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7. How Bryant Was Captured



Reveille was sounded the next morning by Corporal Owens, who, having no drum or bugle at his command, sprang up at daylight and aroused his slumbering companions by shouting out the order, "Catch up!" More from the force of habit than anything else, he called the roll while he was bundling up the blankets on which he and George had slept, and, making the sergeant's salute to an imaginary officer, he announced: "All present or accounted for." Then Carey was ordered to boil the coffee, and Bob and the three troopers who were off duty went out to groom the horses. Having brought no brushes or currycombs with them, they were obliged to content themselves with rubbing the animals down with handfuls of grass; but they "went through the motions," as Bob expressed it, and that was all the most exacting officer could have expected of them under the circumstances.

As soon as breakfast had been eaten the troopers and their prisoners set out on the return march, Bob and the new scout leading the way. Behind them came the deserters, guarded on each flank and in the rear by two cavalrymen. Their advance was necessarily slow, for the captives had travelled rapidly the day before in order to put a safe distance between themselves and the fort, and they were weary and footsore. Gus Robbins, especially, was nearly "done up." He was in a worse condition than Talbot was, for the latter seemed to have slept off the effects of his wound. George felt the greatest compassion for Gus, and offered to lend him his horse; but Bob, who had grown somewhat hardened to suffering during his experience in the army, positively forbade it.

"It wouldn't do, George," said he, looking admiringly at his friend's sleek, well-conditioned animal, which was constantly champing his bit and tossing his head as if he were growing impatient at the slow progress they were making. "Gus would make a break for liberty sure, and as that nag of yours is able to distance anything in my party, I'd have to--" Here Bob tapped his carbine significantly. "That's something I don't want to do. Gus isn't so nearly exhausted as he seems to be. He is more distressed in mind than he is in body, for he is thinking of the prison at Fort Leavenworth. After we have gone a few miles we will rest them by taking them up behind us, but it wouldn't be a very bright trick to give one of them a horse to himself."

About eleven o'clock a halt was ordered, and the deserters, who were riding behind the troopers, having dismounted, Corporal Owens took Carey off on one side and gave him some very emphatic instructions. Then he and George also dismounted, and, leaving their horses behind, made their way cautiously toward a ridge a short distance in advance of them. As they neared the top they threw themselves on their hands and knees and crept up until they could look over it. They were in plain view of the squatter's cabin at which the troopers had stopped to eat their dinner the day before. Bob took just one look at it, and then hastily backed down the ridge again.

"Did you see that fellow chopping wood in front of the shanty?" said he, addressing himself to George. "That's the man I am looking for."

"Are you sure?"

"Am I sure that I have a pair of good eyes?" asked Bob in reply. "Of course I am. I recognized him in spite of his citizen's clothes. That squatter has rigged him out in some of his own duds, but they'll not save him if I can manage in some way to get between him and the cabin."

"Perhaps, in order to make 'assurance doubly sure,' you had better take my field-glass and have another look at him," said George. "A false move might prove fatal to you, for it would show the squatter that you suspect him of harboring one of your men, and that would put both him and the deserter on their guard. But if that is your man, I am sorry for it."

"Why are you?" demanded Bob, looking at his companion in great surprise.

"I mean that I am sorry you found him here," George hastened to explain, "for the chances are that you will not take him without a fight. Peasley--that's the name of the owner of the cabin--is a notorious rough, and he would think no more of putting a bullet into you, if he thought he could escape the consequences, than he would of knocking over an antelope for breakfast."

"I thought he looked like that kind of a chap," said Bob. "Well, if he wants a fight he can be accommodated at very short notice. That's my man, and I am going to have him, squatter or no squatter."

As Bob gave utterance to this emphatic declaration he took the field-glass, which George handed over to him, crept up to the top of the ridge, and after taking a short survey of the cabin and its surroundings came back to his friend's side again.

