George at the Fort Part 26

During the meal George Ackerman, who had thus far been one of the gayest of the party, was very silent and thoughtful. It was almost impossible for any one to get a word out of him. His face was as white as a sheet, but although everybody noticed it, Bob Owens was the only one who could account for it. When they had satisfied their appet.i.tes they went out to hold the horses, so that the rest of the squad could come in, and George and the new sergeant, who was not a little elated over his unexpected promotion, led their nags off on one side, so that they could converse without being overheard.

"I know just how it is," said Bob, "for I have felt so ever since Captain Clinton ordered me to follow up that trail. When you know that a good many lives besides your own depend upon a decision you may have to make in an instant of time, I tell you it is rather trying to a fellow's nerves. I used to envy the colonel and all the other high officers in the garrison, but I wouldn't give up my little sergeant's berth for double the money they make. There's too much responsibility connected with the positions they hold."

George told himself that that was just the objection to his own position. He began to see that being a scout meant something. There were two hundred men in Captain Clinton's command, and what if they should all be sacrificed by some blunder on his part?

As soon as the rest of the troopers had eaten breakfast, and Bob had thanked the farmer for his hospitality, the troopers sprang into their saddles and galloped after the column. When they overtook it George rode up beside the captain, and the Brindles, without creating the least confusion, fell into their usual places--all except Bob Owens, who did not belong in the ranks any longer. Being second sergeant, his place was in the rear of his company, "opposite the left file of the rear four;"

and that was the position he fell into as soon as he had reported the arrival of his squad to the lieutenant.

"Well, Ackerman," said Captain Clinton as the boy galloped up beside him, "we are in your hands. We want to go to the nearest ford, and we don't want to get there before dark."

"Very good, sir. If you will move the column in that direction," said George, indicating a 'right oblique,' "you will cut off twenty miles, and besides, you can walk all the way, and save your horses for a rapid eighteen-mile ride that must come as soon as we cross the river."

We need not dwell upon the incidents of that day's march, or enlarge upon the feeling of suspense that George Ackerman experienced during that "rapid eighteen-mile ride" to which he had referred. It will be enough to say that they crossed the ford just after dark in safety; that George, without the least difficulty, found the narrow road that led from the river to Don Miguel's ranche; that at his suggestion the column marched "right by twos," which changed the troopers from four to two abreast, Captain Clinton and George riding at the head; that they moved as silently as possible, so as not to alarm any of the people living along the route, and rapidly, in order to reach the ranche before the cattle-thieves could receive notice of their approach; and that at the end of two hours they galloped into the valley and saw Fletcher's stronghold in plain view before them. A single glance at it showed them that they had arrived just in the nick of time. The courtyard was lighted up with lanterns, excited men were moving to and fro, loud voices were heard shouting out words of command, and the whole interior of the building presented a scene of the wildest commotion. Some watchful friend had got ahead of the column and warned the thieves, and they were gathering up their plunder preparatory to beating a hasty retreat. They were on the watch too, for the column had scarcely made its appearance when a sentry called out, "Who is it?" (equivalent to "Who goes there?"), following up his challenge with the cry of "The Americans! the Americans!"

George afterward said that he never had a very clear idea of what happened during the next few minutes. He remembered that he heard the bugle sound a charge; that he dashed through the arched stone gateway at headlong speed side by side with Captain Clinton; and that the rapid discharge of firearms rang in his ears, accompanied by the cries of the cattle-thieves, who fled in every direction, and such cheers and yells from the troopers as he had never heard before. When he came to himself, his horse, which seemed to enter fully into the spirit of the matter, was dancing about in front of a pile of forage that filled one end of the courtyard. When George saw it he threw himself from his saddle and caught up a lantern.

"I have seen the inside of this hole for the last time," said he to himself. "If Fletcher lives to make a prisoner of me, he shall not bring me to this ranche, and neither shall he harbor here to raid on my stock."

