CHAPTER VIII.
LOYAL FRIENDS.
IT was on Friday morning, at daybreak, that the desertion of Trumpeter Waller was reported to Lieutenant Blunt. It was Friday night that the telegrams were sent to Laramie and that Charlton's letter left by stage. It was Saturday afternoon just before parade that the mail was distributed at Fort Sanders; and that very evening, before Major Edwards had received and had time to read his letter from the[88] West, the sergeant had started on his long and fatiguing journey. All night long in sleepless misery he sat in a corner of the caboose, occasionally rising and tramping unsteadily to and fro. At Cheyenne a delay of half an hour occurred, and he left the train and paced restlessly up and down the platform under the freight sheds. He dared not go down to the lighted offices and the crowded passenger station just below him. It seemed as though everyone knew of Fred's story by this time. He could see the gleam of forage-cap ornaments and the glint of army buttons among the people at the dépot, and knew there were several officers and soldiers there. Never before had he known what[89] it was to shrink from facing any man on earth; but to-night, though he almost starved for further news from his boy, he could not bring himself to meet them and ask.
Along toward morning, at Pine Bluffs, a herdsman got aboard, and what he had to say was of startling interest. Hitherto the Indian war parties had kept well to the north of the Platte, "but" said he, "ever since Friday the Sidney road has been swarming with them—both sides of the river—and they are killing everything white they can lay their hands on."
"My God!" thought Waller, "and Fred must be in the very midst of them. Better so," he added, "if indeed he can be guilty." The herder had evidently been sorely frightened by all he heard, and he was hurrying to Sidney to join a party of cattle-men who were camping there. He had been drinking too, and took more and more as the night wore on, and became maudlin in his talk. It was nine o'clock on Sunday morning when they reached Sidney station, and the first thing that old Waller saw was a strong concord wagon with a four-mule team and an army driver. Two infantry soldiers with their rifles and girt with cartridge-belts were standing close at hand. Two officers were stowing their rifles inside the wagon, and an orderly was strapping the tarpaulin over the light luggage in the "boot." One of the officers the sergeant knew instantly—an aid-de-camp of the commanding general. The other was older in years and bore on his cap the insignia of the staff. The younger officer saw him before he could step into the office, and Sergeant Waller knew it—knew too, with the quickness of thought, that he had heard of Fred's disappearance and presumable crime. He could have shrunk from meeting his superiors in the shadow of this bitter sorrow and disgrace. Even while he could not accept the belief that his boy was actually a deserter and a thief, he knew full well what other men must think. But Captain Cross was a cavalryman himself, and had known old Waller for years. He dropped his rifle, came straight forward, and took him by the hand.
"Sergeant, I don't believe it of your boy; I've known his father too long," was all he said, as he pressed the veteran's hand. Poor old Waller, worn with anguish, long vigil, and utter lack of food of any kind, was now so weak that he could only, with the utmost difficulty, choke back the sobs that shook his frame. Speak he dare not; he would have broken down. Cross led him to the lunch room at the station and made him swallow a cup of coffee, then gently questioned him as to what he knew.
"We go at once to Red Cloud—Colonel Gaines and I—and maybe on the road I shall hear something of him. Sergeant, rest assured your son shall have fair play," said the aid-de-camp, as he was about to turn away.
"But, captain—I beg pardon, sir," broke in Waller hurriedly, in almost the first words he had spoken. "Where is your escort? Surely you won't take this route without one?"
"There isn't a trooper at Sidney, sergeant. We have a couple of infantrymen in the wagon and another on a mule. That's the best we can do, and we've got no time to spare. We must be at Red Cloud to-morrow, and this is the shortest line."