"I knew I couldn't be mistaken," said he. "I had a fair view of his face, and as I have seen him every day for the last year, of course I couldn't fail to recognize him. The squatter is sitting on the porch smoking his pipe. Now, how shall I go to work to nab him? That's the question."

"Ride straight up to him and tell him that you want him," answered George. "I know of no easier way. I will go with you and see that Peasley doesn't double-team on you."

"But Bryant will run into the house the moment he sees me," said Bob.

"Then run right in after him and pull him out again," answered George promptly.

"I am almost afraid to do it. You see, the civil law is supposed to be supreme, and we soldiers have to mind what we are about, or else there'll be a big row raised about 'military despotism' and all that. I'd have to surround the house and keep him in there until I could send to the post and get authority from the colonel to go in after him. That is something I shouldn't like to do, for I have carried this thing through so far without help from anybody, and I want to complete the work myself. If I should ask for advice, the colonel would probably send a shoulder-strap down here to rob me of all the glory I have won," added Bob with a smile.

"Oh, you needn't laugh over it," exclaimed George. "You have covered yourself with glory. It isn't every fellow who would go down into a dug-out to capture six armed men after one of them had given positive proof that he was not afraid to shoot. That bullet-hole in your coat is a badge of honor. Now, I have just thought of something: I have brought with me a full suit of Mexican clothes, and also a saddle and bridle of the Mexican pattern. You are just about my size--"

"That's the very idea--nothing could be better," exclaimed Bob, as he arose to his feet and led the way toward the place where he had left his men. "It will disguise me completely, won't it? I can ride up and get between him and the house before he suspects anything, can't I? But how about the squatter?"

"I'll join you as soon as I see that you have corralled your man," replied George. "And you had better tell your followers to hold themselves in readiness to come up promptly when I signal to them from the top of the ridge."

The troopers awaited the boys' return with no little impatience, for the long consultation they had held on the ridge convinced them that their officer had discovered something on the other side of it. Bob gave them a wink and a nod, which instead of satisfying their curiosity only increased it, and then, to the surprise of all of them, began to divest himself of his outer clothing, while George threw off the canvas covering that protected his pack, and drew out of it an elegant silver-mounted saddle and bridle, and also a suit of clothes made in the height of the Mexican fashion.

"If that man of yours is at all sharp he will notice those army-brogans the first thing, and so you had better pull them off and put on these," said George, tossing a pair of light patent-leather shoes toward Bob. "There are the spurs. You had better take my horse too, for that 'U. S.' brand on your own nag would give you away in a minute. Now go easy, like an honest Greaser who is going about his legitimate business. Take my mule with you, for if you try to separate him from the horse he'll raise row enough to scare all the deserters out of the State."

It is wonderful what an alteration is sometimes made in one's appearance by a mere change of clothing. After Bob had got into the Mexican suit and exchanged his cap for the wide sombrero with its gaudy cord and tassel, it was doubtful if there was one among his brother-troopers who would have recognized him if he had chanced to meet him unexpectedly. Although he was not quite yellow enough for a Mexican, he was nevertheless pretty well tanned, and George assured him that all he needed was a black moustache and a long goatee to transform him into a very good-looking Greaser.

Everything being in readiness, Bob mounted George's horse, took the pack-mule's halter, which his friend passed up to him, and, after giving Carey instructions to bring up the squad and the prisoners promptly when he was signalled to do so, he rode slowly away, the new scout following a short distance in his rear, mounted on Bob's nag.

Arriving at the top of the ridge, Corporal Owens rode over it without pausing, and had not proceeded far before he became aware that he was discovered. The squatter got up and came to the end of the porch, the deserter ceased his chopping and leaned on his axe, and both shaded their eyes with their hands and looked at him. It was plain that they were not very well pleased with the result of their observations, for, after gazing at him for a few seconds, the squatter returned to his seat and puffed furiously at his pipe, and the deserter resumed his chopping. At the same moment the dogs appeared in force from under the cabin, their every action indicating that they had been summoned by the voice of their master. They looked up at him, wagging their tails vigorously, and then, encouraged, no doubt, by a low hiss or an order to "hunt 'em up," began running about with their heads high in the air. Discovering the approaching horseman, they started for him on the instant, each one striving to lead in the race and to growl and bark louder than his companions.