As these thoughts pa.s.sed through the boy's mind he smashed the gla.s.s globe of the lantern with one savage kick, and picking up the lamp applied the flame to the pile of forage. He set it on fire in half a dozen different places, and then turned and threw the lamp into one of the nearest rooms, which seemed to be well filled with something. When he had done that he was frightened. What if it was powder in there? But, fortunately, it wasn't. It was some combustible matter that blazed up fiercely, sending huge volumes of flames out of the door and lighting up the courtyard, which was now occupied only by American troopers. The cattle-thieves had behaved just as they did when Bob Owens so gallantly attacked a portion of their number at the squatter's cabin. They fled in hot haste, making their escape by the roof, by doors whose existence George never dreamed of, and by squeezing themselves through the narrow openings that served the ranche in the place of windows. And, strange to tell, there was no one injured on either side. Having satisfied himself on this point by searching all the rooms to make sure that there were no dead or wounded men in them, the captain ordered his troopers into the saddle and departed as rapidly and silently as he had come. George looked over his shoulder now and then, and when he saw the thick clouds of smoke that arose in the air growing thicker and blacker, he told himself that he had made sure work of the old ranche, and that it would never serve the cattle-thieves for a harboring-place again.

Of course there was an "investigation" made by the Mexican government, but if it ever amounted to anything, George never heard of it. The expedition certainly had a moral effect, and no doubt that was just what the department commander wanted. A body of Mexican troops was ordered to the river almost immediately, and after that the raiders were by no means as bold as they had formerly been. They crossed the Rio Grande now and then lower down, toward Eagle Pa.s.s, but the troopers there were on the alert, and after they had thrashed the thieves a few times on their own ground, and some of their leaders had been arrested by the Mexican authorities, the Texans began to feel comparatively safe.

George Ackerman was kept actively employed at the fort much longer than he thought he would be when he first went there. By order of Colonel Brown he crossed the river on several occasions disguised in his Mexican suit, and he always brought back some information concerning the raiders; and once he came so near being captured by his old enemy, Fletcher, that it was a wonder how he escaped. But long before this happened Gus Robbins had received his discharge as a minor, and gone back to Foxboro', a wiser if not a happier boy; Bristow had found his way into the military prison at Fort Leavenworth; and the cattle-thieves whom Bob Owens had captured at the squatter's cabin had been turned over to the civil authorities. George did all he could to secure Springer's release, but his efforts were unavailing, and with his companions he was sentenced to the penitentiary for a long term of years. Mr. Wentworth had come out all right. With the aid of his friend, Mr. Holmes, he had gathered up all his cattle that had been stampeded by the Mexican raiders, and rebuilt his ranche in a more substantial manner, and he and his boys made it a point to visit the post very frequently to see the men who had rendered them such signal service.

The months wore on, the raids in Colonel Brown's district grew less and less frequent until they ceased altogether, and then the colonel told George that he might go home if he so desired. He did desire it, for he was growing tired of life among the soldiers, and besides, he knew it would be a waste of time for him to remain at the fort when he could no longer be of any use there. So, after taking leave of the officers and of the men who had accompanied him on his expeditions, he mounted his horse, took his pack-mule by the halter and set out. The troopers, who had a.s.sembled at the gate to see him go, cheered him l.u.s.tily as he rode through their ranks, and George carried away with him the a.s.surance that their feelings toward him were very unlike those with which they had regarded him when he first made his appearance at the fort.

Sergeant Owens never lost the position he held in the estimation of both officers and men. He did his duty faithfully, never squandered a cent of his pay at the sutler's store, and at last had the satisfaction of telling himself that he had refunded every cent of the _Mail Carrier's_ money, interest included. He kept up a regular correspondence with his father, who told him he was proud of the record he had won, and said everything he could to encourage him. One thing that pleased Bob was the knowledge of the fact that everybody in and about Rochdale was familiar with his history. They knew just what he had done when the steamer Sam Kendall was burned, and the particulars of his exploit on the Staked Plains had been published in the papers. He would go home a hero, instead of sneaking back like a thief in the night; and that is something that runaway boys don't often do.

