Uncle Sam's Boys with Pershing's Troops Part 9

"That is because you got your draft of new men two days earlier than I did," grumbled Greg. "You're always the lucky one. But what are you going to do to-night that you want company?"

"I thought I'd like to take a walk in the moonlight," d.i.c.k responded.

"Great Scott! Do you mean to tell me you don't get enough walk in the daytime in the broiling sunlight?"

"Not the same kind of walking," Prescott smiled. "I want to stroll to-night and talk. But if I must go alone, then I shall have to think."

"Don't attempt hard work after hours," advised Holmes.

"Such as walking?"

"No; thinking."

d.i.c.k finished his meal and stepped outside in the air. The first to join him was Lieutenant Morris.

"Feel like taking a walk in the moonlight?" d.i.c.k asked.

"I'd be delighted, Captain, but to-night I'm officer in charge at the company barracks."

"True; I had forgotten."

Other officers d.i.c.k invited to join him, but all had duty of one kind or another, or else home letters to write.

"Did I hear you say you were going to take a walk, Prescott?"

asked Major Wells.

"Yes, sir. By any great good luck are you willing to go with me?"

"I'd like to, Prescott, but as it happens there is the school for battalion commanders to-night. A talk on trench orders by the brigadier is listed, I believe."

"I'm afraid I shall have to go alone," sighed d.i.c.k "Yet I've half a mind to stroll over to company office and invent some new paper work. With every one else busy I feel like the only slacker in the regiment."

"If you really go alone," suggested the major, "perhaps you could combine pleasure with doing me a favor."

"How, sir?"

"My horse hasn't had any exercise for three days. I'd be glad if you'd take him out tonight, if it suits you."

"Nothing could please me better, sir," d.i.c.k cried eagerly, for he dearly loved a horse.

"How soon will you be ready?"

"At once, Major."

"Then I'll send around now for the horse." Just a few minutes later an orderly rode up, dismounted, saluted and turned the saddled animal over to A company's commander.

"This is luck, indeed!" d.i.c.k told himself, as he felt the horse's flanks between his knees and moved off at a slow canter. "I wonder why I never tried to transfer into the cavalry."

While waiting for the horse he had telephoned the adjutant, stating that for the next three hours he would be either in camp or in the near vicinity.

After being halted by three outlying sentries Prescott rode clear of the camp bounds, riding at a trot down a moonlit country road.

Vinton was the nearest town, where soldiers on a few hours' pa.s.s went for their recreation out of camp. The road to Vinton was usually well sprinkled with jitney busses conveying soldiers to or from camp, so Prescott had chosen another road which, at night, was likely to be almost free of traffic of any kind.

"As this is the first evening I've had off in three weeks I don't believe I need feel that I'm loafing," d.i.c.k reflected. "It's gorgeous outdoors to-night. There will undoubtedly be plenty of moonlight in France, but there won't be many opportunities like this one."

Finding that his horse was sweating, d.i.c.k slowed the animal down to a walk. He had ridden along another mile when, near a farmhouse he espied a soldier in the road, strolling with a young woman.

As the horse gained upon the young couple the soldier glanced backward, then swung the girl to the side of the road and halted beside her, drawing himself up to attention and saluting smartly.

The man was Private Lawrence of his own company.

"Good evening," d.i.c.k nodded, pleasantly.

"Good evening, sir," replied the private.

d.i.c.k didn't ask, as some officers would have done, whether the soldier had pa.s.s to be out of camp. He could ascertain that on his return to camp. Instead, he said:

"You must have this road pretty nearly to yourself, Lawrence, as far as soldiers go."

"There's at least one other, sir," the soldier replied, in a matter of fact way. "I saw one slip by in the field, close to the road.

I won't be sure, but I think it was Private Mock, sir."

"He has friends down this way?" d.i.c.k asked casually.

"Not that I ever heard of, sir. There aren't many houses on this road. My friend, Miss Williams, lives in the house up yonder."

At the implied introduction Prescott raised his campaign hat, then rode on.

The instant that Mock's name had been mentioned it had flashed through d.i.c.k's mind that, when in Greg's office that afternoon, he had seen Mock's name on Top Sergeant Lund's list of men for pa.s.s, and Greg, he knew, had drawn a pen line through that name.

"Of course it may not have been Mock that Lawrence saw; Lawrence himself wasn't sure," d.i.c.k reflected. "Yet, if Mock is out of camp to-night he is out without leave. Private Lawrence didn't realize that, or he wouldn't tell tales."

Soon the horse began to move along an up grade road between two lines of trees. Finding that the animal, instead of drying off, was sweating more freely, d.i.c.k drew rein and dismounted.

"It's hard work on a hot night, so you and I will walk together for a while, old pal," d.i.c.k confided to the borrowed mount. "There, you find it easier, don't you?"

As if to express grat.i.tude the horse bent its head forward, rubbing against d.i.c.k's shoulder.

"Who says horses can't talk plainly, hey, old fellow?" d.i.c.k demanded.

On together they walked, until Prescott felt himself perspiring, while the horse's coat grew dry.

"There, now, friend," said d.i.c.k, running a hand over the creature's flanks, "you're cool and dry, and this is one of the prettiest spots in Georgia, so I reckon I'll tie you and rest until I, too, am dry again."

Having tied the horse by the bridle reins, d.i.c.k strolled about, enjoying the dark and quiet after the bright electric lights and the bustle of camp. Presently he strolled down the road until he came to a break in the trees on his right. Though the moon had gone partly behind a cloud d.i.c.k found himself gazing down a clearing. He would not have been interested, had it not been that he caught sight of the unmistakable silhouette of a soldier, and, beside him, a somewhat stoop-shouldered man in darker garb.

"Why, I wonder if that can be Mock, and his carpenter?" reflected Prescott, recalling the note that had dropped so mysteriously into his extended palm.

Screened behind a bush d.i.c.k watched the pair until he saw them coming toward the road. Then Prescott drew back, finding better shelter, but he did not seek complete concealment. It occurred to him to wait there, in silence, and see if Private Mock displayed any uneasiness on coming face to face with his captain's chum.