"They don't think much of Greasers in this part of the country," said Bob to himself; "and I don't blame them. If I were a stock-raiser I shouldn't feel very hospitably inclined toward a class of men who are always on the watch for a chance to jump down on me and steal my cattle. I wonder if I shall have pluck enough to dismount in the midst of all these dogs and make the arrest?" added Bob as the fierce brutes closed about him, all of them with their ears laid back close to their heads and their hair turned the wrong way, and some crouching at his side as if they were about to spring up and pull him out of his saddle.--"Get out! If you interfere with my business there won't be as many of you to-night as there were this morning. Aha! there's one of you out of the muss already."

BOB CAPTURES THE DESERTER.

For just here the mule gave a tug at his halter, and Bob, looking over his shoulder to see what was the matter, caught a momentary glimpse of a tawny body as it rose in the air, and, turning a complete somersault, landed on the ground all in a heap. One of the dogs, in his eagerness to do something grand, had approached a little too close to the mule's heels--an impertinence which that sagacious quadruped promptly resented by kicking out with both hind feet and knocking his would-be assailant into a cocked hat. The dog was not killed, but he was terribly demoralized, and his howls of anguish did much to dampen the ardor of his companions, who quickly withdrew to a more respectful distance.

Bob rode straight up to the house, but the squatter never looked at him, nor did the deserter stop his work. He drew rein in front of the porch, swung himself out of the saddle as quick as a flash, and, paying no attention to the dogs, which bayed him at a distance, but were too cowardly to assault him, he walked up to the deserter and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Bryant, I want you," said he.

The deserter, whose back was turned toward Bob, wheeled on the instant, revealing a face that was as white as a sheet. Bob backed around a little, so that he could keep one eye on Bryant while he watched the squatter with the other, and saw the man spring to his feet in the greatest astonishment, his pipe dropping from his mouth as he arose.

"You didn't expect to see me again so soon, did you?" said Bob, addressing himself to nobody in particular.

"Corporal Owens!" gasped the deserter, retreating a step or two, at the same time grasping his axe firmly in both hands and lifting it over his head. "Keep away from me; if you come a step nearer I'll--"

"Drop it!" commanded Bob sternly; and Bryant obeyed, for he saw the muzzle of a cocked revolver looking him squarely in the face.

All this happened in less time than we have taken to tell it, but meanwhile the squatter had not been idle. Quickly recovering from his amazement, he darted into the cabin, and just as Bryant dropped the threatening axe he appeared upon the porch with his rifle in his hand. Cocking it as he drew it to his face, he covered Bob's head with the weapon, and said, in a voice that trembled with rage and excitement,

"Look a here, young fellow, that's a game two can play at. Lower your shootin'-iron or I'll make daylight shine through you."

"Plump him over, Peasley!" cried Bryant, "plump him over! You are not going to stand there and let him take me back to the fort, are you? You promised to protect me. Plump him over! put the dogs on him! Do something, and be quick about it."

Bob bore himself with surprising courage during this trying ordeal. He did not know at what instant the squatter might comply with Bryant's frantic order to "plump him over" or to "put the dogs on him," but he never flinched. He did not even change color; and there is every reason to believe that his bold front saved his life.

"Bryant," said he in a calm voice, "don't you know that the colonel will be sure to hear of this, and that you are only making a bad matter worse by holding out against the inevitable?--As for you, Peasley, you've got the drop on me, and you can shoot if you feel like it; but if you do you are a gone squatter. Look there," he added, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

Peasley looked, and saw George Ackerman coming down the ridge at a furious gallop.

