George at the Fort Part 2

asked Bob.

"I ran away from home."

"Shake," said Bob, again extending his hand; "that's just what I did."

The two runaways shook each other's hands in the most cordial manner, and instantly all reserve between them vanished. They were companions in misery and united by a bond of sympathy. The young soldier at once became very communicative. He had closely guarded his secret for more than two years, because there was not one among the rough men by whom he was surrounded who could understand or appreciate his feelings. But here was one who could sympathize with him, and it was a great relief to him to know that he could speak freely and run no risk of being laughed at for his weakness.

"My name is Gus Robbins," said he, moving up a little closer to Bob and speaking in a low, confidential tone. "I had as good a home as any boy need wish for, but I wasn't contented there; still, I don't believe that I ever should have left it as I did if circ.u.mstances had not smoothed the way for me. My father is the senior partner in the largest dry-goods store in Foxboro', and he had in his employ two persons, father and son, who are in a great measure responsible for all the trouble I have got into. The buy was a clerk like myself, and his father was our bookkeeper. They had a very wealthy relative, a rancheman, living here in Texas, and when that relative died it was found that he had willed his property to our bookkeeper, to be held in trust for his (the rancheman's) son. They came to Texas to take charge of the estate, and after a while I received a letter from Ned (that was the boy's name) inviting me to pay him a visit. As he sent me money enough to bear the expenses of the journey, I came; and I am very sorry for it. We got ourselves into trouble by shooting some cattle that had broken into Ned's wheat-field, and had to dig out for Brownsville at a gallop. Ned went squarely back on me, and as I had no money to pay my way home, and hadn't the cheek to ask my father for it, I did what I thought to be the next best thing--I enlisted. I am very sorry for that too, for there was where I made my mistake. I ought to have gone back into the country and hired out to some stock-raiser. Then I could have gone home as soon as I had earned and saved money enough to take me there; but now I must stay my time out; that is, unless--"

Gus paused and looked at Bob. The latter understood him. Here was another fellow who had made up his mind to desert at the first opportunity.

"Don't do that," said Bob, earnestly. "You'll only get yourself into trouble if you attempt it."

"I don't care if I am shot for it. I'll make a break for liberty the very first good chance I get."

The tone in which these words were uttered satisfied Bob that it would be of no use whatever to argue the matter. It was plain that Gus had made up his mind after mature deliberation, and that he was not to be easily turned from his purpose.

"Where did your friend Ned go after you reached Brownsville?" asked Bob, who was much interested in the young soldier's story.

"I don't know; I left him at the hotel. He will come to some bad end, and so will his father, for they are both rascals. The property of which they have charge, and which brings in a big fortune every year, rightfully belongs to George Ackerman, Ned's cousin; but Ned and his father--"

"George Ackerman?" exclaimed Bob, starting up in his bunk.

Gus nodded his head, and looked at the recruit in great surprise.

"Is he a cub pilot?" continued the latter.

"'A cub pilot'?" repeated Gus. "No, he's a herdsman, or I ought rather to say he _was_ a herdsman. He had stock of his own worth six thousand dollars. Where he is now I don't know, for on the morning after we left his ranche, while we were camped in the edge of the timber making up for the sleep we had lost the night before, we were surprised by a couple of Greasers, who made a prisoner of George and carried him across the river into Mexico. I don't know what they did with him, for all George could induce them to say was that 'Fletcher wanted to see him.'"

"It's the same fellow," exclaimed Bob, rising from his blanket and seating himself on the edge of the bunk by his companion's side. "He told me all about it, but his story was so very remarkable that I didn't know whether to believe it or not. He gave those Greasers the slip, secured a berth as cub pilot on a Mississippi River steamer, and that was where I found him."

With this introduction Bob went on to tell how he had saved George from going to the bottom when Uncle John Ackerman pushed him overboard from the Sam Kendall; related all the thrilling incidents connected with the burning of the steamer; described how Uncle John had tried to separate them in New Orleans; in short, he gave a truthful account of his intercourse with the cub pilot up to the time he deserted him in Galveston. Bob was heartily ashamed of that now, and could not bear to speak of it.

