For once Lieutenant Adeler did not see a joke. “Why,” he said, quite seriously, “of course you do look awfully young, but from the way you handled the Hustle—and the federal troops—you might just as well be an officer, and a mighty good one. There were eighteen-year-old colonels, in the Civil War. And I know several men older than I who don’t look much older than—”
“All right,” said Hike. “Then just wait a minute till my wireless-man gets into communication with Washington, and I’ll have General Thorne come down and black my shoes!”
“And now comes the worst part,” sighed the Lieutenant, suddenly looking out over the desert. “We must bury the poor devils out there—must have been forty of them wiped out by that infernal machine-gun. Let’s pray that we never fight except to bring peace, as we did here.”
“Amen,” said Hike, reverently.
CHAPTER XXVI
A KITE FOR WATCH-TOWER
“Hike!” cried Lieutenant Adeler, suddenly. “There’s a horrible possibility. Most of the revolutionists are going northwest—and the Widow Barston’s rancho is off in that direction—they’d never notice it ordinarily, but they’re sure to, the way they’re going. Mighty few men on it—it’s run by Mrs. Barston and her daughter.”
“You think—they’d attack, just to get even?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Gee—we’ll have to go help them,” cried Hike. “I’m sorry we let Duros and his men go. How if I hurried after them, in the Hustle, and brought them back?”
Hike’s suggestion didn’t seem to lessen the anxiety of the Lieutenant, who sighed, “Nothing doing. Remember—they’ve got orders to report back to Torreas as soon as they can.”