The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1898-10-25
CHAPTER XII


The moon was throwing black shad-
ows into the deep cleft in the San Saba,
where the Crockett trail twisted along
beside the swift running rivulet, that
rose in the heart of the hills and bub-
bled merrily away until lost in the
westward valley and the brook that
found its source at the springs far out
under the foothills toward the Bravo
Slowly, YEARLY, warily, half dozen
troopers on jaded horses were feeling
their way up the pass, a veteran cor
poral full 80 yards ahead of his fellows
leading on.
With the advance rode an officer
whose shoulder straps, cleaning ON the
she'll jacket sometimes worn i'll the
mounted service Immediately after the
war, seemed almost too bright and new
to accord with the dust grimed chevrons
and trimmings of his comrades. New
and brilliant, too, were the hilt and
scabbard Of the saber that dangled by
his side. New and green" the men of
his command had believed him to be,
in cavalry matters at least, when first
he joined them some weeks before, but
the most case hardened old customer
among their seasoned troopers had
abandoned that view before ever they
started on this scout after gang of
notorious outlaws. and now new and
very different theory was grinding its
way into their tired brains-that the
I" Doughboy Dragon. as they had earli
er dubbed him, 80 Captain Gallyhad, +" as
one Of them heard he was called, could
give them points in covering the front Of
q column that were worth knowing, even
il they had been learned in doughboy
regiment and among the Sioux. It
would be q smart Friday that man.
aged to ambuscade old Brooks column
that cloudless, moonlit, breezeless
night. for with that veterans full con-
sent as we'll as to his Infinite relief
Captain Barclay had himself gone for
ward with the advance the moment
they began to wind in among the hills,
and there at the post Of danger he had
held his way, alert and vigilant, de-
spite long hours in saddle that had told
heavily on more than half the COM
mand. calm and brave despite the fact
that their welcome to the westward
portal Of the pass was the sight Of poor
Blarney running to them for shelter,
sympathy and companionshp. covered
with the blood of his beloved rider.
And what was that riders fate? 1t
was now almost II o'clock, and no man
knew. Only briefly had they halted and
fiocked about the painting steed, for
stern was the need that held them to
their course. With awestricken faces
and compressed lips they looked into
each others eyes. as though to ask:
What next? Who next? The major,
tender hearted as woman, we'll nigh
choked with distress and anxiety as he
turned to Barclay for counsel. and long
before the rearmost of the column had
reached the spot the decision had been
made. The leaders were again pushing
on. Young Brayton, with half dozen
troopers had been dispatched south
westward along the falda, ordered to
search high and low for Lawrence, dead
or alive. There was only one theory
that, pushing eagerly ahead to the re-
lief Of Cramer's crippled troop. the gal
liant ex-captain had taken no thought
CT personal danger; the old instinct of
leadership had possessed him, and, fore
most of his little squad. he had been
ITO BE CONTINUED