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

CHAPTER XIX
WHEN THE LAST CARTRIDGE WAS GONE

WHATEVER was to be done would have to be done in a very few seconds.

For one of the rifle-armed strangers had started briskly for the tent that concealed the boyish sergeant.

"Whatever happens, he isn't going to get me alive, if I can help it!" quivered young Overton. "I'd sooner be killed at once than disgrace my chevrons."

Two swift steps backward, and Sergeant Hal caught up his revolver.

With this in his right hand, and stepping panther-like, he returned to the fallen tent flap.

The approaching man with the rifle bent forward, sweeping the tent flap aside.

"Come out, Sarge!" he ordered.

"If I have to," retorted Hal, setting his teeth.

Grasping the revolver by the barrel end, he sprang through, before the other fellow could comprehend what was happening.

"Look out, there!" yelled one of the invaders, coming up behind the man with the rifle.

It was too late.

Crack! It was a fearful blow, the butt of the heavy Army revolver landing on the fellow's jaw and fracturing it.

"O-o-o-h!"

It was a wail of fearful agony, but under the circumstances Sergeant Overton could not afford to regret it.

The stricken man staggered back.

Hal poised for a bound, intending to snatch the rifle from him.

As the fellow dropped back, however, his companion coming up behind him was in time to snatch the rifle, turning the muzzle on Overton.

There being not a second to lose, and the fight unequal, Hal darted, instead, back to his tent pole.

There hung a mirror that he had used in shaving.

It took but an instant to get this. Then Hal raced for a tree thirty feet away.

Dropping the small mirror into a pocket, Overton started to climb the tree.

"Come down out of that tree, or we'll bring you down!" roared an ugly voice.

"You'll have to drop me, then, if you want me," taunted Hal coolly.

He was a dozen feet up the trunk by the time that the man who now held that rifle gained the base of the tree.

"Coming down, you – ?" called the ruffian with an oath.

"No," responded Hal. "Coming up?"

"Come down, I tell you!"

"Some mistake," sneered Hal, still climbing. "I'm headed for the roof."

Below him he heard a threatening click as the bolt of the rifle was thrown back.

"Hey! Don't shoot the kid – yet," ordered another voice. "He'll come down when he sees what we can do to him. He hasn't any show."

So the fellow under the tree went back to join his six companions.

Dietz and Johnson were still holding up their hands. This fact was no reflection on their courage. They were trained fighting men, and had sense enough to realize when the enemy had "the drop" on them.

"You two soldiers," ordered the leader of the ruffians, "lie down on your faces and hold your hands behind your backs for tying."

Neither soldier, however, stirred as yet.

"You heard that, Sergeant?" called Dietz dryly.

"Yes," admitted Hal.

"What shall we do?"

"You fellows get down on your faces – flop!" broke in the leader of the ruffians. "That's what you'll do!"

"Will you be kind enough to shut up?" retorted Private Dietz coolly. "We're taking our orders from the sergeant."

"Let him come down here and give the orders, then," jeered the leader of the invaders.

"You'd better give in, Dietz and Johnson," order Sergeant Hal. "You can't do anything and I don't want to see you killed."

"That's your order, then, is it, sergeant?" inquired Private Johnson.

"Yes; it can't be helped."

Dietz and Johnson, therefore, lay down as directed. Some of the scoundrels who were not armed busied themselves with tying the soldiers, and this work the miscreants did with a thoroughness that spoke eloquently of practice.

But the diversion gave Hal a chance to do something that had popped into his head at the instant when he had stepped back for the mirror.

The sun was still sufficiently high for him to catch the rays strongly on his small mirror.

Now, in the Army signaling work, one branch has to do with heliographing; that is, flashing a message by means of reflected rays of the sun's light.

Swiftly enough the young sergeant caught the flash, and found to his delight that he was able to throw a fairly long flash.

"Camp in hands of ruffians. Help quick!"

Despite his tremendous excitement, Sergeant Overton endeavored to steady his right hand enough to enable him to send the message quite clearly.

Again and again he flashed the message, until one of the invaders, glancing up at the tree top, caught sight of the work that was going on.

"That kid's trying to send word to some one," guessed the leader. "Here, cub, hand me that rifle."

Crack!

Smash!

It was a true shot, though how much of it was due to luck Sergeant Hal could not surmise.

But the glass was shot from his hand, the splintered bits falling to the ground.

"Next shot for you, kid!" warned the marksman below.

"Yes?" mocked Overton.

"Surest thing in the world? Coming down, or shall I bring you down?"

Crack!

