Of course, he wouldn’t let Wooster go! Her offer to Parrish suddenly shackled her.
“Orders me to bed,” spat Wooster. “Wonder why he didn’t order gruel, too. It’s spite, antagonism to Hardin, that’s what it is!” She believed that, too. Tom was right. Rickard did take advantage of his authority.
She did not see Rickard until he stood by her side.
“I’m sorry not to spare Wooster, Miss Hardin. But there’s stiff work ahead. He’s got to be ready for a call. If Hardin insists on spoiling one good soldier, that’s his affair. I can’t let him spoil two.”
Wooster shrugged, and left them. “Spoiling good soldiers!”
“I’ve taken Bodefeldt off duty. I told him to relieve Hardin.”
Bodefeldt who blushed when any one looked at him! He would be about as persuasive to Tom as a veil to a desert wind! She turned away, but not before Rickard saw again that transforming anger. Her eyes shone like topazes in sunlight. She would not trust herself to speak. Wooster was waiting for her. Rickard could hear the man repeat. “I’m sorry, Miss Hardin. It’s an outrage. That’s what it is.”
Queer, they couldn’t see that it was Hardin’s fault; Hardin, who was up the river fighting like a melodramatic hero; fighting without caution or reserve, demoralizing discipline; he couldn’t help admiring the bulldog energy, himself. That was what all these men adored. He’d clenched the girl’s antagonism, now, for sure! How her eyes had flashed at him!
Hello! There was a tree floating down toward the station-house....
“Bring your poles!” he yelled.