“Hallo, Buel!” exclaimed Bob, recognizing in the sentry one of his own company boys, “you’ll let us in, won’t you?”

“Well, I am beat!” replied the man.  “Corporal, you’re a brick.  Three cheers for the ’Brindles’!”

He stood in the “position of a soldier,” with his carbine at a “carry,” and spoke in a low tone, for he knew that there were officers with field-glasses not far away, and that he had no business to exchange compliments with anybody after this fashion while he was on post.  But when he saw the captive Indian and Mr. Wentworth’s boys he could not restrain himself.

“Bob, the boys ought to give you a benefit,” he added.

“We’ve got something to show for this scout, even if we are ‘Brindles,’ haven’t we?” said the corporal, holding himself very stiffly in his saddle and looking straight before him, so as not to ’give the sentry away.’  “Have you beaten us any?”

“Not by a great sight.”

“What have you done, anyway?”

“We’ve got the most of the stock back, but nary red.  Where’s Lieutenant Earle?”

“Haven’t seen him,” answered Bob.

“We haven’t seen him either, nor have we heard from him since that courier arrived.”

The troopers now found themselves on the border of a wide plain, whose opposite side was bounded by a long line of willows, which fringed the banks of a water-course.  On the edge of the willows were gathered the members of the main body, who, having been apprised by their sentinels of the approach of Bob and his party, had assembled to see them come in.  Bob began to grow excited at once.  He and his men had performed no ordinary exploit, and so impatient was he to have his success known to his comrades that he could not wait until he reached the camp to tell his story.

“You fellows who carry double, ride out there and square yourselves around, so that they can see that we have not returned empty-handed,” commanded Bob, who forthwith proceeded to execute his own order by placing the three men who “carried double” one behind the other, broadside to the camp, so that the officers with their field-glasses could observe that each horse had two riders on his back.  “I declare I feel like one of those old Roman conquerors-on a small scale; but in order to carry out the rôle I ought to make one end of a lariat fast to that Indian’s neck and drag him into the camp, oughtn’t I?  That’s the way the Romans used to do with their captives, only they chained them to their chariot-wheels.  There you are!-Swing your caps, you kids, and holler, to let your father know you are here.”

The boys obeyed with alacrity, swinging their caps around their heads and laughing and shouting by turns, while the two soldiers behind whom they rode raised their own caps on the muzzles of their carbines and joined in with a wild soldier yell.  George Ackerman kept watch of the camp through his glass to note the movements of its inmates and make reports of the manner in which this demonstration was received by them.

“There’s the captain,” said he.  “He is coming out in front of the men, in company with some of the officers.  Now they are all looking at us through their glasses.  Now the captain has taken down his glass and is saying something.  Here they come!”

It was evident that the captain had reported the result of his observations, for as George uttered these last words and lowered his glass the men broke into a run and dashed across the plain, raising their charging-yell as they came.

“You fellows who carry double, take the post of honor,” commanded Bob; “ride at the head of the squad.-Say, boys,” he added, facing about in his saddle and speaking to the men behind him, “look out for Wentworth.  There was a look in his eye the last time I saw him that I didn’t at all like, and when he finds out that we have captured one of the Indians, he may-”

“There he comes now!” exclaimed one of the troopers.

Bob looked toward the camp, and saw that his man had not been mistaken.  Behind the troopers, who were still running forward to meet their returning comrades, but rapidly overhauling them with every jump of his horse, was the father of the rescued boys.  He rode without saddle, bridle or hat, his long hair was streaming straight out behind him, he carried in his hand the rifle with which he had done such deadly work while he was defending his home, and he was constantly digging his heels into the sides of his horse, as if he were trying to make him go faster.  The man could have but one object in view:  that was Bob’s opinion, and it must have been Captain Clinton’s opinion too, judging by his actions.  The latter had raised both hands to his face and stood with his head thrown back, as if he were shouting out some orders; but if he gave any they were drowned in the lusty cheers of the approaching troopers, who ran as if they were engaged in a foot-race.