Hal drew his own weapon up, firing as the sight passed the human target.

It was a close shot, the revolver bullet carrying away the fellow's cloth cap.

"I'm firing too high," spoke Hal as composedly as though he did not feel any excitement. "I'll fire for your belt line after this."

That was too much for the ruffian's composure. He turned, running in a zig-zag line.

So Hal held his fire, awaiting results for a moment. As he waited he felt for his revolver ammunition.

Then he made a sickening discovery. He had no revolver ammunition beyond the five cartridges remaining in the cylinder of his weapon.

As for the invaders, they had more than three hundred rounds of rifle ammunition now at their disposal.

And they had fled to cover, too, but now Sergeant Overton had the uncomfortable conviction that three rifles were trained on him.

"Now, come down out of that tree on the double quick!" commanded the leader of the invaders.

"My coming will suit myself only," boasted Hal in a tone conveying ten times the confidence that he felt.

"That shot of yours may start help this way," continued the leader threateningly. "We ain't going to take any chances. Start on the second, or we'll begin shooting, and keep it up until we tumble you out of that tree."

"You may fire whenever ready," mocked Hal. "Every shot you fire will be a signal that will make my friends come faster."

Bang! It was the leader himself who fired. The bullet clipped off a leaf within an inch of Sergeant Overton's ear.

Crack! The boyish young sergeant was all there with the grit. He fired straight back at the leader, the bullet striking the rock before the other's face.

Now two more shots clipped close to the young soldier. Hal answered with one.

But he tried to steady himself. He realized that he had but three fighting shots left, and that he must make them count.

"But maybe three are enough to last me as long as I'm going to live, anyway," reflected Sergeant Overton grimly.

There was not much comfort in that thought, but Hal drew himself around more behind the tree trunk in order to shield himself as much as possible, although the tree trunk would be no real protection from bullets.

The Army bullet, at an ordinary range, will pierce three solid feet of standing oak.

CHAPTER XX
THE EIGHTH MOCCASIN APPEARS

"GIVE it up?" queried the leader.

"I answered you before on that head," retorted Sergeant Overton.

"Don't be a fool, kid. We don't want to hurt you. All we want is that revolver."

"I don't want to give it up," rejoined Hal.

"You'd better!"

"It isn't mine to give, anyway. It belongs to the United States Government."

"Uncle Sam will never see that revolver again," declared the leader of the invaders, with profane emphasis. "And you'll never see your friends again if you don't hit it fast for the ground."

"I'm here until further orders."

"You've got your orders!"

"I don't take any orders from you," retorted Hal with fine scorn.

"Open up on the fool, boys – all together!"

Three spurts of flame jetted out from the cover that the ruffians had taken.

Hal steadied his arm by resting it across a branch before him, and fired back, his aim, as before, at the leader.

He had the satisfaction of seeing that rascal's head duck below cover.

Though he could not know it then, Overton had clipped a lock of hair from the fellow's hatless head.

Another volley, which Hal answered with another shot.

"What do you fellows want with guns if you can't shoot better!" hailed Overton derisively.

He didn't want them to shoot any better, but he was trying to anger them and thus make their shooting wilder.

"It won't take us more than half a minute more to get you," flung back the leader.

Now that fellow raised himself, exposing himself more, but getting a solid left-hand rest for his rifle.

Hal could see and feel that the rifle was pointed fairly at him.

On the instinct of the moment the young sergeant fired. And he would have scored, had he not seen the other two riflemen leaving their cover also to get a better aim. That realization spoiled his shot.

"Gracious! That was my last cartridge, too!" groaned the young sergeant inwardly.

The realization made him feel creepy. It is one thing to fight bravely, when one has the fighting tools and a knowledge of their use. But it is quite another thing to face the certainty of being helpless with so many armed foes bent on one's destruction.

None the less, summoning up all his courage, Hal broke the revolver at the breech, allowing the ejector to shed the empty shells on the ground underneath.

With lightning motions Hal went through the sham of filling his cylinder with fresh cartridges.

"No use, little man! No use at all. If you had any more cartridges you'd get me now – but you can't. Come on, boys! We'll go under the tree and smoke him out!"

As he spoke, the leader moved boldly from cover, exposing the whole length of his body.

It would have made a splendid mark for as expert a shot as Sergeant Hal Overton. The soldier boy did raise his revolver, as though to shoot, but the leader, coolly confident, continued to come forward.

Of course Hal could not shoot, and the rest seeing that, also came out from cover.

Chuckling, all but the one whose jaw Hal had injured, the wretches moved forward, halting just under the tree.

