To The Front | Page 3

But, all the same, in spite, if you please, of their soldier training, I fancy most of these lads that quit us to-day, if brought face to face with sudden emergency, responsibility, something calling for courage, coolness, judgment--above all, for action--would hold their own, and I'd back them even in competition with your aggressive young friends in business life."
"Why, they're taught to deal only with soldiers--with machines--not men," argued Bonner.
"Well, such as they have handled men not soldiers more than once, in your own city, Bonner, and to your vast benefit. They'll come to it again some day. As for that young man, I picked him a year ago from his whole class for the place that calls for the most judgment, tact, quiet force, capacity to command--the 'first captaincy'--and never did I see it better filled."
"Oh, granted as to that! But strip off the uniform, sword, and authority; set him among the men we have to deal with--what could he do with a railway strike? How could he handle maddened mill operatives, laborers, switchmen, miners? Think of that, Hazzard! That isn't fighting Indians, with a regiment at your back. You mark what I say!"
"Well, mobs, miners, or Indians, our young officers have had to meet all kinds at times," said the colonel; "and if ever Graham is up against them, Bonner, I'm thinking you'll hear of it."
And, oddly enough, before he was one month older, sitting in his office in Chicago, Bonner was hearing it with a vengeance. There was the mischief to pay in at least one of his mines. Oddly enough, before he was one year older, George Montrose Graham, graduated cadet, was "up against them," all three--mobs, miners, and Indians. How he met them and how he merited the colonel's confidence let them judge who read.
CHAPTER I
FROM THE GRAY TO THE BLUE
It was just after sunset of one of the longest days of the loveliest of our summer months. The roar of the evening gun had gone re-echoing through the Highlands of the Hudson. The great garrison flag was still slowly fluttering earthward, veiled partially from the view of the throng of spectators by the snowy cloud of sulphur smoke drifting lazily away upon the wing of the breeze. Afar over beyond the barren level of the cavalry plain the gilded hands of the tower-clock on "the old Academic" were blended into one in proclaiming to all whom it might concern that it was five minutes past the half-hour 'twixt seven and eight, and there were girls in every group, and many a young fellow in the rigid line of gray and white before them, resentful of the fact that dress parade was wofully late and long, with tattoo and taps only two hours or so away. The season for the regular summer "hops" had not yet begun, for this was away back in the eighties, when many another old West Point fashion still prevailed; but there was to be an informal dance in the dining-room of the hotel, and it couldn't come off until after supper, and supper had to be served to some people who were "pokey" enough to care to come by late boat, or later train, and were more eager to see the cadets on parade than to seek Mine Host Craney's once bountiful table.
What made it more exasperating was that rumors were afloat to the effect that the adjutant had long and important orders to publish, and this would still further prolong the parade. Cadet Private Frazier, First Class, one of the best dancers in the battalion, was heard to mutter to his next-door neighbor in the front rank of the color company: "It'll be nine o'clock before we get things going at the hotel, and we've got to quit at nine-thirty. Confound the orders!" And yet, peering from under the visor of his shako, Mr. Frazier could see without disturbing the requisite pose of his head, "up and straight to the front, chin drawn in," that over near the south end of the row of gayly attired visitors, seated or standing at the edge of the camp parade-ground, there was one group, at least, to whom, as Frazier knew, the orders meant much more than the dance. There, switching the short grass with his stocky cane, stood their grim senior surgeon, Doctor, or Major, Graham. There, close beside him and leaning on the arm of a slender but athletic, sun-tanned young fellow in trim civilian dress, stood the doctor's devoted wife. With them was a curly-headed youth, perhaps seventeen years of age, restless, eager, and impatient for the promised news. Making his way eagerly but gently through the dense throng of onlookers, a bronze-faced, keen-eyed, powerfully built officer in the uniform of the cavalry came up at the moment and