Uncle Sam's Boys as Sergeants: or, Handling Their First Real Commands

Of a sudden the Thirty-fourth's band turned loose into a dashing gallop played at faster time than usual. It was the signal for Sergeant Hal to mount his wheel and ride as for life.

Something in the speed, the dash, the evident purpose of the young soldier caught the hearts of the spectators as soon as Hal started. He had not gone fifty yards on his way before the cheering once more burst forth.

At the outset were some little gaps in the path, representing brooks and rills. Over these Sergeant Hal sped as if they did not exist, while little upward spurts of water helped out the illusion.

Ahead of the young military bicyclist now appeared a plain fence, some four feet high. Hal Overton rode at this with all the speed his flying feet could impart to the pedals. He appeared bent on violent collision with the fence.

Indeed, he rode at the palings as though he could not stop. Yet, when almost in the act of collision, Sergeant Hal made a flying leap from his wheel, which he tossed over the fence. In two incredibly swift movements he was over the fence. His wheel hardly seemed to have fallen at all, so swiftly did the young sergeant have it going again. He made a flying leap to the saddle, and was again pedaling desperately, while five or six shots to the rear filled out the illusion of a dispatch bearer being pursued by enemies.

That trick at the fence instantly took hold of the younger male portion of the audience. Denver boys saw wherein young soldiers were taught things about bicycle riding that were not known among civilians.

Hardly was Sergeant Hal going at full speed again when another obstacle loomed up in his way. This was an intrenchment front, sloping as he approached it, but with a sheer drop of some three feet on the other side.

Straight up the slope dashed Hal Overton. For a fraction of a second, as he left the top of the barrier, his wheel looked more like an odd airship, but now the forward wheel struck the ground beyond once more, the rear wheel swiftly following, and the dispatch rider was going onward faster than ever.

The small boys now led in the noise that came from the spectators' seats.

Just ahead lay the greatest peril of the path for the military dispatch rider. Here, in the hill scene, had been cut an actual gully, some eighteen feet deep, and fully twelve feet across.

Just a few minutes before a squad of soldiers had placed across this gully the trunk of a tree, shorn of its limbs and trimmed down close.

As Sergeant Hal now approached this tree trunk, which was not, at its thickest part, more than a foot in diameter, his purpose dawned upon the watching thousands.

This tree trunk represented the only possible way of getting over the gully.

Surely, the young rider would slow down, dismount, take the wheel on his shoulders and cross the slim bridge on foot.

But the crackling out of more shots behind him told the onlookers that the young dispatch rider in Uncle Sam's khaki uniform must make great haste.

Hal lay on harder than ever on his pedals. His speed carried to the onlookers the reality of a desperate race of life and death.

Close to the nearer edge of the gully stood a solitary figure, that of Corporal Noll Terry, who had had charge of the men laying the tree trunk across the gully.

Noll still stood by, watching, ready to be at hand if anything happened. One other man watched, though from a considerable distance.

This man was Private Hinkey, who alone knew the secret of his willing industry since reaching this camp.

Hinkey, unseen by others, had managed treacherously to "fix" the log in a manner that had defied detection.

"There'll be an end to the sergeant kid, in two seconds more!" gloated the rascal.

Sergeant's Hal's forward wheel struck the log, throwing full weight upon it. There was a snapping crackle, then a shriek from thousands.

For the log had snapped in two, and Sergeant Hal Overton, thrown head downward, was on his way to a broken neck at the bottom of the gully.

CHAPTER XIII

CHASING A SPEEDING DESERTER

INSTEAD of one, there were two flying bodies headed toward the gully's bottom. Corporal Noll Terry, standing there, had heard the ominous crackle of snapping wood.

If there is one thing that a soldier is taught above another, it is to think and move swiftly at a critical moment.

Noll saw the tree trunk sag downward, in just the fraction of a second ere it broke.

Nor did Corporal Terry wait to see more.

With his eyes on his bunkie, Terry made a prompt leap downward.

He had the advantage of landing on his feet. He was jarred, but there was no time to stop to think of that.

At a bound he was far enough forward, his arms outstretched, to swing hold of head-downward Hal Overton.

The impact might have been too much. Sergeant Hal might even yet have landed on his head. But, as he threw him arms around Hal, Corporal Terry threw himself over backward.