"I became separated from him in some way--it is very easy to lose a companion in the crowded streets of a city, you know--and that was the last I saw of him," said Bob in conclusion; and when he told this he forgot that he had afterward seen George go into a hotel accompanied by Mr. Gilbert. "Then I didn't know what to do. I had no money; I was hungry and sleepy, utterly discouraged; and, like you, I sought to end my troubles by enlisting. I see now that I made a great mistake, but I am going to serve faithfully during my term of enlistment, if I live. Is George's ranche far from here?"

"I don't know, for I am not much acquainted with the country east of here, never having scouted in that direction. It is about one hundred and fifty miles from Palos, if you know where that is. As you are George's friend, I am sorry that you enlisted, for I know that you are going to have a hard time of it; but since you _did_ enlist, I am glad you were ordered to this post, for misery loves company, you know. Let's walk out on the parade, where we can talk without danger of being overheard. Perhaps you would like to take a look at the place which will always be a.s.sociated in your mind with the most unhappy days of your existence."

It was plain that Gus took a very gloomy view of things, and of course his discouraging remarks made an impression upon Bob, although they did not take away the interest he felt in his surroundings. Everything was new to him, and he asked a great many questions as he and Gus walked slowly around the parade toward the stables.

Fort Lamoine was situated on a high, rocky eminence which overlooked the surrounding country for half a dozen miles or more in every direction.

The stockade, which enclosed about two acres of ground, was built of upright logs deeply sunk in the earth. The tops were sawed off level, and a heavy plate of timber, through which stout wooden pins had been driven into the end of each log, held them firmly in their place. The officers' quarters, barracks, store-houses and stables were built in the same manner. On the outside of the parade were long rows of stately cottonwood trees, interspersed with shrubs and flowers. In one corner, on the right-hand side of the princ.i.p.al gate, was the well that supplied the garrison with water, and in the other was the flagstaff, from which floated the Stars and Stripes.

"Emblem of liberty!" said Gus with a sneer as he pointed up at the flag--"emblem of tyranny, rather."

"What do you mean by that?" demanded Bob quickly.

"Oh, you will find out before you have been here long," replied Gus, shaking his head and looking very wise. "A bigger lot of tyrants than the officers who command us were never crowded into any one post."

"Perhaps you don't do your duty as well as you might?" mildly suggested Bob.

"I know I don't. I do no more than I am obliged to do, I tell you, and for the simple reason that I didn't enlist to act as lackey to a lot of shoulder-straps. I am just as good as they are, but they say I am not.

Why, the last time the paymaster was here his little snipe of a clerk remarked in my hearing that enlisted men were nothing more than servants to the officers. What do you think of that?"

Bob did not know what to think of it, so he said nothing in reply. He simply resolved that he would not pa.s.s judgment upon his superiors until he had had some experience with them himself.

"This is by no means the gloomy place that I expected to find it," said Bob as he and Gus resumed their walk.

"Oh, the fort itself is good enough," replied Gus; "it's the people who live in it that I object to. If one could pick his own company, and could do as he pleased, he might manage to live here for a few years very comfortably; but we have to a.s.sociate with some rough characters there in the barracks, and the officers hold us with our noses close to the grindstone all the time. They look upon a private as little better than a dog, and they'll slap him into the guard-house on the slightest provocation. Now, this is one of the stables; it will accommodate seventy horses. Those you see in here are blooded animals, and they belong to the officers. The government horses are always picketed outside, except when there is danger of a visit from the raiders, and then they are brought in for safe-keeping. Now, take a good look at the stable, and then come out and take another look at the stockade. Every night there are two sentries placed over this stable--one at the front, and the other at the rear, between the stable and the stockade--and a guard sleeps inside. Would you believe that, after all these precautions, it would be possible for anybody to come into the fort and steal a horse?"

Bob said he would not.

"Well, it was done not more than two weeks ago," continued Gus. "One stormy night these two logs were removed from the stockade, and four of the best horses in the stable were run off. It must have taken hours to do the work, and although the sentries were changed while it was going on, no one knew that a theft had been committed until the next morning."

"Who did it?" inquired Bob.

"A couple of Comanches, who were surprised and killed by the squad that was sent in pursuit of them. The Comanches are acknowledged, even by the Indians themselves, to be the most expert horse-thieves on the Plains.