"That is one of my backers, and there are six more who will be along in a minute. What did I tell you?" exclaimed Bob as the troopers and their prisoners came into view over the top of the ridge. "Now, Peasley, if you don't behave yourself I'll take you to the fort under arrest. I am in the discharge of my duty, and I am not going to put up with any more nonsense."

The squatter lowered his rifle, looked first at Bryant and then at the troopers, and seemed undecided how to act. While he hesitated George Ackerman dashed up to the porch, jumping out of his saddle before his horse had fairly stopped, and, knocking the dogs right and left with the heavy cavalry sabre which he had found fastened to Bob's saddle, he mounted the steps and laid hold of the squatter's rifle.

"Peasley, what are you about?" he exclaimed as he twisted the weapon out of the man's unresisting grasp. "Are you a born idiot? If you are not, don't you know that if you raise a fuss here you won't have any roof left over your head in less than five minutes?"

The squatter, muttering something under his breath, went back to his seat and picked up his pipe, and in a few minutes more the troopers and their prisoners arrived. At a sign from his officer, Loring dismounted and stood guard over Bryant, while Bob walked up to the porch.

"What do you think of the situation now, friend Peasley?" said he cheerfully. "I can't take that man to the fort in those clothes, and so I would thank you to trot out his uniform."

"Don't know nothing 'bout no uniform," growled the squatter; "ain't none here."

"I know better," answered Bob. "There is one here, and I must have it. You can either bring it out yourself or I shall search for it; and I give you fair warning that if I turn my boys loose in your shanty they'll handle things rough.--Now, what shall I do if that threat doesn't start him?" said Bob to himself. "I'll search the cabin and take the consequences; that's what I'll do."

"Come, Peasley, save yourself trouble by bringing out the uniform," said George. "There's no use in being a fool."

The squatter evidently began to think so too, for he sullenly rose from his seat and went into the cabin, coming out again in a few minutes with a bundle of clothing, which he threw spitefully down upon the porch. Bob quietly picked it up, and, carrying it down to Bryant, commanded him to pull off the squatter's clothes and put on his own; and Bryant at once complied, for he knew that if he did not Bob would detail two or three men to make the exchange for him. The new prisoner was then ordered to fall in with the rest, and the cavalcade once more took up its line of march for the fort; but a short stop was made as soon as they were out of sight of the squatter's cabin, during which Bob pulled off his disguise and put on his own garments.

"If I am ever obliged to wear this suit, I hope it will serve me as well as it has served you to-day," said George as he stowed the Mexican costume away in his pack and placed the silver-mounted saddle and bridle on top of it. "I didn't think it would so soon be brought into use."

"If it hadn't been for that same suit I might have got myself into trouble," said Bob. "Knowing where Bryant was, I never should have gone back to the fort without him, and if he had taken refuge in the house I might have gone in after him. What the colonel would have said to me if I had done that, I don't know."

During the ride to the fort Bob Owens, to quote from the troopers, "laughed all over." It was plain to everybody that he was highly elated over the results of the expedition, as he had an undoubted right to be. The pursuit and capture of the deserters had been conducted with considerable skill, and with as much determination as any veteran officer could have exhibited. Now that the danger was over, and his efforts to carry out the orders of his superior had been crowned with complete success, Bob was rather proud of that bullet-hole in his coat.

The next time the order was given for the troopers to take the prisoners on their horses, George beckoned to Gus Robbins, who quickly mounted behind him. After conversing a while upon the various exciting incidents that had transpired while Gus was Ned Ackerman's guest at George's ranche, the latter said,

"I never expected to meet you again, and I would rather not have met you at all than see you in this scrape."

"Well, it can't be helped now," answered Gus, with a weak unsuccessful attempt to appear defiant. "The colonel told me just what I might expect if I were ever again court-marshaled for desertion, and I went at it with my eyes open. I am not sorry I tried it, but I am sorry I didn't get away. If they don't watch me pretty closely, they will never have a chance to take me to Leavenworth."

"What do you suppose your father will say when he finds it out?" asked George.

"He will never find it out if I can help it."

