Trumpeter Fred: A Story of the Plains
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CHAPTER III.
A ROBBER IN CAMP.
The trumpet played the retreat, the sunset gun thundered its good-nightto the god of day; the adjutant hurried over and received the reports ofthe companies, the staff, and band, and then a messenger came running tothem: "Mrs. Charlton wants you, Sergeant Waller. Fred's all safe, butthey had a sharp fight."
The old man could not trust himself to speak. "Listen to this,sergeant," exclaimed Mrs. Charlton, as she hurried through the littlegroup of ladies at her doorway, and looked up in his face withtear-dimmed eyes:
"Tell Waller that in a running fight of four miles Fred rode close at my heels and no man could have shown more spirit or less fear. I am sure it was a shot from his carbine that tumbled one war pony into the Laramie; and every call he had to sound rang out clear as a bell. I'm proud of the boy."
Waller's face was twitching and working; he cleared his throat and triedto speak; he dashed his hand across his eyes and ground his heels intothe gravel of the walk; he heard the kind and gentle voices of theladies joining in the chorus of congratulation, but he could not seetheir faces; a mist had risen before his eyes. Even the old formula, "Ithank the captain's lady," had deserted him. He mumbled someinarticulate words, and then, in dread of disastrous breakdown, turnedsuddenly away and strode across the drive. More than one woman was intears. There was not a ripple of faintest laughter when it was seen thatin his blindness the old sergeant had collided with the tree box at theedge of the acequia. Straight to his humble quarters he went; but theywere beautiful to him, radiant with the light of joy, pride, gratitude,and love that beamed and burnt in his honest heart.
And now, a year later, all the cavalry was in the field. Gold hadtempted explorers and miners innumerable to the Black Hills ofDakota--Indian land by solemn treaty. The Government warned the invadersback, but to no purpose. The Indians swarmed from the agencies andmassacred all whom they could overpower. Charlton's troop had early beenhurried up to Red Cloud, and now with others was engaged in the perilouswork of patrolling the trails around the Indian haunts.
Two months of hard and most exciting work had they had, and still thetroubles were not over; and then just after the paymaster with his ironsafe and bristling escort had paid the outlying posts a visit, andCaptain Charlton had been ordered in with him to attend a court-martialat Fort Laramie, there came a week that no man in "B" troop ever forgot.
Mr. Rayburn had been wounded and was in the hospital at Fort Robinson.Twenty of the men were away on escort duty, and so it happened that onlyyoung Lieutenant Blunt and about thirty troopers were left at the campjust west of the Agency. Fearful that the money, "burning" as it alwaysdoes in the soldiers' pockets, would tempt his men to gamble or drinkand get into mischief around the crowded post, Charlton had ordered thatthe troop should march at once to the Niobrara and wait there for hisreturn. It was known, of course, that many Indian bands were out, and itpromised to be adventurous. It was Mr. Blunt's first independentcommand, too, and he felt a trifle nervous. All went well, however,until the morning of the second day, when Sergeant Graham excitedlycalled his young commander, his face clouded with dismay.
"Lieutenant," he cried, "Sergeant Dawson and several men were robbedlast night. The money's clean gone!"
Blunt was out of his blanket in an instant. "How much is missing?" heasked.
"I can't tell yet, sir--a good deal. But that is not the worst of it."
"What on earth could be worse?"
"Trumpeter Waller's gone, sir--deserted; taken his horse, arms, andeverything!"