George Ackerman was glad to get back to his ranche again. He thoroughly enjoyed the quiet life he led there, it was so different from the life of bustle and excitement he had led at the fort. One bright moonlight night, while he was pacing up and down the porch, thinking over old times, and wondering what Bob Owens and the rest of the boys were doing at the fort, he was aroused from the reverie into which he had fallen by the sound of horses' hoofs on the trail. He stopped abruptly, and after listening a moment heard the clanking of sabres mingling with the sound of the horses' feet. Greatly surprised, George descended the steps, and walking out to the trail discovered a long line of hors.e.m.e.n approaching.

There was no need that he should ask who they were or where they came from, for as soon as they saw him they greeted him vociferously. They were troopers from Fort Lamoine. They rode on past the ranche, but two men who were riding at the head of the column turned off and came up to him. One was Mr. Gilbert and the other was Captain Clinton.

"Why, captain," exclaimed George, "this is an unexpected pleasure. May I ask where you are going? You'll not march any farther to-night?"

"No, we're not going any farther," was the answer. "I was about to camp near Mr. Gilbert's ranche, but when I happened to mention your name, he told me that you lived only ten miles away; so I came on, thinking that perhaps you would like to see the boys again for the last time. We're going up to Fort Lincoln to join General Terry," continued the captain, as he dismounted and gave his horse up to one of George's herdsmen.

"That's in Dakota, you know. A determined--and, I hope, successful--effort is about to be made to crush that old rascal, Sitting Bull, by throwing three strong columns upon him--one under Crook from the south, another under Gibbon from the west, and the third under Terry from the east. There's where your old friends the 'Brindles' are going.

I suppose it doesn't make any difference to you where we camp?"

"Of course not," replied George. "There is plenty of gra.s.s and water close at hand. Come into the house, both of you. I want to hear all about that great expedition."

Were there not exciting times in the ranche that night? and didn't George find the greatest satisfaction in acting as host to the men with whom he had so often messed at the fort? The supper was the best the house could afford, and all the officers in the column sat down to it.

When they had talked themselves out, and were about to go to camp, George asked and obtained permission for Sergeant Owens and all the members of his old squad to come in and visit him. Then there was another supper to be eaten and another long conversation to be had, and the consequence was that when reveille was sounded no one in that ranche had had a wink of sleep.

Bob Owens rode away with his command that morning, and it was a long time before George heard of him again. He left Fort Lincoln with General Terry, went off with Custer on that memorable scout, and when that officer divided his command into three detachments, Sergeant Owens was one of those who were detailed to remain behind with the packs. He heard all of that terrible fight on that bright Sunday afternoon when Reno was defeated and Custer fell with so many of his devoted followers. He took part in the closing scenes of it, for when the packs were ordered up, about six o'clock in the evening, he was under fire from that time until nine, and saw eighteen of his companions killed and forty-six wounded.

He marched back to Fort Lincoln with the remnants of the expedition, which had been whipped at every point by the wily old savage it had hoped to crush, and was ordered to Fort Leavenworth, where he received his honorable discharge. Then he went home, and he is there now, living on the best of terms with everybody, especially David Evans. Although he was kept in the army long months beyond his time, he does not complain, for it gives him the opportunity to refer, when speaking of his frontier experience, to the "time when he was with Custer."

George Ackerman is living in his Texas home, managing his own affairs with the a.s.sistance of an occasional word from Mr. Gilbert, and keeping up a regular correspondence with his friend Bob Owens, whom he hopes some day to see at his ranche again. He has never heard from his uncle John or from Ned since he parted from them in Galveston. George has seen some stirring times during his life, and has learned how to enjoy himself in a quiet way. He has acc.u.mulated a large fund of stories during his travels, and takes pleasure in relating them to any attentive listener. Of all the numerous adventures in which he had borne a part, he delights most to talk about those that befell him during his LIFE AMONG THE SOLDIERS.

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