He fell with a thump, but was shaken up – no bones broken.

Sergeant Hal landed on top of his bunkie unhurt.

In an instant they separated, each leaping to his feet.

The falling halves of the tree trunk had fallen perilously close to the boyish non-coms., yet by a stroke of good fortune neither of the comrades had been struck.

"Thank you, old bunkie! The best ever!" glowed Hal, as without a backward look he raced to pick up his wheel. "Hurt?"

"Not a bit," gasped Noll, his wind jarred out of him for the moment.

"Then I'll finish the ride!"

To the thrilled, throbbing spectators there did not come a thought of "accident."

Clearly this whole splendid scene had been only a glimpse of practical military training.

It had all been planned, of course, so the audience supposed, that the tree trunk should snap and that the other young sergeant should be there to perform the swift work of rescue.

Even at that it was a wonderful sight, and again the spectators were on their feet, cheering more hoarsely than ever.

Yet hardly had they started to cheer when, some how, in a way they did not quite grasp, Sergeant Hal Overton had climbed up out of the gully, carrying his wheel with him.

Now he was mounted again! On the further side of the gully the young Army dispatch rider was racing forward again.

His wheel, somewhat damaged by the fall, was moving stiffly now, but Overton put into his pedaling every ounce of energy left to him.

In another moment he was out of sight, his dispatch-bearing ride ended, and the band leader stopped his musicians.

In this startling scene the onlookers felt that they had viewed the best piece of individual daring of the afternoon.

Little did they guess that they had seen the failure of a scoundrel's dastardly attempt to end Sergeant Overton's life.

But grizzled old Colonel North, of the Thirty-fourth United States Infantry, knew better.

"Cortland," he remarked, turning to B Company's captain, "just as soon as the last number is over I want you to make an instant and red-hot investigation of that accident to Sergeant Overton. Report to me as soon as you have even the trace of a suggestion to make."

"Yes, sir; and I have one suggestion to make now," replied Captain Cortland.

"What is it?"

"I ask you, sir, to oblige me very greatly by promising a warrant at once for Corporal Terry's promotion to sergeant."

"By Jove, young Terry earned it!" agreed Colonel North.

"Yes, sir; and, to my way of thinking, he did more. He proved that B Company cannot afford to be without a sergeant of his proved calibre."

"Go to Wright, the battalion adjutant, then, and tell him, with my compliments, to prepare an order at once, for reading at the dress parade which is to end up the afternoon's show."

"Very good, sir."

"And, Cortland, ask Wright, as a personal favor to me, to read the order slowly and distinctly, so that the audience can grasp the fact that they've witnessed a deed of heroism and its prompt reward in the Army."

"A splendid idea, sir!"

At the close of the afternoon's fast and furious work came a spectacle such as doubtless no one in the audience had ever seen before.

The three fighting arms of the service – artillery, cavalry and infantry – combined at dress parade.

The ceremony, as enacted that afternoon, possessed all the fervor and solemnity of a religious rite.

When it came to the publication of orders appointing Corporal Oliver Terry a sergeant in recognition of unusual bravery and judgment in saving a comrade's life, only a small percentage of the on-looking, listening thousands grasped the importance or meaning of the promotion of one young soldier.

No matter! All would read about it in the Denver papers the next morning.

At the firing of retreat gun three military bands combined in the playing of "The Star Spangled Banner."

Then, as the troops marched off, all was over as far as the audience was concerned.

Captain Cortland, however, had no sooner dismissed his company than he turned back to the field, to go to the gully to investigate the matter of the broken log. Lieutenant Prescott went with him.

Over back of one of the cook tents, however, a plain soldier man was already arriving at the truth.

"Hinkey, come over here!" called Private Slosson.

There was something in this soldier's voice which made Private Hinkey feel that perhaps it would not be altogether wise to disregard this request that sounded so much to him like an order.

"Hinkey," continued Private Slosson, "'twas a near escape from breaking his neck that Sergeant Overton had this afternoon."

"That's no concern of mine, I guess," murmured Hinkey.

"Then it ought to be," retorted Private Slosson with considerable warmth. "Hinkey, you had me guessing yesterday and this forenoon, you were so full of industry. And that put me in mind. I saw you coming down from near the gully this morning, and you had something hidden under your coat."

