The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1894-08-03

he resented in his heart what Sloat had
said of him but the day before, little
caring whsther he heard it or not: 1T
would be mercy to that poor girl if
Jerrold were killed. He will break her
heart with neglect or drive her mad
with jealousy inside of year. ;" But
the regiment seemed to agree with
Sloat.
And so in all that little band of COM
rades no could call no man friend. One
after another he looked upon the uncon-
scious faces, cold and averted in the OBJ
livion Of sleep, but not more cold, not
more distru" tful, thai when he had
vainly sought among them one relenting
glance in the early moonlight that bat
tie eve in bivouac. He threw his arms
upward, shook his head, with hopeless
gesture, then buried his face in the
sleeves Of his rough campaign overcoat
and strobe blindly from their midst.
Early i'll the morning, an hour before
daybreak, the shivering outpost, crouch
ing i'll hollow to the southwark, catch
sight of two dim figures shooting sud
denly up over q distant ridge-horse-
men, they know at a glahce-and these
two come Looping down the moonlit trail
over which two nights before had
marched the calvary speeding to the
rescue, over which III an hour the regi-
ment itself must be on the move. Old
campaigners are two of the picket, and
they have been especially cautioned to
be on the lookout for couriers coming
back along the trail. They spring to
their feet, in readiness to welcome or
repel, as the sentry rings out his sharp
and sudden challenge.
"Couriers from tho corral" is the
jubilant answer. ''This Colonel May
nard's OUTFIT"
"Aye, aye, sonny" is the unmilitary
but characteristic answer Whats
your news!"
Got thero in time and saved what's
left of 'em, but it's hell hole, and you
fellows are wanted quick as you can
come-3O miles ahead. Where's the
colonel?"
The corporal of the guard goes back
to the bivouac, leading the two ar
rivals One is q scout, plainsman born
and bred, the other sergeant Of cavalry.
They dismount in the timber and picket
their horses, then follow on foot the
lead of their companion Of the guard.
While the corporal and the scout pro-
coed to the wagon fly and tumble at the
opening, the tall sergeant stands silent
Iva little distance III their rear, and the
occupants of neighboring shelter--the
counterpart of the colonel 's-begin to
stir, as though their light slumber had
been broken by the smothered sound of
footsteps. One Of them sits up and peers
out at the front, gazing earnestly at the
tall figure standing easily there in the
flickering light Then he halls in low
tones:
"That you, Mr.. Jerrold? What is
the matter?"
And the tall figure faces promptly to-
ward the hailing voice. The spurred
heels come together with @ click, the
gauntleted hand rises in soldierly salute
to the broad brim of the scouting hat,
and deep voice answers respectfully:
: "lt is not Mr.. Jerrold, sir. 1t is Ser.
| geant Mcleod, --th cavalry, just in
with dispatches. -
T Armitage springs to his feet, sheds
his shell Of blankets and steps forth in
| to the glade, with his eyes fixed eagerly
ON the shadowy form in front. He peers
: under the broad brim, as though striv
= ing to see the eyes and features of the
) tall dragoon,
"Did you get there in timer" he asks
| half wondering whether thatwas really
J the question uppermost in his mind.