Lieutenant Pike smiled.
“No, sir. He remains here, where he belongs. I am only too happy to have reunited him and his father. His service with me ends—and it has been a greater service than you may imagine.”
They hastened for the barracks. Midway, the lieutenant halted in covert of an old wall.
“You have my journal?” he asked, guardedly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good! You may give it to me, now. Quick! There!” He swiftly tucked it away. “It is the only paper unknown to the governor, and I mean to keep it. Last night, when I considered that he was done with me, I heard that the men were drinking wine with the town people. So in case they should drink too much I sought them out and took the other papers from them. They’re faithful, but the wine might have made them careless. I stowed the papers in my trunk again (this was a little hand-trunk that the lieutenant had carried, with help, from the Arkansaw, as his only important baggage); then early this morning the governor unexpectedly sent for me and my trunk and I had no chance to open it privately. By trusting in him I was cleverly outwitted, but thanks to you I’ve saved my journal. Had I found you last night I would have taken it, to place it with the other papers.”
So, thanks to a boy, the journal of Lieutenant Pike was saved to the world.
“Can’t you get your trunk again?” Stub asked, as they hurried on.
“It will go down to Chihuahua with me, but in charge of the officer of the escort, for the commanding general.”
“Do the papers tell anything wrong?”