The fingers that held Hinkey's cigarette began to tremble.

"What do you mean, Slosson?"

"Well, first of all, the thing you had under your coat was a saw. I saw you hide something under the woodpile here, but I'm so dumb that I didn't think much of it at the time. Now, the log over the gully was a spruce log, wasn't it?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I do," replied Slosson, "and we haven't been using much spruce timber around here, either. So I looked over the saw. Hinkey, between the teeth is quite a little bit of what looks mighty like spruce sawdust. Queer, ain't it?"

"I don't know," replied Private Hinkey, speaking bravely, though his face now looked bloodless and his lips were quivering.

"Spruce sawdust in the saw you handled," continued Slosson mercilessly. "And say, the saw cut in the log over at the gully was pasted with putty, and then bark bits stuck on, to hide the cut. Wasn't that the way it was done?"

"How should I know?" snarled Private Hinkey, trying to glare back into the accusing eyes of Private Slosson.

"Why I asked," continued the latter soldier, "was because I've just been taking a look at the service clothes you wore this morning, and I find putty marks in several places on the trousers."

Hinkey realized that he had been unmasked. Moreover, only one look into Slosson's eyes was needed for making sure that the accusing soldier was not going to keep still about it.

With a sudden snarl of rage, Hinkey sprang forward, driving his hard right fist squarely into Slosson's left eye and knocking that soldier down.

Then, without loss of a second, Hinkey made a dive for the nearest gate of the grounds. As he ran at top speed Private Hinkey then and there, so far as he was personally concerned, ended his connection with the regular Army of the United States.

Private Slosson, holding his eye and feeling weak and dizzy, shouted:

"Some one run after Hinkey, B Company, and catch him!"

The call brought several men, among them Lieutenant Hampton, of B Company.

"What has Hinkey done?" demanded the lieutenant, running up.

"He knocked me down, and then deserted, sir."

"Why, my man?"

"Because he fixed the tree trunk in the way that nearly cost Sergeant Overton his life, and I just showed Hinkey that I had all the proof. You'll not see the fellow again, sir, unless you're swift."

Lieutenant Hampton bounded to the gateway. Down the street he saw Private Hinkey, running like a deer and already near a street corner.

Hal Overton was the only sergeant close enough for the lieutenant's purpose.

"Sergeant Overton, take four men, pursue Hinkey and bring him back here," ordered Lieutenant Hampton.

Hal reached the gateway just in time to see Hinkey running around the street corner.

In a twinkling Hal and four soldiers were hot-foot after the suspected deserter.

But Hinkey was out of sight now. As he reached the middle of the block into which he had turned, a man in his shirt sleeves, standing idly in a doorway called out softly:

"Jump in behind me, comrade, if you're in trouble and being chased."

Hinkey stopped pantingly, giving the man a swift look. That glance was enough to show the deserting soldier that he had met a kindred spirit.

"Thanks. I'll accept," muttered Hinkey, darting into the doorway.

The man who had hailed him pulled the door shut just before Sergeant Hal and four soldiers ran around the corner above.

"What's that soldier been doing that ran by here so fast?" called the citizen in shirt sleeves.

"Which way did he go?" asked Hal swiftly, halting just an instant.

"See the next corner?"

"Yes."

"Your man turned there – to the left. You fellows will have to double your speed if you're ever going to catch that soldier."

"Put on all the steam you can, men," Hal called back over his shoulder as he once more started in what he believed to be pursuit.

Chuckling softly, the citizen opened the door, closed it again and went inside to tell Hinkey why he had saved him.

It was a full hour before Sergeant Hal Overton again reported back at camp on the grounds.

He had come back at last, forced to admit himself baffled.

"You did all you could, Sergeant," replied Captain Cortland, who had just returned to the company street. "Hinkey will be caught, sooner or later."

Then, turning to First Sergeant Gray, who had just come up, Captain Cortland smiled as he added:

"Sergeant Gray, I wonder if Hinkey is still running. If he runs long enough he'll probably fall in with some muck-raking magazine writer, who'll get out of Hinkey a startling story of why some soldiers insist on deserting the Army."

"Captain," replied Sergeant Gray, "I could tell those magazine writers a good deal about why men desert from the Army, sir. But the magazine writers wouldn't want my story of why men desert."

"What would your story be, Sergeant?"