"Don't you correspond with him?"

"Not by a great sight. He doesn't know whether I am dead or alive. I wish I had changed my name when I enlisted."

"He lives in Foxboro', Ohio, I believe?" said George.

Gus replied that he did.

"Is his name Gus too?"

"No; his name is Thomas, and he is--I say," exclaimed Gus suddenly, "what are you asking so many questions for? Do you intend to write to him about me?"

"Why, what object could I possibly have in doing that?" asked George, turning a very innocent-looking face toward the deserter. "I am sure it is none of my business what you do. Let's talk about something else. We are getting over the ground pretty rapidly now, and if Bob would let me I could land you in the fort in four hours. I don't suppose that you are in any hurry to get there, but what I meant was, that your additional weight would not prevent this horse of mine from travelling from here to the fort at his very best licks."

"No, I don't weigh much now," said Gus with a sigh. "Hard work, hard fare, hard treatment and constant worry have brought me down to a hundred and ten pounds."

"That's not very heavy for a seventeen-year-old boy."

"Oh, I am nineteen," said Gus, "but just now I feel as though I were forty."

"And you look so, too," said George to himself.--"That was the reason I wanted to know your exact age."

George had now learned all he cared to know about Gus Robbins. He was a minor, his father's name was Thomas and he lived in Foxboro', Ohio. He had gone to work in a roundabout way to gain this information, because he was afraid that if he asked Gus leading questions and told him what use he intended to make of his answers, the deserter would refuse to open his head. He had gained his point by strategy, and he did not intend that Gus should go to Leavenworth if he could help it.

Bob's supply of rations being nearly exhausted, his men and the deserters had a very scant dinner, and they did not get anything more to eat until they reached the fort. About ten o'clock that night they were challenged by one of the sentries, and, not knowing the countersign, were obliged to wait until the corporal of the guard was called. Having at last been admitted inside of the stockade, Bob marched up in front of head-quarters, where he ordered a halt, and he and George dismounted and went in to report to the colonel. Bob was very much astonished at the manner in which the officer greeted the new scout, and so was the orderly. They had never before seen him unbend to anybody as he did to George. Having never been admitted into head-quarters except when they had business there--some report to make, some orders to receive or some sharp reprimand to listen to--they knew the commandant only as a stern, exacting officer who seemed to care for nothing but the "regulations," and they had never imagined that he could be cordial or friendly with any one. But now they saw their mistake. The colonel got up from his seat, shook the boy warmly by the hand, told him he was glad to see him, called him by his Christian name and pointed him to an easy-chair, while Bob was left to stand at attention until the colonel got ready to attend to him.

"You are all ready for business I see, George," said the colonel as he resumed his seat at the table. "Well, I'll give you a taste of army-life by sending you out on a scout to-morrow. I will tell you about it pretty soon. There's your room," he added, pointing to an apartment adjoining his own, "and when you get ready you can bring in your luggage. The officer of the day will show you where to put your horse. You will have to be your own servant, unless you are willing to hire a civilian and pay him out of your own pocket. I saw that you came in with Corporal Owens: did he arrest you?"

"He was going to, sir," replied George, "but let me off when I showed him my furlough."

"Corporal," continued the colonel, turning to Bob, who stood lost in wonder, "what report have you to make?"

"I have the honor, sir, to report my entire success," was Bob's reply; "I've got them all."

"Where are they now?"

"On the parade, under guard, sir."

"Very good. Keep them there until further orders. Tell the officer of the day I want to see him."

George thought this was rather hard. Bob had risked his life and displayed most commendable zeal and ability in carrying out the colonel's orders, and now the latter dismissed him without one single word to indicate that he appreciated his services. Why did he not question the corporal in regard to the manner in which the capture of the deserters had been effected, and reward him for his gallantry by making him a sergeant on the spot? That was what George thought he would have done if he had been commandant of the post, and he then and there resolved that a full history of Bob's exploit should be laid before the colonel before he went to sleep that night.