“That man certainly means mischief,” said George.

“I am sure of it,” replied the corporal.  “But I should act in just the same way if I were in his place.  I’d put an end to that Indian in spite of all the soldiers that ever wore the ‘honored blue;’ but that, I know, would be very wrong, for this red imp is one of the government wards, and nobody must presume to lay an ugly hand on him.”

“What would be done with Mr. Wentworth if he should shoot your prisoner?” asked George.

“‘What would be done with him?’” repeated Bob, bitterly.  “Why, he would be put in arrest before he could say ‘Jerusalem!’ and the agent of the Kiowas would insist on his being tried for murder, notwithstanding the fact that this same Indian was one of the party that burned Mr. Wentworth’s house and carried his children into captivity.  Why, George, unless you are posted you have no idea-But I will tell you a short story by and by.  Just now I must attend to our friend Mr. Wentworth.  Stand by me, for I believe I shall need a helping hand before I get through with him.”

While this conversation was going on Bob had kept a watchful eye upon the movements of Mr. Wentworth, who had by this time passed the troopers and was guiding his horse so as to come up on the left flank of Bob’s squad.  As soon as the latter became satisfied that this was the man’s intention, he rode out of the line and placed himself beside the captive Indian, who was riding on Loring’s horse and was by no means an uninterested spectator of what passed before him.  He too was keeping his gaze directed toward Mr. Wentworth, whom he doubtless recognized.

“White man very angry-heap mad-as mad, in fact, as a wet hen,” said Bob, trying to imitate an Indian’s way of talking, but making a sad mess of it in his excitement.  “He’s mad at you for carrying his boys off, and he’s going to shoot you dead-heap dead-as dead as a door-nail; and he’ll serve you just right, too.”

“I hope he won’t miss the red and hit me,” said Loring.

“You needn’t be afraid of that, for these Texans are all good shots,” answered Bob; adding in a lower tone, “I’ll just tell you what’s a fact, Loring:  I wouldn’t interfere with him if I could help it.”

The young savage understood what Bob said, but not a muscle of his face changed.  If he had been an old warrior, he would probably have begun his death-chant; but having performed no deeds of which he could boast, he remained silent and calmly awaited the fate that would have been inevitable had it not been for George Ackerman’s skill in horsemanship.

The animal on which Mr. Wentworth was mounted was evidently accustomed to being ridden without a bridle, for his master guided him with the greatest ease.  When he had almost reached the squad he suddenly swerved from his course, in obedience to a signal conveyed to him by a quick movement of his rider’s body, and galloping swiftly around the head of the line stopped short on the other flank.  By this unexpected change of tactics the enraged father had gained a position on the unguarded side of the prisoner, and if he had acted as soon as his horse came to a standstill he would have accomplished his purpose in spite of everything; but he could not resist the temptation to talk for just a moment, and that moment’s delay defeated him.  Cocking his rifle with great deliberation, he said fiercely,

“You have eaten salt in my house, you have slept by my fire, you have drunk from my spring when you were thirsty, you Indian dog, and now-”

When the man had gone thus far rage choked his utterance, and he could not say another word.  He drew his rifle to his shoulder, but the muzzle, instead of covering the head of the Indian, covered the person of George Ackerman, who was coming toward him with all the speed his horse could put forth.

The boy had sprung into life and activity the instant he witnessed Mr. Wentworth’s cunning manoeuvre, for he knew what it meant.  Giving a pull at his left rein, at the same time touching his horse lightly with the spurs, the animal wheeled like a flash on his hind feet, and, dashing through the line behind Bob Owens (some of the troopers afterward declared that he jumped clear over Bob’s horse), brought his rider to the right side of the Indian just in time to intercept the deadly aim.  In another second George had seized the rifle with both hands, and a terrific struggle began between him and Mr. Wentworth for the possession of the weapon.  In less time than it takes to tell it the man, having no stirrups to support him, was jerked off his horse, and before he could recover himself and plant his feet firmly on the ground the rifle was twisted out of his grasp, and the bullet contained in the chamber was sent whistling harmlessly off over the sandhills.