"Why, sir, I'd tell those writers – and prove it by the records – that the men who desert from the Army are the same worthless, skulking vagabonds who are always getting bounced out of jobs in civil life because they're no good anywhere."

"That's the whole story, Sergeant Gray," nodded Captain Cortland.

"I know it, sir; I haven't been in the Army all these years not to have found out that much."

Just then Noll Terry appeared on the scene, wearing his newly won sergeant's chevrons.

Captain Cortland's inquiry into the cause of the accident to Sergeant Overton was concluded by taking the sworn testimony of Private Slosson. The papers were then filed away to be used in case the deserter Hinkey should be apprehended.

CHAPTER XIV

ALGY COMES TO A CONCLUSION

HINKEY, secure in his new retreat, with a new-found "friend" who wanted the services of a man of Hinkey's stripe, was not found.

The evening programme of the military tournament was carried out before all the spectators who could wedge themselves into the grounds, and once more the big circus played to a small crowd.

In the morning the Thirty-fourth entrained and returned to Fort Clowdry.

While in Denver, Lieutenant Ferrers, though he had accompanied the battalion, had been employed in duties that kept him out of the public eye.

Once back at the post, however, Ferrers was warned by both battalion and regimental commanders that he must buckle down at once to learn his duties as an officer.

"I had an idea that being an officer was a good deal more of a gentleman's job," Algy sighed to Lieutenant Prescott.

"An officer's position in the Army is a hard-working job," Prescott rejoined. "However, there's nothing in that fact to make it difficult for an officer to be a gentleman, too. In fact, he must be an all-around gentleman, or get out of the service."

"But gentlemen shouldn't be expected to work – at least, not hard," argued Algy Ferrers.

"Now, where on earth did you get that idea?" laughed Lieutenant Prescott.

"All the fellows I used to know were gentlemen," protested Algy, "and none of them ever worked."

"Then what were they good for?" demanded Lieutenant Prescott crisply.

"Eh?" breathed Ferrers, looking puzzled.

"If they didn't work, if they didn't do anything real in the world, what were they good for? What was their excuse for wanting to live?" insisted Prescott.

"Prexy, old chap, I'm afraid you're an anarchist," gasped Algy, looking almost humanly distressed.

"No; you're the anarchist," laughed the other lieutenant, "for no anarchist ever wants to work. Come, now, Ferrers, buck up! Go over the drill manual with me."

For two days Algy did seem inclined to buckle down to the hard work of learning how to command other men efficiently. Then one night he fell.

That is to say, he went off the reservation without notifying any of his superior officers.

At the sounding of drill assembly the next morning, every officer on post was present with the one exception of young Mr. Ferrers.

"Where's that hopeless idiot now?" muttered Colonel North peevishly, for he had come down to see the battalion drill.

"I haven't the least idea, sir," replied Major Silsbee.

"Send an orderly up to his quarters, Major."

"Very good, sir."

But, as both major and colonel had suspected, Ferrers wasn't in his quarters. Nor was he anywhere else on post apparently.

It was five o'clock that afternoon when Lieutenant Ferrers, in civilian dress, passed the guard house in returning on post.

"Wanted – at the adjutant's office – am I?" queried Algy. "Oh, yes; I imagine I am. Queer place, this Army."

With a sigh of resignation, but appearing not in the least alarmed, Ferrers went to the office of the regimental adjutant.

"You've been away again without leave, and skipped battalion drill and several other duties," said the adjutant dryly.

"Yes," admitted Ferrers promptly. "But I've got a good excuse."

"You'll find Colonel North in the next room ready to hear what your excuse can be."

"I suppose he'll scold me again," murmured Algy resignedly.

"Yes; all of that," admitted the adjutant dryly. "Better go in at once, and take your medicine, for the colonel is about ready to leave and go over to his house."

As Algy entered Colonel North's office the older man lifted his head and looked rather coldly at Mr. Ferrers.

Algy brought up his hand in a tardy salute, then stood there.

But the colonel only continued to look at him. Ferrers fidgeted until he could endure the silence no longer.

"You – you wanted to speak to me, sir?" stammered Algy, the frigid atmosphere disconcerting him.

"I never wanted to speak to a man less in my life," rejoined Colonel North icily.

"Thank you, sir. Then I'll be going."

