George at the Fort | Page 7

years and a half, and I don't see how I can live to serve out the rest of my time. I am dying by inches."
"What did you come into the army for, anyhow?"
"Because I was a fool," answered the young soldier bitterly.
"Shake," exclaimed Bob, extending his hand; "I came in for the same reason."
"Did your parents give their consent?" asked his new acquaintance.
"No, they didn't. They live in Mississippi, and don't know anything about it."
Bob's long tramp had taken a good deal of spirit out of him, and somehow he could not muster up energy enough to tell any more falsehoods concerning himself.
"My parents live in Ohio," said the soldier.
"Then how in the world did you happen to stray down here to Texas?" asked Bob.
"I ran away from home."
"Shake," said Bob, again extending his hand; "that's just what I did."
The two runaways shook each other's hands in the most cordial manner, and instantly all reserve between them vanished. They were companions in misery and united by a bond of sympathy. The young soldier at once became very communicative. He had closely guarded his secret for more than two years, because there was not one among the rough men by whom he was surrounded who could understand or appreciate his feelings. But here was one who could sympathize with him, and it was a great relief to him to know that he could speak freely and run no risk of being laughed at for his weakness.
"My name is Gus Robbins," said he, moving up a little closer to Bob and speaking in a low, confidential tone. "I had as good a home as any boy need wish for, but I wasn't contented there; still, I don't believe that I ever should have left it as I did if circumstances had not smoothed the way for me. My father is the senior partner in the largest dry-goods store in Foxboro', and he had in his employ two persons, father and son, who are in a great measure responsible for all the trouble I have got into. The buy was a clerk like myself, and his father was our bookkeeper. They had a very wealthy relative, a rancheman, living here in Texas, and when that relative died it was found that he had willed his property to our bookkeeper, to be held in trust for his (the rancheman's) son. They came to Texas to take charge of the estate, and after a while I received a letter from Ned (that was the boy's name) inviting me to pay him a visit. As he sent me money enough to bear the expenses of the journey, I came; and I am very sorry for it. We got ourselves into trouble by shooting some cattle that had broken into Ned's wheat-field, and had to dig out for Brownsville at a gallop. Ned went squarely back on me, and as I had no money to pay my way home, and hadn't the cheek to ask my father for it, I did what I thought to be the next best thing--I enlisted. I am very sorry for that too, for there was where I made my mistake. I ought to have gone back into the country and hired out to some stock-raiser. Then I could have gone home as soon as I had earned and saved money enough to take me there; but now I must stay my time out; that is, unless--"
Gus paused and looked at Bob. The latter understood him. Here was another fellow who had made up his mind to desert at the first opportunity.
"Don't do that," said Bob, earnestly. "You'll only get yourself into trouble if you attempt it."
"I don't care if I am shot for it. I'll make a break for liberty the very first good chance I get."
The tone in which these words were uttered satisfied Bob that it would be of no use whatever to argue the matter. It was plain that Gus had made up his mind after mature deliberation, and that he was not to be easily turned from his purpose.
"Where did your friend Ned go after you reached Brownsville?" asked Bob, who was much interested in the young soldier's story.
"I don't know; I left him at the hotel. He will come to some bad end, and so will his father, for they are both rascals. The property of which they have charge, and which brings in a big fortune every year, rightfully belongs to George Ackerman, Ned's cousin; but Ned and his father--"
"George Ackerman?" exclaimed Bob, starting up in his bunk.
Gus nodded his head, and looked at the recruit in great surprise.
"Is he a cub pilot?" continued the latter.
"'A cub pilot'?" repeated Gus. "No, he's a herdsman, or I ought rather to say he was a herdsman. He