorry?" echoed the fellow bitterly. "You'd better waste your sorrow on yourself! What are you feeling badly about me for?"
"I was thinking," went on Hal slowly, and with no trace of taunt in his voice, "what a sad come-down you have had. You were in the Army, wearing its uniform, and with every right to look upon yourself as a man. You could have gone on being trusted. You could have raised yourself. Instead, you have followed a naturally bad bent and made yourself a thousand times worse than you ever needed to be. Hinkey, do you wonder that I'm sorry for you, when I find that you have fallen outside of an honest man's estate?"
"Good! Tell him some more, Sarge," came from Dietz.
"Do you hear that?" raged Hinkey, turning and catching his new leader's eye. "Do you hear what the boot-lick insinuates about the new crowd I've joined?"
"It's your affair—your battle, Hinkey," replied the leader grimly. "Don't try to drag us in."
"You're making such a beast of yourself, Hinkey, that even your own gang don't respect you," taunted Johnson.
"A crowd of Colorado wild-cats couldn't respect such a fellow," supplied Dietz.
With a snarl Hinkey ran over to where Dietz and Johnson lay, giving each a hard kick. The soldiers suffered the violence in silence.
"You two mind your own affairs," warned Hinkey savagely. "Don't turn me against you. I don't want to give either of you as bad a dose as I've planned for this sergeant boy."
"Hurry up, Hinkey," warned the leader impatiently. "You're wasting time that's worth more to us than money. You said that if we'd capture this boy for you, you'd cart him away on your back, to settle with him later. Now do it!"
"All in a minute," promised the deserter. "But, first of all, are you going to take the other two soldiers with you?"
"No. We don't need 'em."
"Then I don't want this fellow Overton to go along with us with his eyes open. He'd know our whole route if he managed to get away from us, and then he'd bring the regulars down on us. You don't want that?"
"Of course not."
"Then I'll stun this sergeant boy, and I'll do it so hard that he won't open his eyes in ten miles of traveling," promised Hinkey.
With that he turned to Hal.
"Overton, I'm going to hit you, and I'm going to hit you so hard that you won't even see stars. Close your eyes if you're afraid to see the blow coming!"
But Hal merely opened his eyes the wider, smiling back with a confidence in himself that maddened the brute.
With a snarl like a panther's Hinkey crouched over the young sergeant, holding his hand high before striking.
LOOKING up at that hand Hal Overton saw a spot of blood appear suddenly in the middle of the palm.
In the same moment there came the sharp crack of a rifle.
The blow never descended on Overton's upturned face.
Instead, Hinkey uttered a startled yell, tottered to his feet, then threw himself over on his face.
For, following that first shot, came a volley of them, accompanied by the whistling of bullets through the camp.
The leader of the invaders pitched and fell, shot through the hip.
"Take to cover, boys!" roared the stricken leader. "Take my rifle, too. Defend yourselves. The soldiers are down on us!"
But Sergeant Hal, after that first moment of joyous surprise, felt a thrill of astonishment.
The bullets that were whistling through camp had not the sound of Army missiles!
Yet the young sergeant had no time to speculate on this discovery, for now he heard a voice,and a wholly strange one, shout, as the volley ceased:
"You men surrender, if you don't want to be riddled. If you start to make a move away from camp we'll drop every one of you before any man can reach cover. We mean business!"
"Hello! What's going on here? Halt! Deploy, there! Lie down! Ready—load—aim!"
That was Noll Terry's voice, and the young sergeant was right on his word like a flash.
While the first party was hidden behind cover to the northward, Sergeant Noll and his men had come up from the westward.
"We're friends," hailed that same voice from northward. "Who are you over to the westward? Who commands there?"
"Sergeant Oliver Terry, United States Army," Noll called back.
"Good for you, Sergeant! Stay in command. We'll back up any move you make," came from northward.
"Do you rascally prowlers surrender?" called Noll.
"It's about the only thing that seems left to do," sullenly admitted the leader of the invaders.