"Stop, sir!"

"Eh, sir?"

"Mr. Ferrers, I'll listen to whatever you have to say."

"It's all about my being away to-day, I suppose, sir," Algy went on lamely. What he had considered a most excellent excuse on his part now suddenly struck him as being exceedingly lame.

Again Colonel North's lips were tightly compressed. He merely looked at this young officer, but Algy found that look to be the same thing as acute torment.

"Y-yes, sir; I was away to-day sir."

"Further than Clowdry, Mr. Ferrers?"

"Oh, dear, yes, sir," admitted Algy promptly. "Took the train, in fact, sir, and ran up to Ridgecrest. The Benson-Bodges have a new mountain estate of their own up there. Just heard about it the other day, sir. Wrote Benson-Bodge himself, and got a letter yesterday evening. Old Bense invited me to come up and visit himself and family, and not to stand on ceremony. So I didn't."

"No; you didn't stand on any ceremony, Mr. Ferrers," was the colonel's sarcastic response. "Not even the ceremony of formality of obtaining leave."

"But it was all right this time, sir. Quite all right, sir," went on Algy Ferrers with more confidence. "I rather think you know who the Benson-Bodges are, sir? Most important people. A man in the Army can't afford to ignore them, sir – so I didn't."

"I don't know anything about the people you name, Mr. Ferrers, and I don't want to."

"Pardon me, sir, won't you?" demanded Algy beamingly, "but for once I am quite certain you are wrong, sir. Really an Army man can't afford not to know the Benson-Bodges. Old Bense is a cousin of the President. Old Bense has tremendous influence at Washington."

"Then I wonder, Mr. Ferrers, if your friend has influence enough at Washington to save your shoulder-straps for you?"

"Eh, sir? What's that? What do you mean, sir?" asked Algy, again looking puzzled and uneasy.

"I am going to make my meaning very clear, Mr. Ferrers. To-day's conduct is merely the winding up affair of many discreditable pieces of conduct in your part. You have proved, conclusively, that you are not fit to be an officer in the Army."

"Not fit to – " repeated Algy slowly. Then broke into a laugh as he added: "That's a good joke, sir."

"Is it?" inquired Colonel North, raising his eyebrows. "Then I trust that you will enjoy every chapter in the joke, Mr. Ferrers. I am going to order you to your quarters, in arrest. And, as I'm afraid you don't really know what arrest means, I'm going to place a sentry before your door to see that you don't go out."

"For how long, sir?"

"For as long as may be necessary, Mr. Ferrers. Having placed you in arrest I shall report your case through the usual military channels and recommend that you be tried by a general court-martial. I am of the opinion, Mr. Ferrers, that the court-martial will find you guilty and recommend that you be dishonorably dismissed from the service."

"Dishonorably dis – " gasped Algy, feeling so weak that he suddenly dropped down into a chair, unbidden. "Gracious! But that will strike the guv'nor hard! See here, sir," the impossible young officer went on, more spiritedly, as he realized the impending disgrace, "if you're going to do anything as beastly and rough as that, sir – pardon, sir – then I won't stand for it!"

"What will you do, then?" demanded North.

"Sooner than stand for being tried, like an ordinary pickpocket, Colonel, I'll resign!"

"It is not usual, Mr. Ferrers, to allow an officer to resign when he's facing serious charges."

"But I'll resign just the same, sir. Pardon me, sir, but I don't care what you say, now. Things have come to a pass where I've simply got to strike back for myself, sooner than see my family troubled by the idea of my being tried."

"But if your resignation is not accepted, Mr. Ferrers?"

"It will have to be, won't it, if I say that I simply won't bother to stay in the beastly old Army any longer?"

"No; a resignation doesn't have to be accepted, and the fact that you are under charges will operate to prevent the consideration of your resignation until after your trial."

Algy Ferrers looked mightily disturbed over that information.

"Are you serious about wanting to resign and getting out of the Army, Mr. Ferrers?"

"Yes, sir; very much in earnest."

Colonel North thought for a few moments. Then he replied:

"Very good, Mr. Ferrers. You are of no service whatever in the Army, I am sorry to say, though I doubt if you could possibly understand why you are of no use here. If you write your resignation before leaving this room, I will see that the resignation is forwarded, and I will then drop all idea of preferring charges against you."