“No more of that!” exclaimed Bob, who rode up just half a minute too late to be of any assistance.  “Keep quiet now, or you’ll go back to camp with a guard over you.”

“Mr. Wentworth,” said George, bending down from his saddle and laying his hand upon the angry man’s shoulder, “your good sense must tell you that the corporal can’t stand peaceably by and see his prisoner shot.  What are you thinking of?”

“Give me that gun,” panted Mr. Wentworth, who was white to the lips and trembling in every limb.  “I’ll-I’ll-”

“You’ll do nothing but behave yourself,” interrupted Bob.  “You can’t have that rifle again until Captain Clinton says so, for you don’t know how to act when you have it in your hands; you point it around too loose and reckless.  Haven’t you something besides revenge to think of now?  Can’t you see that we have brought your boys back to you safe and sound?”

The man’s face softened at once.  Tears came to his eyes, and darting quickly around Bob’s horse he ran up to his children, and, pulling them both to the ground at once, folded them in his arms.  But we will not say any more about that meeting, will we?  The joy of a family reunited under circumstances like these is something too sacred to be intruded upon even by a sympathizing pen, isn’t it?  Even the troopers, some of whom had witnessed many an affecting scene, could not stand it, but turned away their heads and drew their hands hastily across their eyes, as if to brush away something that seemed to be obscuring their vision.  One of them caught Mr. Wentworth’s horse, and after the latter had mounted and taken his boys up with him, one in front and the other behind, the squad continued its march toward the camp.

When Bob came to look in front of him, he found that the appearance of things had changed somewhat.  The comrades who had started out to meet him were no longer advancing in a compact body.  They had halted and drawn themselves up in two parallel lines, facing each other, and leaving room enough between them for Bob and his squad to pass through.

“Hallo!” exclaimed the delighted corporal.  “The boys have got up a reception for us, and we must meet it in good shape.-Attention, squad!  Draw sabres!-Loring, ride on ahead with Mr. Wentworth.-George, come up on my right.”

When these orders were issued the men promptly fell into line, conversation ceased on the instant, tobacco was knocked out of pipes that had but just been filled, carbines were adjusted in soldier-fashion, caps that had been worn with the peak behind were turned right side in front, and twelve bright blades leaped from their scabbards.  In this order the successful troopers rode by their comrades, who cheered them loudly, and then fell in behind and followed them into camp, marching in column of fours.  Bob at once rode up to Captain Clinton’s fire, and dismounted to make his report, which he did in this way: 

“I have the honor, sir, to report that we surprised five Indians in camp last night, captured one, killed three and released Mr. Wentworth’s boys.”

“Good for you, corporal!” exclaimed the captain, his astonishment getting the better of him for the moment.  “Anybody hurt on your side?”

“One wounded, sir.  Private Carey received a knife-thrust in the right arm while assisting Private Loring to capture the Indian.”

“Very good,” said the captain, resuming his official tones and dignity at the same time.  “Stake out your horses, and then come back here.  I want to hear all the particulars.  What was the cause of that disturbance out there on the plain?”

“I was the cause of it, cap, you bet,” exclaimed Mr. Wentworth, whose face did not look much as it did when he galloped out to meet Bob and his squad.  Then it was disturbed with passion; now it was beaming with joy.  “I’d ha’ sent that Injin to the happy land o’ Canaan in a little less than the shake of a buck’s tail if Ackerman hadn’t stopped me, you bet.”

“It was a good thing for you that he did stop you,” said the captain quietly.  “You would have brought yourself into serious trouble by such a proceeding.”

“I know that,” said Mr. Wentworth, “but who cares for trouble when his dander’s up?  Say, cap, may I have my rifle?  Ackerman took it away from me.”