"Coming down now?" demanded the leader, directing the muzzle of his stolen rifle up the tree.

"I don't know," mimicked Hal.

"Ever hear what the treed 'coon said to Davy Crockett?" inquired the scoundrel facetiously.

"If it's a chestnut I'll stand hearing it again," proposed the young sergeant.

"Well, friend, when the raccoon saw Davy pointing his gun upward, he called down: 'Don't shoot, Davy! I'll come down.'"

"Great!" mocked young Overton.

"Are you going to do like the 'coon?"

Hal's answer was to raise his right hand suddenly and hurling his now useless revolver.

There was no time to dodge. One of the riflemen below received the impact of the descending weapon squarely on top of his head and he keeled over, falling into a bush.

"You said all you wanted was my revolver," announced Sergeant Hal. "Well, you have it. Now on your way with it."

The dropped revolver had been picked up by another of the crowd, and now two men raised their guns to shoot Hal Overton out of the tree.

But their leader struck down their guns.

"None of that, unless we have to," he commanded. "The sergeant's a game one, and he's not to blame for trying to defend his camp. He can't do any more harm now, and I won't have him hurt unless he forces us to do it. Now, then, young man, are you coming down out of that tree?"

"Why?" challenged Hal. "You said that all you wanted was my revolver. You have that now, and all the rifles in camp. What do you need of me?"

"We've got to slip away from here quick," retorted the leader with a deceptive show of good-nature and fair-mindedness. "But do you think, Sergeant, we're going to be fools enough to dust out of here and leave you to come down out of the tree and trail us along, then come back here for help and bag us all. No, no, young man! We know the regulars, and we're not going to leave any cards in the hands of the fighting line of the Army."

"But it's so comfortable up here," objected Hal.

"I'm going to give you, Sergeant, until I count three. Then, if you haven't started, we'll simply have to bring you down like a cantankerous grizzly. Or, if you start and then stop again, we'll shoot just the same. We can't afford to waste any more time talking."

Where had Hal seen this man before? Where and when had he heard that voice?

Face and voice both seemed strangely familiar, yet, to save him, Overton could not place the fellow at that moment.

"One!" counted the leader, and Hal saw three rifle muzzles pointed at him.

"Two!"

"All right! I'm the 'coon. Be with you in a minute, Davy Crockett," laughed Sergeant Hal Overton.

It was hard luck, but the soldier boy felt that he had made all the fight that could be expected of any one. There seemed no sense in being killed for sheer stubbornness, now that he had not a ghost of a chance of fighting back.

Having once started groundward, Overton continued to descend rapidly.

As he reached the last limb on his descent he took a swift slide and landed among his captors.

"Good boy," mimicked the leader of the invaders. "Now continue to be sensible. Just lie down on your face and put your hands behind your back the way your two men did. Nothing happened to them and nothing worse will happen to you."

The wretch's words were smooth and oily. To Hal it really looked as though this fellow respected gameness enough not to take it out on a defenseless enemy.

So Hal lay face downward and gave up his hands for binding.

Wrap! wrap! He felt the cord passing swiftly around his wrists, and then an extra turn was taken around his ankles.

"Your name's Overton, isn't it?" asked the leader with a wicked grin on his face.

"Yes."

"Then you're the man we want."

"From the way you acted I judged that you wanted me," mocked Hal dryly.

"Yes; but we wanted you for more than general reasons. In fact, we want you, most of all, for purely personal reasons. Or, at least, one of our fellows does. Here he comes."

An eighth man of the wretched crew now came swiftly forward from the hiding that he had kept from the first.

As he came he chuckled maliciously, and Hal Overton knew that sinister laugh.

Then the fellow halted, bending over the prostrate, tied young sergeant.

The face was the face of that evil deserter from the Army – ex-Private Hinkey!

CHAPTER XXI
THE ENEMY HAS HIS INNINGS

"I'D much better have stayed up the tree and been shot out of it!" flashed through Sergeant Hal's startled brain.

"Howdy!" jeered Hinkey, leering wickedly. "Didn't expect to see me, did you?"

"No," Hal admitted frankly.

"It's my inning now, Overton."

"It looks like it."

"And I'm to have my own way with you – you officers' boot-lick!"

"That's a lie, Hinkey, and you know it!" broke in the deep, indignant voice of Private Dietz. "Overton's a man, first, last and always. He's worth a million of your kind."

"Good!" added Private Johnson valiantly. "And true, too! I never realized it until to-day, either."

