The Salt Lake herald. [volume] (Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1870-1909, 1898-04-25
CHAPTER II.
THE MOUSE"

In the heated silence of afternoon the
tap, tap, tap of a drum came up from
the southwest, now indistinct and
smothered, now louder as the sound
approached the Porte Rogue, awaking
soft echoes along the sodded fortifica-
tions.
doing sentry in front of the Prince
Murat barracks sauntered out to the
gutter, shading his face with one tanned
hand. AT the end of the rue d'Ypres
sunlight Sparkled on the brass of
drum, bayonets twinkled through the
dust haze, single bugle blew long and
family.
When the red trousers of the gate
patrol had passed and the dull rumble
of the drum had softened to a vibra-
ton in the dazzling stiffness, the senti-
mel strolled back to loaf, blinking, in
his shadowy sentry box, leaning on
the chaSsepot rifle which he did not
know how to use. For the sentinel
was national guardsman, and they
had taken away his gras rifle and
given him a chassepot, and set him to
guard empty barracks in a street in
habited principally by sparrows.
At that moment, however, the rue
d Ypres, which, with it's single row of
weatherb battered houses, faced the for
tifications of the Point-du-Jour secteur,
sentinel and the sparrows, some one
else was moving aimlessly about in the
sunshine, with his hands thrust into
the pockets of a stained Jacket
/ AS he passed the barrack grille he
raised his hard face and fixed a pair
of narrow, uncertain eyes on the senti-
mel. One of his eyes was very bright
almost luminous, like the eyes of small
animals at night. The other eye was
sightless and scared.
There is something ominous in the
upward gaze of a startled animal
There was something more sinister in
the glance of The Mouse" as it fell
before the frowning, suspicious face of
the sentinel.
Passes au large?" growled the SEN
tinel, Strengthening up.
"C'est ca; ct ia soeur," retorted the
Mouse, with frightful leer. Then he
passed on, his mouth distorted in a.
smile, for he was thinking of the fu-
ture and of destiny, and of the market
value of petroleum. He was a philoso-
pher at all times, occasionally, perhaps
a prophet.
The Mouse enjoyed the hot Septem-
Der sunshine. AS he slouched past the
passage de rOmbre and across the rue
d'Ypres, he yawned with semi-torpid
satisfaction, and shuffied his worn shoes
IuAuIIouSly tHIOuSH the taller grass
below the glacis. Exertion disagreed
with the Mouse; unnecessary effort was
abhorrent to him. Under his insolent
eyelids his shifty eyes searched the ia
lus of the Notifications for a grassy.
sun-warmed nook, created by provi-
dence and the imperial engineers for
such as he.
Across the street the afternoon sun
blazed on the shabby houses. The iron
gateway of the Prince Murat barracks
was closed, the national guard sentinel
now leaned in the shadow OF his box,
drowsy and motionless. Not a soul was
stirring in the street. There was no
sound, no movement except when n
dusty sparrow raised its head from the
hot grass, beak open, as though
parched.
The Mouse contemplated the sparrow
with his solitary eye He, too, was
thirsty He claclSed his tongue twice,
spat on the grass. scratched one large
ear, and yawned. Presently he drew
a pipe from some recess beneath his
jacket, filled il, rammed one dirty fir
ger into the bowl, and fazed trustfuiiy
toward heaven for match. Neither
year in Paris. There were to be other
showers from the autumn skies.
With one finger in the bowl of his
pipe and the dingy stem in his mouth,
he gaZed heavenward until the sun
made him blink. Then he shifted his
glance along the glacis of the tortifi-
cations Across the rue d Tprez,
where there were houses. a Gagged ca