"Then hold up your hands and step away from those rifles," ordered Noll.
That command was obeyed, except by theman whose head had been battered by Hal's flying revolver.
"Have they any other weapons, Hal?" called Sergeant Noll.
"So far as I know they haven't," Sergeant Hal answered.
"You to the north!" called Noll.
"Ahoy, there!" came the good-natured answer.
"Will you move in, covering the prisoners with your rifles?"
"Gladly, Sergeant."
"Thank you."
Out of brushwood cover to the northward stepped three men. One was a middle-aged man, a mountaineer if dress and manner went for anything.
With him, supporting this guide on each side were two tall, very straight young men who appeared to be about twenty-three years of age each. These younger men were nattily though plainly attired in corduroy, with leggings and caps.
"Just stand right there, and hold the prisoners, please," directed Sergeant Terry.
Then Noll's next step was to move in with his own men, four in number.
"Get the handcuffs," directed Noll. "I think we've enough to go around."
So saying Noll stepped over to his chum, quickly freeing him.
"Get up, Sergeant Overton," cried Noll, as he cut the last cord at his chum's ankles. "And now I turn the command over to you."
Most of the prisoners took their capture in an ugly mood. Their leader, however, affected, coolly, to regard it all as the fortunes of the game.
"Here don't handcuff any of the disabled men," directed Sergeant Hal. "Green, you stand as a guard over those wounded. It's bad enough to be hurt, without having one's hands fixed so that he can't aid himself any in his misery."
"You want Hinkey ironed, don't you?" inquired Noll.
"No."
"But he's an Army deserter."
"If he gets away from where he's sitting he'll be only the remains of one," returned Sergeant Overton dryly. "But Hinkey is wounded, and he'll need his hands free in order to look after himself."
Hinkey, however, did not deign to notice this grace by so much as a look or a word.
"What are you going to do with these fellows?" asked Noll presently.
"It doesn't rest with me," Hal replied. "Thisis a purely military matter, and I shall wait to get Lieutenant Prescott's orders."
"Then Prescott belongs with this camp?" queried the taller, finer-looking of the pair of young strangers who had given Hal his first aid.
"Lieutenant Prescott is with this camp; yes, sir," Hal replied, laying considerable emphasis on the title.
"We're friends of his," explained the same stranger. "So, if you don't mind, we'll just wait for him."
"If you're friends of Lieutenant Prescott, then make yourselves very much at home, sir," Hal answered cordially. "Any friend of Lieutenant Prescott has B company for his friends also."
Johnson and Dietz, who had been freed right after Sergeant Hal, were now busy once more with preparations for the extra meal.
"Had we better provide for three extra plates, Sarge?" inquired Johnson, in a low voice.
"It looks very much that way," smiled Hal. "And be sure to have a great plenty of everything. Vreeland will help you, as you've lost some time."
Ten minutes later the footsteps of others were heard approaching camp. Then in came Lieutenant Prescott, with Corporal Cotter andfive men. They were carrying two antelope and a fine, big bear.
But the instant that Lieutenant Prescott caught sight of the strangers he dropped everything, rushing forward with outstretched hands.
"By all that's wonderful! Dave Darrin! Dan Dalzell!"
Then the soldiers were treated to the unexpected spectacle of their lieutenant embracing the two young men in corduroy.
Soon after, however, Mr. Prescott wheeled about, one friend on either side of him.
"Attention! Men, the gentleman on my right is Midshipman David Darrin, United States Navy, and the gentleman on my left, Midshipman Daniel Dalzell, also of the Navy. They are to be treated with all the respect and courtesy due to their rank."
Readers of the "High School Boys' Series" and of the "Annapolis Series" will recall these two splendid young Naval officers, first as High School athletes, and later among the most famous of the midshipmen at the United States Naval Academy.
"But how on earth did a lucky wind come up to blow you out this way?" asked Lieutenant Prescott.
"Good fortune ruled it that we should be assigned to duty on the China station," repliedMidshipman Darrin. "So we're journeying across the continent to San Francisco, on our way. But our orders allowed us time enough to stop over a fortnight on the way. Dick, did you imagine we'd go through Colorado without stopping to see you?"