“You may have it on condition that you will make no more attempts on the life of this prisoner,” replied the captain.  “There is a law to deal with such fellows as he is.”

“Where in the world is it, I’d like to know?” exclaimed Mr. Wentworth fiercely.  “It hasn’t got out here to Texas yet.  If I had shot him, as I meant to do, you would have had a guard over me in no time; but he came with a band of his friends and set fire to my house, and carried off my little boys, and killed my herdsmen, and drove off my stock; and you, knowing it all, stand here, with your hundred and twenty blue-coats, and tell me that I must not touch him.  Your colonel will give him up when his agent makes a demand for him, and he’ll go back to his reservation, and the government will feed him on good food and give him good clothes, and some rascally trader will sell him more powder and balls to kill white folks with; but if I-Dog-gone my buttons!-Ackerman, give me that rifle.”

It was plain that Mr. Wentworth’s “dander” was still “up”-’way up.  The listening troopers exchanged glances of approval with one another, and would have cheered him if they had dared.  Being a civilian, the man was at liberty to talk pretty much as he pleased; but if one of their own number had made such an exhibition of temper in the presence of an officer, he would have been punished for it.

“We will not discuss that matter,” said the captain calmly.  “I know my business and attend to it strictly, leaving the agents to look out for their own affairs.  They are not responsible to me, or to you either, for the manner in which they do the work entrusted to them.”

“All right, cap,” said Mr. Wentworth, picking up one of his boys and then lowering him carefully to the ground.  “Mum is the word, if you say so.  But I haven’t heard you tell Ackerman to give me that rifle yet.”

“Neither have I heard you make that promise,” was the reply.

“Well, I’ll make it, but I tell you I hate to, mightily.”

The captain smiled, and nodded to George, who rode up and handed over the Winchester.

“She’s a good one, cap, and when she speaks she means business-she does,” said Mr. Wentworth, holding the recovered weapon off at arm’s length and gazing at it with admiring eyes.  “She is sure death on Kiowas, for she knows I have got something ag’inst them.  She rubbed out ten of ’em during the last fight she was in, and she’ll spoil the good looks of many more of them before I hand her over to my oldest boy for good.-Put her on your shoulder, Sheldon, and come on.”

Lifting his youngest child in his arms, Mr. Wentworth walked away, Sheldon marching proudly by his side with the rifle on his shoulder, and the horse following quietly at his heels.  Then Bob and George rode away with the squad, the troopers gradually dispersed, and the captain and his officers went back to the blankets on which they had been dozing away the time while waiting for Corporal Owens.

If it had not been for the fact that he had nearly a thousand head of recaptured stock on his hands, the captain would have set out for the fort at once; but it is almost impossible to drive Texas cattle during the night, for they are about half wild, anyway, and as easily stampeded as a herd of buffaloes.  Under favorable circumstances two men who understand their business can take care of a herd of five hundred of them; but this stock which the captain had just recovered from the Indians had grown so unmanageable during the short time they had been in the possession of the raiders, who had pushed them ahead night and day at their greatest speed, that it took thirty well-mounted troopers to keep them within bounds.  If they became quieted down during the night, the captain intended to set out for the fort with the main body of his men early the next morning, leaving a few of his troopers to assist Mr. Wentworth to drive the cattle in.

“I say, corporal,” exclaimed Carey as Bob led his squad away, “where does Wentworth hang out?  What mess does he grub with?”

“I don’t know,” answered Bob.  “I saw him going toward the other end of the camp.”

“Now, such work as that won’t do,” continued Carey.  “He’ll go up there among those high-toned Grays or Blacks, and they will honey around those boys of his and make much of them, and cut us Brindles completely out of their good graces.  They belong to us, and they ought to stay with us; don’t you say so?”

Bob replied that he did say so.

“Can’t we bring them into our mess?” asked Carey.

