Crittenden Part 8

"I was sorry not to see you again at Chickamauga, but I started here next day. I have just written you that there was a place on my staff for you or your brother--or for any son of your father and my friend. I'll write to Washington for you to-night, and you can report for duty whenever you please."

The little man made the astounding proposition as calmly as though he were asking the Kentuckian to a lunch of bacon and hardtack, and Crittenden flushed with grat.i.tude and his heart leaped--his going was sure now. Before he could stammer out his thanks, the general was gone.

Just then Rivers, who, to his great joy, had got at least that far, sat down by him. He was much depressed. His regiment was going, but two companies would be left behind. His colonel talked about sending him back to Kentucky to bring down some horses, and he was afraid to go.

"To think of being in the army as long as I have been, just for this fight. And to think of being left here in this h.e.l.l-hole all summer, and missing all the fun in Cuba, not to speak of the glory and the game. We haven't had a war for so long that glory will come easy now, and anybody who does anything will be promoted. But it's missing the fight--the fight--that worries me," and Rivers shook his head from side to side dejectedly. "If my company goes, I'm all right; but if it doesn't, there is no chance for me if I go away. I shall lose my last chance of slipping in somewhere. I swear I'd rather go as a private than not at all."

This idea gave Crittenden a start, and made him on the sudden very thoughtful.

"Can you get me in as a private at the last minute?" he asked presently.

"Yes," said Rivers, quickly, "and I'll telegraph you in plenty of time, so that you can get back."

Crittenden smiled, for Rivers's plan was plain, but he was thinking of a plan of his own.

Meanwhile, he drilled as a private each day. He was ignorant of the Krag-Jorgensen, and at Chickamauga he had made such a laughable exhibition of himself that the old Sergeant took him off alone one day, and when they came back the Sergeant was observed to be smiling broadly.

At the first target practice thereafter, Crittenden stood among the first men of the company, and the captain took mental note of him as a sharpshooter to be remembered when they got to Cuba. With the drill he had little trouble--being a natural-born horseman--so one day, when a trooper was ill, he was allowed to take the sick soldier's place and drill with the regiment. That day his trouble with Reynolds came. All the soldiers were free and easy of speech and rather reckless with epithets, and, knowing how little was meant, Crittenden merely remonstrated with the bully and smilingly asked him to desist.

"Suppose I don't?"

Crittenden smiled again and answered nothing, and Reynolds mistook his silence for timidity. At right wheel, a little later, Crittenden squeezed the bully's leg, and Reynolds cursed him. He might have pa.s.sed that with a last warning, but, as they wheeled again, he saw Reynolds kick Sanders so violently that the boy's eyes filled with tears. He went straight for the soldier as soon as the drill was over.

"Put up your guard."

"Aw, go to----"

The word was checked at his lips by Crittenden's fist. In a rage, Reynolds threw his hand behind him, as though he would pull his revolver, but his wrist was caught by sinewy fingers from behind. It was Blackford, smiling into his purple face.

"Hold on!" he said, "save that for a Spaniard."

At once, as a matter of course, the men led the way behind the tents, and made a ring--Blackford, without a word, acting as Crittenden's second. Reynolds was the champion bruiser of the regiment and a boxer of no mean skill, and Blackford looked anxious.

"Worry him, and he'll lose his head. Don't try to do him up too quickly."

Reynolds was coa.r.s.e, disdainful, and triumphant, but he did not look quite so confident when Crittenden stripped and showed a white body, closely jointed at shoulder and elbow and at knee and thigh, and closely knit with steel-like tendons. The long muscles of his back slipped like eels under his white skin. Blackford looked relieved.

"Do you know the game?"

"A little."

"Worry him and wait till he loses his head--remember, now."

"All right," said Crittenden, cheerfully, and turned and faced Reynolds, smiling.

"Gawd," said Abe Long. "He's one o' the fellows that laugh when they're fightin'. They're worse than the cryin' sort--a sight worse."

The prophecy in the soldier's tone soon came true. The smile never left Crittenden's face, even when it was so bruised up that smiling was difficult; but the onlookers knew that the spirit of the smile was still there. Blackford himself was smiling now. Crittenden struck but for one place at first--Reynolds's nose, which was naturally large and red, because he could reach it every time he led out. The nose swelled and still reddened, and Reynolds's small black eyes narrowed and flamed with a wicked light. He fought with his skill at first, but those maddening taps on his nose made him lose his head altogether in the sixth round, and he senselessly rushed at Crittenden with lowered head, like a sheep.

Crittenden took him sidewise on his jaw as he came, and stepped aside.

Reynolds pitched to the ground heavily, and Crittenden bent over him.

"You let that boy alone," he said, in a low voice, and then aloud and calmly:

"I don't like this, but it's in deference to your customs. I don't call names, and I allow n.o.body to call me names; and if I have another fight," Reynolds was listening now, "it won't be with my fists."

"Well, Mister Man from Kentucky," said Abe, "I'd a d.a.m.n sight ruther you'd use a club on me than them fists; but there's others of us who don't call names, and ain't called names; and some of us ain't easy skeered, neither."

"I wasn't threatening," said Crittenden, quickly, "but I have heard a good deal of that sort of thing flying around, and I don't want to get into this sort of a thing again." He looked steadily at the soldier, but the eye of Abraham Long quailed not at all. Instead, a smile broke over his face.

"I got a drink waitin' fer you," he said; and Crittenden laughed.

"Git up an' shake hands, Jim," said Abe, sternly, to Crittenden's opponent, "an' let's have a drink." Reynolds got up slowly.

"You gimme a d.a.m.n good lickin,'" he said to Crittenden. "Shake!"

Crittenden shook, and seconds and princ.i.p.als started for Long's tent.

"Boys," he said to the others, "I'm sorry fer ye. I ain't got but four drinks--and--" the old Sergeant was approaching; "and one more fer the Governor."

Rivers smiled broadly when he saw Crittenden at noon.

"The 'Governor' told me," he said, "you couldn't do anything in this regiment that would do you more good with officers and men. That fellow has caused us more trouble than any other ten men in the regiment, and you are the first man yet to get the best of him. If the men could elect you, you'd be a lieutenant before to-morrow night."

Crittenden laughed.

"It was disgusting, but I didn't see any other way out of it."

Tattoo was sounded.

"Are you sure you can get me into the army at any time?"

"Easy--as a private."

"What regiment?"

"Rough Riders or Regulars."

"All right, then, I'll go to Kentucky for you."

"No, old man. I was selfish enough to think it, but I'm not selfish enough to do it. I won't have it."

"But I want to go back. If I can get in at the last moment I should go back anyhow to-night."

"Really?"

"Really. Just see that you let me know in time."

Rivers grasped his hand.

"I'll do that."