"Oh, you both hold your tongues," ordered Hinkey, glaring over at the pair of bound soldiers who lay beyond. "You fellows are no good, either. No man that'll stay in the Army is any good."

"I'm glad to know why you left, Hinkey," jeered Dietz. "I've wondered a lot about that."

"Oh, have you?" snarled Hinkey. "Nobody but a boot-lick would stay in the Army, and I don't lick any man's boots, not for the whole Army."

"Come, hurry up, Hink, and have your grudge satisfied, and come along. We don't want to be caught by a lot of soldiers. All the shooting we've done here will be sure to attract the hunters."

"No it won't," rejoined Hinkey. "We trailed the hunting parties, and they went out in three squads, in three different directions. Now, any of the hunters that hear a lot of firing will only think that one of the other parties has run into a lot of game."

This was true. Hal Overton hadn't thought of it before in that light. And, in addition, it was rather unlikely that any of the hunters had chanced to see his mirror-thrown signals in the short time that had passed before the glass had been shot from his hands.

The rascal floored by the revolver which the sergeant had thrown was now coming to, for one of the crew had been dashing water in his face.

Not far away sat the man whose jaw Hal had damaged. He was groaning a bit, despite his efforts to make no fuss.

"Look at our two mates this sergeant boy has put out of action," growled Hinkey, trying to inflame his comrades.

"They were hit in fair fight," replied the leader. "The sergeant kid doesn't belong to our side, but I don't hold his fighting grit against him."

"You'd hold anything and everything against him if you knew him as well as I do," retorted Hinkey.

He was still standing over his young victim, gazing down gloatingly at him.

"And now the time has come to square matters up with you, younker," went on Hinkey tauntingly. "It's all my way now."

Hal looked up at him steadily, but without speaking. The boy knew better than to say anything foolish that would needlessly anger this brute, who now held the situation all in his own hands.

"Well, why don't you talk back, Overton?" demanded Hinkey sneeringly.

Just the ghost of a smile flickered over Overton's face.

"Laughing at me, are you?" yelled Hinkey, trying to work himself into a more brutal rage.

Hal spoke at last.

"No," he answered.

"If you ain't laughing," continued the brute, "what are you doing?"

"Just thinking how sorry I am for you," Hal flashed back coolly.

"Sorry?" echoed the fellow bitterly. "You'd better waste your sorrow on yourself! What are you feeling badly about me for?"

"I was thinking," went on Hal slowly, and with no trace of taunt in his voice, "what a sad come-down you have had. You were in the Army, wearing its uniform, and with every right to look upon yourself as a man. You could have gone on being trusted. You could have raised yourself. Instead, you have followed a naturally bad bent and made yourself a thousand times worse than you ever needed to be. Hinkey, do you wonder that I'm sorry for you, when I find that you have fallen outside of an honest man's estate?"

"Good! Tell him some more, Sarge," came from Dietz.

"Do you hear that?" raged Hinkey, turning and catching his new leader's eye. "Do you hear what the boot-lick insinuates about the new crowd I've joined?"

"It's your affair – your battle, Hinkey," replied the leader grimly. "Don't try to drag us in."

"You're making such a beast of yourself, Hinkey, that even your own gang don't respect you," taunted Johnson.

"A crowd of Colorado wild-cats couldn't respect such a fellow," supplied Dietz.

With a snarl Hinkey ran over to where Dietz and Johnson lay, giving each a hard kick. The soldiers suffered the violence in silence.

"You two mind your own affairs," warned Hinkey savagely. "Don't turn me against you. I don't want to give either of you as bad a dose as I've planned for this sergeant boy."

"Hurry up, Hinkey," warned the leader impatiently. "You're wasting time that's worth more to us than money. You said that if we'd capture this boy for you, you'd cart him away on your back, to settle with him later. Now do it!"

"All in a minute," promised the deserter. "But, first of all, are you going to take the other two soldiers with you?"

"No. We don't need 'em."

"Then I don't want this fellow Overton to go along with us with his eyes open. He'd know our whole route if he managed to get away from us, and then he'd bring the regulars down on us. You don't want that?"

"Of course not."

"Then I'll stun this sergeant boy, and I'll do it so hard that he won't open his eyes in ten miles of traveling," promised Hinkey.

With that he turned to Hal.

"Overton, I'm going to hit you, and I'm going to hit you so hard that you won't even see stars. Close your eyes if you're afraid to see the blow coming!"

But Hal merely opened his eyes the wider, smiling back with a confidence in himself that maddened the brute.

With a snarl like a panther's Hinkey crouched over the young sergeant, holding his hand high before striking.