“You can try.  I’ll take care of your horse if you want to make the attempt.”

Carey at once dismounted, and started back toward the upper end of the camp, and Bob rode on to find the place where his troop had staked out their horses.  While he is looking for it we will explain what the words “Grays,” “Blacks” and “Brindles,” as used by Private Carey, meant.

One of the first things to be done in a new regiment of cavalry, or in an old one that has just been remounted, is to “color the horses.”  We mean by this that the animals are divided into lots according to their color, the blacks being placed in one lot, the grays in another, the whites in another, and so on.  After these divisions are made there are always some “off” horses, such as roans and browns, which are put into a lot by themselves and called the “brindles.”  The ranking captain then makes his choice of the colors.  For the sake of illustration, we will suppose that he prefers to have his company mounted on black horses.  He first takes the finest animal in the lot for his own use, his first lieutenant comes next, the second lieutenant next, the first sergeant next, and so on down through all the sergeants and corporals, each one selecting according to his rank.  Then those of the privates who have proved themselves to be the best soldiers are called up one by one, and after they have made their selections the shirks and grumblers, like Bristow and Gus Robbins, have to take those that are left.

The captain who is second in command makes the next choice of colors, and his horses are distributed in the same way.  The whites are generally chosen next to the last, not because they are not as good or as handsome as the others, but for the reason that it is harder work for the men to keep them clean, and in action they present conspicuous marks for the rifles of the enemy.  “The brindles,” the horses of all colors and of no color at all to speak of, are the only ones left, and the lowest company commander must take them because he has no choice.  He does not like them, and neither do his men, because the troop that is doomed to ride them cannot make so fine appearance on dress-parade as the others do, and for the reason that the Brindles are the butt of all the jokes that old soldiers can play upon one another.  When we have said that we have said a good deal, for if there is any mischief that a lot of veterans will not think of when they have a leisure hour on their hands, we don’t know what it is.

When the horses were “colored” at Fort Lamoine the brindles fell to the lot of Lieutenant Earle, as he was the lowest company commander, all the others being captains.  This was the troop to which Bob Owens belonged, and, in common with its other members, he had suffered from the practical jokes that had been played upon him by the more fortunate troopers.  But of late these jokes were not as frequent as they had formerly been, for the “Brindles” had proved themselves to be the best of soldiers.  When their achievements were taken into consideration they led every troop in the garrison.  They had gallantly borne their part in every duty they were called on to perform, their non-commissioned officers had invariably been successful when sent out in pursuit of deserters, and now one of them had done something for which the members of his regiment were glad to honor him in the way we have described.  During the rest of Bob’s life at Fort Lamoine but little was said about the despised Brindles; but if any trooper did forget himself and make disparaging remarks concerning them or their “ringed, streaked and striped” horses, some listening Brindle would promptly interrupt him with-

“Look here, Bub, we didn’t enlist to show ourselves off on dress-parade.  When you Blacks” (or Grays or Chestnuts, as the case might be, the offending trooper being designated by the color of the horses on which his company was mounted) “have followed an Indian trail across the Staked Plains, and been burned up by an August sun, and had your mouths and throats filled so full of sand that you couldn’t tell the truth for a whole month, and have surprised a party of hostiles in their camp, and rescued two prisoners alive and unharmed,-when you have done all that, you can talk; until then hold your yawp.  That feat has never been accomplished but once in the Department of Texas, and then it was accomplished by our boys, the Brindles of the -th Cavalry.”

Bob and his men were proud of that exploit, and, what was more, they did not mean to be robbed of any of the honor they had won.  That was one reason why they wanted to bring Mr. Wentworth and his boys into their mess.  They supposed they were going back to the fort with Captain Clinton’s command, and they wanted to carry those boys through the gate themselves.  But, as it happened, the captain had decided upon something else, and by that decision had unconsciously given Bob’s lucky squad of Brindles an opportunity to add to their laurels.  We shall see what use they made of it.