Under Orders: The story of a young reporter

by Kirk Munroe

Bill looked in, and a single glance satisfied him that his guest was as oblivious of his surroundings as before.

“It’s all right,” he said. “He’s good to sleep till sun-up, and I’ll leave Tige to watch him. That dog won’t let any one leave the house any more than he’d let ’em get in when I ain’t round. He’s a bully old bull-dog, Tige is, and no one don’t want to trifle with his affections.”

Then the three men, taking a lantern with them, left the cabin, and Myles listened until their voices died away in the distance. Tige had been ordered to stay behind, and he obeyed orders. Myles went to the open window, and the bull-dog growled at him. He went to the door, and found Tige already watching in front of it. Here was a pretty fix: caged by a dog, and so much depending upon his liberty! Myles had a great mind to rush out and fight the dog, but he did not at all fancy the undertaking, nor was he at all certain how such a fight would result.

“If it were only a man,” he thought, “I’d risk it quick enough.”

All at once a bright thought flashed into his mind. Dogs were always hungry. Part of his supper had been cut from a large ham that hung by the fireplace. Striking a match, he easily found it. He took it to the back window. Tige was there. The next moment the ham had been flung in the direction of his growl, and he was worrying it.

Then, still in his stocking feet, with his shoes in his hand, the reporter stole softly to the front-door which he had left unlatched, and slipped out into the darkness. For five minutes he hardly dared breathe, as he cautiously felt his way among the rocks and stumps. At the end of that time he found a sort of road leading in the direction he wished to take. After overcoming many difficulties he reached the railroad. Two hours later he was once more at Mountain Junction, having safely passed three bridges by crawling on his hands and knees over the railway-ties.

It was now daylight, and another hour would see the sun rise. What should he do next? To whom should he turn for help? As Myles asked himself these questions he was challenged by the guard at the railway station. The reporter asked that the corporal might be summoned, as he had important information for him.

The corporal was tired, sleepy, and cross. He had heard nothing from Lieutenant Easter, or those who had gone with him, and would not believe it when Myles told him they were all prisoners in the hands of the strikers. No, he could not, and he would not if he could, do any thing to help the 50th Regiment. He did not care whether they got there or not. Let them look out for themselves if they were so smart as they claimed to be. Yes, Myles might take the hand-car and go out to meet them if he wanted to, but he would be a fool for his pains, and would probably come to grief. The town was surrounded by strikers, who had sworn not to let any one out or in until their difficulty with the company was settled. They would stop the hand-car before it got a mile. Even if they did not, the railroad to the eastward was probably in such a condition that nothing on wheels could pass over it. Did he know where the telegraph operator could be found? No, he had not seen the operator for twenty-four hours, and did not believe he was in town.

So, despairing of obtaining any assistance, the young reporter decided to start off alone, do his best, and get as far as he could. Fortune might favor him. At any rate, the object for which he was striving was worth a desperate effort.

The hand-car that he and the operator had used on their trip was where they left it, except that it had been lifted from the track and set to one side. The corporal and the man on guard, with much grumbling at the foolishness of Myles’ undertaking, helped him place it on the rails. Then he started off alone.