Why, one night, when a scouting-party to which I was attached were in camp and fast asleep, a Comanche crept up and stole the lieutenant's horse; and in order to do it he had to cut the lariat that was tied to the officer's wrist. He got away with the horse, and never awoke one of us."

Gus Robbins had acc.u.mulated an almost inexhaustible fund of such anecdotes as these during his two and a half years of army-life, and he related a good many of them to Bob while they were walking about the fort examining the different objects of interest. From some of them Bob gained a faint idea of what might be in store for himself.

The next morning the newly-arrived recruits were formed into an awkward squad and turned over to the tender mercies of a grizzly old sergeant, who proved to be anything but an agreeable and patient instructor. He drilled them for four hours without allowing them a single moment's rest, abusing them roundly for every mistake they made; and when at last he marched them to their quarters, it was only that they might eat their dinner and take half an hour's breathing-spell preparatory to going through the same course of sprouts again in the afternoon. This routine was followed day after day until the members of the awkward squad were declared to be sufficiently drilled to warrant their appearance on dress-parade. After that they were a.s.signed to the different troops (or companies) that stood the most in need of men, Bob, to his delight, finding himself in the same troop to which his new friend, Gus Robbins, belonged. But even then their troubles did not cease. Instead of drilling eight hours each day, they drilled six, and were obliged to do guard-duty besides. Among the three hundred and eighty men who composed the garrison there were not a few old soldiers who hated this hard work as cordially as some of the new-comers did, and there was a good deal of grumbling among them; but Bob Owens never uttered a word of complaint.

Firmly adhering to the resolution he had made when he first enlisted, he set himself to work to learn just what was required of him, and when he found out what his duty was, he did it cheerfully and faithfully. He was always on hand when he was wanted, his equipments were always ready for inspection, and his horse shone like satin. When his own steed had been fed and groomed, he turned his attention to the horse belonging to the lieutenant who commanded the troop to which he belonged, and thereby aroused the indignation of some of his brother-soldiers.

"What are you doing that for?" demanded Gus Robbins one day as he and Bristow entered the stable and found Bob busy at work grooming the lieutenant's horse. "You are in pretty business, I must say!"

"Yes, I rather like it," answered Bob. "I always liked to work about horses, and I am doing this because I haven't anything else to do just now."

"Well, I wouldn't do it any more if I were in your place," continued Gus. "The law expressly prohibits an officer from compelling, or even hiring, an enlisted man to do his dirty work."

"It does, does it?" exclaimed Bob. "Didn't you tell me when I just came here that enlisted men were nothing but servants to their officers?"

"I didn't mean that, exactly," stammered Gus. "What I _did_ mean was, that they don't treat us like human beings. If an officer wants a servant, he must hire a civilian and pay him out of his own pocket; that's what the law says."

"I am aware of that fact; but the law doesn't say that I shall not groom the lieutenant's horse if I choose to do it of my own free will, does it?"

"Let the toady alone, Robbins," said Bristow angrily. "The troop hasn't got all the non-coms that it is ent.i.tled to, and Owens is working for chevrons. You know the lieutenant said the other day that there were four corporals' and two duty sergeants' warrants waiting for those who were willing to win them; and this is the way Owens is going to work to get one of them."

Bob straightened up, looked sharply at Bristow for a moment, and then drew back the brush he held in his hand, as if he had half a mind to throw it at his head.

"That's what all the boys say, Bob," observed Gus. "If you want to keep on the right side of the privates, you must not try to curry favor with the officers."

"If you want a non-com's warrant, why don't you wait until you get a chance to win it in battle?" added Bristow. "That's what I intend to do, and I shall think much more of a promotion earned in that way than I should of one I had gained by cleaning an officer's horse."

"Look here, fellows," said Bob earnestly: "I don't do this work for the lieutenant because I hope to gain anything by it. I do it simply to pa.s.s away the time, for I can't see any fun in loafing about the quarters doing nothing. If the boys don't like it, let's see them help themselves."

"If the lieutenant was a decent man, I wouldn't say a word," answered Bristow. "But he is so mean that I wouldn't turn my hand over to save his life."

"Anybody with half an eye could see what is the matter with you,"

retorted Bob. "You have been in the guard-house about half the time since you have been here, and spent the other half in doing extra duty; and that's the reason you don't like the lieutenant. If you will wake up and attend to business, he will treat you well enough."