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, for I have been there. This is my third enlistment in the regular army."
"Is that so?" exclaimed Bob. "I should think that after so many years' service you ought to be an officer."
"I was a non-com when I was discharged, and that is as high as any enlisted man can get now," replied the soldier. "I was a captain during the war, but they don't take men out of the ranks and make officers of them any more. When I enlisted this time I had to go in as a private; but I have my old warrants in my pocket, and perhaps
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