"Of course not," glowed Lieutenant Prescott. "When did you arrive at Clowdry?"
"Day before yesterday. Ever since then we've been on the way. As soon as we reached the end of the rail part of the journey here we engaged Mr. Sanderson as our guide. While coming along this afternoon we saw something like helio signals flashing in the air. The message was one for help, so we hustled along, our guide piloting. And, from some things I've heard and observed since arrival, Dick, I imagine we got here just about in time."
"As you always did," laughed Lieutenant Prescott. "But, now that I've got my breath back from my delight—Sergeant Overton, what is the meaning of prisoners in camp? And where did you find Hinkey?"
"Didn't you hear quite a lot of firing, sir?" asked Sergeant Hal.
"Firing? Considerable, but I thought some party nearer in had struck such a haul of game as you landed last night, Sergeant. Go on and tell me about it."
This Hal did, and it was all news to the lieutenant, for neither he nor any member of his hunting party had seen the helio signals.
Just as the brief spirited tale was finished the remainder of the hunting party came in, one of them being a private of hospital corps. To this man was entrusted the attending of the injured invaders.
Hinkey fairly cowered before the scorn that was apparent in the eyes of all his former comrades.
The evening meal was now nearly ready. By Hal's direction another table was set up for Lieutenant Prescott and his guests.
Then came the early, cool night. Prescott and his Naval friends sat apart for an hour, talking over the old times. Then, at last, they came over and joined the soldiers.
"May I ask a question, Lieutenant?" inquired Sergeant Hal, saluting.
"Certainly, Sergeant."
"What is to be done with the prisoners?"
"You are in command here, Sergeant."
"But isn't this a greater military matter, sir, than the mere command of a hunting camp?"
"I don't believe I need to take command, Sergeant. But I will offer you a suggestion, if you wish."
"If you will be so kind, sir."
"Why, this general group of prisoners belong to the civil authorities. You will find a jail and a sheriff very near the point where we left the train."
"Yes, sir. And Hinkey?"
"He is a prisoner of the United States Army. You can put him in charge of the same sheriff, asking him to hold Hinkey until a guard from Fort Clowdry arrives to take him. A wire to the post can be sent from the station."
"Very good, sir. Then I think I will detail Sergeant Terry, a driver and a guard of six men to escort the prisoners to the sheriff. The hospital man had better go along, too, and the injured men can travel in the wagon."
"That disposition will do very well, Sergeant. But Sergeant Terry and his men will very likely be away four days altogether."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
Saluting, and including the young Naval officers in his salute, Sergeant Overton went over to explain the plan to Noll.
"What very boyish youngsters those two sergeants are," remarked Midshipman Darrin.
"Young, yes, but as seasoned and good men as we have in the company or the regiment," replied Lieutenant Prescott.
"They certainly look like fine soldiers," agreed Midshipman Dalzell.
"They'll look very much like fine young officers, one of these days, or I miss my guess by a mile," answered Prescott. "Colonel North is very proud of these two boys, and so are Major Silsbee and Captain Cortland."
In the morning the three wounded men were placed in one of the two wagons belonging to camp. Though their hands were left free, all three had their feet shackled to staples inside the wagon.
The other five prisoners stood sulkily behind the wagon. Noll assembled the guard at the side of the trail.
"Climb up on the wagon, hospital man," called Noll. "Start ahead, driver. Squad, by twos, right, forward march."
Then the party started out.
Two of the remaining soldiers were detailed for camp, as usual. The other enlisted men went off in a hunting party by themselves.
All except Sergeant Hal. He had been invited to go with Lieutenant Prescott and the latter's friends, and had gladly accepted.
Sanderson, the guide, having been paid by his Naval employers, had already taken the trail.
"I hope you bring us luck, Dave and Dan," announced Lieutenant Prescott, as the party started. "We are still far shy of the amount of game we want to take back to the post."