George at the Fort Part 12

"Don't you correspond with him?"

"Not by a great sight. He doesn't know whether I am dead or alive. I wish I had changed my name when I enlisted."

"He lives in Foxboro', Ohio, I believe?" said George.

Gus replied that he did.

"Is his name Gus too?"

"No; his name is Thomas, and he is--I say," exclaimed Gus suddenly, "what are you asking so many questions for? Do you intend to write to him about me?"

"Why, what object could I possibly have in doing that?" asked George, turning a very innocent-looking face toward the deserter. "I am sure it is none of my business what you do. Let's talk about something else. We are getting over the ground pretty rapidly now, and if Bob would let me I could land you in the fort in four hours. I don't suppose that you are in any hurry to get there, but what I meant was, that your additional weight would not prevent this horse of mine from travelling from here to the fort at his very best licks."

"No, I don't weigh much now," said Gus with a sigh. "Hard work, hard fare, hard treatment and constant worry have brought me down to a hundred and ten pounds."

"That's not very heavy for a seventeen-year-old boy."

"Oh, I am nineteen," said Gus, "but just now I feel as though I were forty."

"And you look so, too," said George to himself.--"That was the reason I wanted to know your exact age."

George had now learned all he cared to know about Gus Robbins. He was a minor, his father's name was Thomas and he lived in Foxboro', Ohio. He had gone to work in a roundabout way to gain this information, because he was afraid that if he asked Gus leading questions and told him what use he intended to make of his answers, the deserter would refuse to open his head. He had gained his point by strategy, and he did not intend that Gus should go to Leavenworth if he could help it.

Bob's supply of rations being nearly exhausted, his men and the deserters had a very scant dinner, and they did not get anything more to eat until they reached the fort. About ten o'clock that night they were challenged by one of the sentries, and, not knowing the countersign, were obliged to wait until the corporal of the guard was called. Having at last been admitted inside of the stockade, Bob marched up in front of head-quarters, where he ordered a halt, and he and George dismounted and went in to report to the colonel. Bob was very much astonished at the manner in which the officer greeted the new scout, and so was the orderly. They had never before seen him unbend to anybody as he did to George. Having never been admitted into head-quarters except when they had business there--some report to make, some orders to receive or some sharp reprimand to listen to--they knew the commandant only as a stern, exacting officer who seemed to care for nothing but the "regulations,"

and they had never imagined that he could be cordial or friendly with any one. But now they saw their mistake. The colonel got up from his seat, shook the boy warmly by the hand, told him he was glad to see him, called him by his Christian name and pointed him to an easy-chair, while Bob was left to stand at attention until the colonel got ready to attend to him.

"You are all ready for business I see, George," said the colonel as he resumed his seat at the table. "Well, I'll give you a taste of army-life by sending you out on a scout to-morrow. I will tell you about it pretty soon. There's your room," he added, pointing to an apartment adjoining his own, "and when you get ready you can bring in your luggage. The officer of the day will show you where to put your horse. You will have to be your own servant, unless you are willing to hire a civilian and pay him out of your own pocket. I saw that you came in with Corporal Owens: did he arrest you?"

"He was going to, sir," replied George, "but let me off when I showed him my furlough."

"Corporal," continued the colonel, turning to Bob, who stood lost in wonder, "what report have you to make?"

"I have the honor, sir, to report my entire success," was Bob's reply; "I've got them all."

"Where are they now?"

"On the parade, under guard, sir."

"Very good. Keep them there until further orders. Tell the officer of the day I want to see him."

George thought this was rather hard. Bob had risked his life and displayed most commendable zeal and ability in carrying out the colonel's orders, and now the latter dismissed him without one single word to indicate that he appreciated his services. Why did he not question the corporal in regard to the manner in which the capture of the deserters had been effected, and reward him for his gallantry by making him a sergeant on the spot? That was what George thought _he_ would have done if he had been commandant of the post, and he then and there resolved that a full history of Bob's exploit should be laid before the colonel before he went to sleep that night.

CHAPTER VIII.

GEORGE AT THE FORT.

"Colonel, that young fellow has had a very hard time of it," said George when Bob had closed the door behind him.

"I expected it," replied the officer carelessly. "It is a wonder to me that the deserters didn't kill him, for there were some hard characters among them and they were well armed."

This remark would seem to indicate that the colonel was a most unfeeling man, and that he did not set much if any value upon the life of a non-commissioned officer; but such was not really the case. When he was a subaltern his superiors had often a.s.signed to him some very hazardous undertakings, and when he attained to a rank that ent.i.tled him to a command he sent others into danger and thought nothing of it. A soldier's first and last duty was to obey any orders he might receive, and if he lost his life while in the act of executing those orders, why, it was nothing more than might be expected.

"They did try to kill him," said George. "Didn't you notice that hole in the breast of his coat?"

"I did, and I thought it looked as though it had been made by a bullet."

"So it was. Bristow shot at him. He wanted to be revenged on Bob for telling you about those thirty men who tried to desert some time ago, and if he had been a little better marksman you would have been put to the trouble of appointing a new corporal in the place of as brave a boy as ever swung a sabre."

"Why, George," exclaimed the colonel, becoming interested, "you are quite enthusiastic. Do you know Corporal Owens?"

"Yes, sir. He is the one who pulled me out of the river on the night the old Sam Kendall was burned."

"Oh yes; you told me about that the first time you were here. Where did the corporal find Bristow and his party?"

