*IV.*
For an hour the Colonel was closeted. There was a line of attack to beplanned. He would talk it over with his older officers presently; forthe time being he could think better alone. It was necessary not to betoo hasty—to keep a controlling hand on the lever of this engine of war,of which he was in command. It was necessary to strike decisively, whenhe did strike, and to the heart of it. That was it—to the heart! Thenatives were on the move, the investigating band had reported. _Where_to strike? A surveying officer; an engineer could judge. Who was thebest man to send. It was like ordering a man into the mouth of death.
The Colonel leaned his head in his hand and beat the end of his penagainst the deal of the table. Coolness was wanted; knowledge ofsurveying; courage. That was it—courage!
Only two faces rose before him and haunted him, to the exclusion of allothers. Of the two, Trevelyan’s was the most persistent.
True, he was young and he was untried, and he was probably the mostunpopular officer at the Station, but in his veins was the blood thatendures and slays and conquers!
Properly executed the fulfilling of the orders would mean his provedskill as an officer. If he failed—the Colonel laid down his pen. Thatblood could not fail.
There was his unusual strength, too, to be taken in his favor, hisstrength and his endurance. He remembered that Trevelyan had stoodintense heat better than any man at the Station; that he could live onless food, and had a nicer knowledge of horsemanship than any officer ortrooper in his command; that technically he was brilliant at surveying.The majority of commanders would probably decide between the two infavor of Stewart, but the Colonel had run the gauntlet to success a gooddeal on instinct. The Colonel prided himself on instinct. It would beTrevelyan!
Two hours later Trevelyan received his orders.
"Very well, sir," "I understand, sir," "Yes, sir," he had replied, andafter he had left, the Colonel nodded and smiled grimly at the youngengineer’s self-control in the face of an order that might mean death.
Trevelyan walked blindly back to his quarters. There was a queersinging in his head and beating at his temples. He stumbled across thethreshold and he sat down on the edge of his bunk and pressed his handshard against his temples to still that mad, incessant beating. His eyesremained wide and fixed at one spot on the floor.
It had come at last; the test and the opportunity for which he hadblindly, passionately prayed as a child; for which he had striven andworked as a boy; it had come and it had found him unprepared to meet it!
He thought of the ride—alone, except for a trooper—and on the spot ofthe floor, he pictured the blackness and the danger, as a man bringsforth a likeness on a dark plate. The picture came and went, and wentand came again on the spot on the floor and he sprang up with a chokedcry. To go out into that stillness and darkness; to face the blacknessof death—
They might get back his body—what good would his body do anyone—and theymight get it home, but they probably wouldn’t. The utter silence inthat blackness of death—so great that her voice could never reach him!
He put his foot over the possessed spot on the floor, and his leg shookas he did so. He saw his leg tremble, and he knew it and he did notcare! He had turned coward, and—he did not care! What was courage whenher voice could not reach him in the blackness of death? He might livethrough it, and she might care more for him, for it, but the chanceswere two-thirds for death.
The man they had brought in that morning! What a ghastly sight he hadbeen! The eyes had refused to remain closed and they had stared at himin all the horror of dead sightlessness. And the lips had been drawnback from the teeth and had stiffened so, in the agony of the deathstruggle. God! And they would bring him back like that—like that—_likethat_!
What vision did those staring eyes see but unutterable, unpenetrableblackness? What speech could that grinning mouth ever form again? Whatsound could pierce the seal laid on the hearing?
They had told him that the trooper had a sweetheart waiting for himsomewhere off in Ireland. Well, even love could not break the bonds ofdeath, and make him speak and hear and caress her as of old.
There was something mightier than love after all—mightier even than thelove he had for Cary.
And Trevelyan cowered, afraid.
The Potter and the Clay: A Romance of Today Page 15
