George at the Fort | Page 3

going to some
station-house to spend the night--a project to which Bob could not bear
to listen. The idea of having a policeman's key turned upon him was
dreadful; the bare thought of it was enough to make him gasp for breath.
As he walked along the streets he was continually searching his pockets
in the faint hope of finding the missing money tucked away in some
unexplored corner, and finally he discovered fifty cents in currency in
the watch-pocket of his trousers. His heart bounded at the sight of it. It
was enough to provide him with supper and a night's lodging, but was
not enough to pay for the same comforts for George.
When Bob found this stray piece of currency he was not long in
making up his mind how to act. He resolved to slip away from George,
and accomplished his purpose by gradually slackening his pace and
allowing the young pilot to get some distance in advance of him, and
then he turned down a cross-street and took to his heels. He made his
way to a cheap lodging-house, ate a hearty supper and went to bed,
wondering how George was getting on and where he would pass the
night. The latter, as we know, fared much better than Bob did, and the
latter made a great mistake in deserting him. His companion had not
been gone more than a half an hour before George encountered Mr.
Gilbert, the friend to whom he had written that morning, and who had
come to Galveston on business. The two looked everywhere for Bob,
but were finally obliged to abandon the search. The missing boy had
disappeared as completely as though the earth had opened and
swallowed him up.
The first question that forced itself upon the mind of Bob Owens when
he awoke the next morning was, "What shall I do next?" A careful
examination of all his pockets showed him that there were no more

fifty-cent pieces in them, and he was obliged to confess to himself that
the future looked exceedingly dark. He walked the streets in a very
disconsolate frame of mind, and had almost decided that he would step
into the nearest grocery-store and ask the proprietor if he would not
give him a job of sawing wood to pay for something to eat, when he
happened to pass a recruiting-office. A sign posted up in front of the
door conveyed to the public the information that men were wanted
there for the United States cavalry service, and suggested an idea to
Bob. He took a few minutes in which to run it over in his mind, and
then faced about and entered the office.
The law against enlisting minors without the consent of their parents or
guardians is very strict, but Bob got around it by repeating the story he
had told George Ackerman, that he was an orphan, and that there was
no one who had a right to control his actions. The recruiting-officer was
a young man, not more than two or three years older than himself, but
he had seen service away up in the Yellowstone country, and the scar
on his forehead, which was not yet fully healed, marked the track of the
Indian bullet which had come very near putting an end to his career as a
soldier. Being unable to do duty in the field, he had been sent to Texas
to recuperate his health and to recruit men to fill up some of the
depleted cavalry regiments. He questioned Bob very closely, but the
latter gave satisfactory replies, and, having passed the surgeon, his
"descriptive list" was taken and he was duly sworn into the service.
There were a number of newly-enlisted men hanging about the office
waiting to be ordered to some post, and one of them, who acted as
quartermaster-sergeant, took Bob into a back room and served out a
uniform to him.
"What shall I do with my citizen's rig?" asked Bob as he twisted
himself first on one side and then on the other to see how he looked in
his new clothes. "I suppose I can't keep it?"
"Of course not," was the sergeant's quick reply. "It would come too
handy in case you should make up your mind to desert."
"I shall never make up my mind to any such thing," exclaimed Bob,
indignantly. "I have gone into this business with my eyes open, and I

am going to see it through."
"That's the right spirit," said the sergeant. "But wait till you have ridden
twelve hundred miles at a stretch in pursuit of a band of hostiles, and
perhaps you'll weaken."
"What do you know about hostiles?" asked Bob.
"Well, I should think I ought to know all about them,