George answered this question by giving the colonel a circ.u.mstantial account of the pursuit, as he had heard it from Bob's lips, and the manner in which he had gone to work to secure the deserters after he had discovered their place of refuge. His description of Bryant's arrest amused the officer, who declared that it was a very neat piece of strategy.

Having placed Bob's case in the most favorable light possible, George then went on to tell the colonel about Springer's unexpected visit to his ranche, and described in detail the intended movements of Fletcher and his band. The officer said he had done right in sending the cattle-thief to warn the commandant at Eagle Pa.s.s, and had no doubt that that officer would take measures to a.s.sist the civil authorities at Rio Grande City in protecting the jail and giving Fletcher and his men a warm reception when they came across the river; but, in order to explain what happened afterward, we must here say that he did nothing of the kind. Unfortunately for Springer, he was recognized by some ranchemen who happened to be hanging about the post, and in spite of his protestations he was arrested and turned over to the marshal, who locked him up. No attention whatever was paid to his warning, and so positive was the marshal that there was "something back of it" that he would not even permit the prisoner to tell his story.

The cattle-thief remained in jail until the next full moon, and then Fletcher and his men suddenly made their appearance, just as Springer said they would. As no precautions had been taken to guard the prison, the raiders had an easy victory, and before a.s.sistance could arrive from the Pa.s.s, Springer and the murderers of the cowboy had been released and Fletcher was safe across the river. Springer, of course, was much too sharp to tell how he came to be an inmate of the jail, and the boss cattle-thief, believing that he had been arrested while trying to carry out his instructions, treated him with the greatest consideration.

"What did you mean by saying that you would give me a taste of army-life by sending me out on a scout to-morrow?" asked George after he had finished his story. "Any raiding going on about here?"

"Well, yes. I am going to send Clinton out to punish a war-party of Kiowas if he can catch them. I am aware you are used to roughing it, but you know nothing about campaigning with troops, and I thought I would give you a chance to get your hand in before I call upon you to lead us across the river. Some young bucks belonging to Satanta's band, the most of them mere boys, have broken away from their agency and come down here in pursuit of scalps and fame. Among other outrages which they have committed, they jumped down on a poor fellow the other day, killed or scattered his herdsmen, drove off his stock and carried his two children into captivity. I should like to be the means of ridding the frontier of that villain, for he is dangerous. During a peace-council that was held at Fort Dodge some time ago, Satanta talked so glibly about his desire to cultivate friendly relations with us, and his unalterable determination to 'follow the white man's road' in future, that he really succeeded in making the commissioners believe that he was sincere in what he said. To encourage him in his good resolutions, the department commander and staff presented him with a uniform coat and sash and a brigadier-general's hat. How the wily old scoundrel must have laughed in his sleeve when he saw how completely he had bamboozled some of our best soldiers!"

"How long did he keep his promise?" asked George.

"About three weeks, and then he led an attack, dressed in his new uniform, against the fort in which the council was held. Oh, he's a good one! I know you didn't come here to fight Indians, but you'll have to hold yourself in readiness for anything that turns up."

"You will always find me around when you want me," replied George. "May I write a letter here?" he continued, seeing that the colonel picked up his pen and turned to his table to resume some writing in which he had been interrupted when Bob and the new scout came in to report.

"Certainly. There are pens, ink and paper; help yourself. There's the letter-box over there. The mail-carrier goes out to-morrow."

Before George could begin work on his letter the officer of the day came in. He shook hands with the new-comer, to whom he had been introduced on the occasion of the boy's first visit to the fort, and was told by the colonel to put the deserters into the guard-house, to show George where to stake out his horse and mule, and to see that he had somebody to help him bring in his pack-saddle.

The work of bringing in his luggage and taking care of his animals was soon performed, and then George came back and began his letter. It took him a long time to write it, for he wanted to make it one that would produce an impression upon the person to whom it was addressed. It was to Gus Robbins's father. It conveyed to that gentleman the information that although his son was alive and in fair bodily health, he had brought himself into serious trouble, having been detected in two attempts at desertion, and unless his friends at home interested themselves in his behalf he had a fair prospect of going to prison. If Mr. Robbins would move in the matter he could easily procure the culprit's discharge from the service, for he was a minor and had enlisted without his father's consent; but if there was anything done it must be done quickly, for it was probable that a court-martial would be convened in a very few days. Having sealed and addressed the letter, he bade the colonel good-night and went to bed, feeling satisfied that he had done all he could for the unfortunate Gus.

George slept soundly, as he always did, but the morning gun and the first notes of reveille awoke him. While he was making his toilet with his usual care and deliberation--as we have said, his long intercourse with river-dandies had made him very particular on this point--his friend, Bob Owens, and the men who occupied the quarters with him, were hurrying on their clothes in order to get into line in time to answer to their names at roll-call. While they were dressing they talked, and this was a portion of the conversation that took place between the corporal and one of the colonel's orderlies--the same one who had been on duty when Bob went in to report his arrival with the deserters.

"I say, Owens," exclaimed the orderly, "who was that n.o.bby young officer who came in with you last night? What is his name, and what rank does he hold? I know he is green, for he didn't know enough to put on a dress-coat before he went into the colonel's presence."

"His name is George Ackerman," answered Bob, "but he is not an officer; he's a scout."

"'A scout'!" repeated the orderly in a tone of contempt. "He is a pretty-looking scout, I must say. What does he know about life on the Plains?"

"He knows a good deal more about it than anybody in this room, for he was born right here in Texas," was the reply.