Bob Hampton of Placer | Page 4

against the rock. Sometimes he became delirious from fever, uttering
incoherent phrases, or swearing in pitiful weakness. Again he would
partially arouse to his old sense of soldierly duty, and assume
intelligent command. Now he twisted painfully about upon his side,
and, with clouded eyes, sought to discern what man was lying next him.
The face was hidden so that all he could clearly distinguish was the fact
that this man was not clothed as a soldier.
"Is that you, Hampton?" he questioned, his voice barely audible.
The person thus addressed, who was lying flat upon his back, gazing
silently upward at the rocky front of the cliff, turned cautiously over
upon his elbow before venturing reply.

"Yes; what is it, sergeant? It looks to be a beauty of a morning way up
yonder."
There was a hearty, cheery ring to his clear voice which left the
pain-racked old soldier envious.
"My God!" he growled savagely. "'T is likely to be the last any of us
will ever see. Was n't it you I heard whistling just now? One might
imagine this was to be a wedding, rather than a funeral."
"And why not, Wyman? Did n't you know they employed music at both
functions nowadays? Besides, it is not every man who is permitted to
assist at his own obsequies--the very uniqueness of such a situation
rather appeals to my sense of humor. Pretty tune, that one I was
whistling, don't you think? Picked it up on 'The Pike' in Cincinnati
fifteen years ago. Sorry I don't recall the words, or I'd sing them for
you."
The sergeant, his teeth clinched tightly to repress the pain racking him,
stifled his resentment with an evident effort. "You may be less
light-hearted when you learn that the last of our ammunition is already
in the guns," he remarked, stiffly.
"I suspected as much." And the speaker lifted himself on one elbow to
peer down the line of recumbent figures. "To be perfectly frank with
you, sergeant, the stuff has held out considerably longer than I believed
it would, judging from the way those 'dough boys' of yours kept
popping at every shadow in front of them. It 's a marvel to me, the
mutton-heads they take into the army. Oh, now, you need n't scowl at
me like that, Wyman; I 've worn the blue, and seen some service where
a fellow needed to be a man to sport the uniform. Besides, I 'm not
indifferent, old chap, and just so long as there remained any work
worth attending to in this skirmishing affair, I did it, did n't I? But I tell
you, man, there is mighty little good trying to buck against Fate, and
when Luck once finally lets go of a victim, he's bound to drop straight
to the bottom before he stops. That's the sum and substance of all my
philosophy, old fellow, consequently I never kick simply because
things happen to go wrong. What's the use? They 'll go wrong just the

same. Then again, my life has never been so sweet as to cause any
excessive grief over the prospect of losing it. Possibly I might prefer to
pass out from this world in some other manner, but that's merely a
matter of individual taste, and just now there does n't seem to be very
much choice left me. Consequently, upheld by my acquired philosophy,
and encouraged by the rectitude of my past conduct, I 'm merely
holding back one shot for myself, as a sort of grand finale to this
fandango, and another for that little girl out yonder."
These words were uttered slowly, the least touch of a lazy drawl
apparent in the low voice, yet there was an earnest simplicity pervading
the speech which somehow gave it impressiveness. The man meant
exactly what he said, beyond the possibility of a doubt. The old soldier,
accustomed to every form of border eccentricity, gazed at him with
disapproval.
"Either you 're the coolest devil I 've met during thirty years of
soldiering," he commented, doubtfully, "or else the craziest. Who are
you, anyhow? I half believe you might be Bob Hampton, of Placer."
The other smiled grimly. "You have the name tolerably correct, old
fellow; likewise that delightful spot so lately honored by my residence.
In brief, you have succeeded in calling the turn perfectly, so far as your
limited information extends. In strict confidence I propose now to
impart to you what has hitherto remained a profound secret. Upon
special request of a number of influential citizens of Placer, including
the city marshal and other officials, expressed in mass-meeting, I have
decided upon deserting that sagebrush metropolis to its just fate, and
plan to add the influence of my presence to the future development of