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Uncle Sam's Boys as Sergeants, a novel by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 20. The Eighth Moccasin Appears |
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_ CHAPTER XX. THE EIGHTH MOCCASIN APPEARS "GIVE it up?" queried the leader. "I answered you before on that head," retorted Sergeant Overton. "Don't be a fool, kid. We don't want to hurt you. All we want is that revolver." "I don't want to give it up," rejoined Hal. "You'd better!" "It isn't mine to give, anyway. It belongs to the United States Government." "Uncle Sam will never see that revolver again," declared the leader of the invaders, with profane emphasis. "And you'll never see your friends again if you don't hit it fast for the ground." "I'm here until further orders." "You've got your orders!" "I don't take any orders from you," retorted Hal with fine scorn. "Open up on the fool, boys--all together!" Three spurts of flame jetted out from the cover that the ruffians had taken. Hal steadied his arm by resting it across a branch before him, and fired back, his aim, as before, at the leader. He had the satisfaction of seeing that rascal's head duck below cover. Though he could not know it then, Overton had clipped a lock of hair from the fellow's hatless head. Another volley, which Hal answered with another shot. "What do you fellows want with guns if you can't shoot better!" hailed Overton derisively. He didn't want them to shoot any better, but he was trying to anger them and thus make their shooting wilder. "It won't take us more than half a minute more to get you," flung back the leader. Now that fellow raised himself, exposing himself more, but getting a solid left-hand rest for his rifle. Hal could see and feel that the rifle was pointed fairly at him. On the instinct of the moment the young sergeant fired. And he would have scored, had he not seen the other two riflemen leaving their cover also to get a better aim. That realization spoiled his shot. "Gracious! That was my last cartridge, too!" groaned the young sergeant inwardly. The realization made him feel creepy. It is one thing to fight bravely, when one has the fighting tools and a knowledge of their use. But it is quite another thing to face the certainty of being helpless with so many armed foes bent on one's destruction. None the less, summoning up all his courage, Hal broke the revolver at the breech, allowing the ejector to shed the empty shells on the ground underneath. With lightning motions Hal went through the sham of filling his cylinder with fresh cartridges. "No use, little man! No use at all. If you had any more cartridges you'd get me now--but you can't. Come on, boys! We'll go under the tree and smoke him out!" As he spoke, the leader moved boldly from cover, exposing the whole length of his body. It would have made a splendid mark for as expert a shot as Sergeant Hal Overton. The soldier boy did raise his revolver, as though to shoot, but the leader, coolly confident, continued to come forward. Of course Hal could not shoot, and the rest seeing that, also came out from cover. Chuckling, all but the one whose jaw Hal had injured, the wretches moved forward, halting just under the tree. "Coming down now?" demanded the leader, directing the muzzle of his stolen rifle up the tree. "I don't know," mimicked Hal. "Ever hear what the treed 'coon said to Davy Crockett?" inquired the scoundrel facetiously. "If it's a chestnut I'll stand hearing it again," proposed the young sergeant. "Well, friend, when the raccoon saw Davy pointing his gun upward, he called down: 'Don't shoot, Davy! I'll come down.'" "Great!" mocked young Overton. "Are you going to do like the 'coon?" Hal's answer was to raise his right hand suddenly and hurling his now useless revolver. There was no time to dodge. One of the riflemen below received the impact of the descending weapon squarely on top of his head and he keeled over, falling into a bush. "You said all you wanted was my revolver," announced Sergeant Hal. "Well, you have it. Now on your way with it." The dropped revolver had been picked up by another of the crowd, and now two men raised their guns to shoot Hal Overton out of the tree. But their leader struck down their guns. "None of that, unless we have to," he commanded. "The sergeant's a game one, and he's not to blame for trying to defend his camp. He can't do any more harm now, and I won't have him hurt unless he forces us to do it. Now, then, young man, are you coming down out of that tree?" "Why?" challenged Hal. "You said that all you wanted was my revolver. You have that now, and all the rifles in camp. What do you need of me?" "We've got to slip away from here quick," retorted the leader with a deceptive show of good-nature and fair-mindedness. "But do you think, Sergeant, we're going to be fools enough to dust out of here and leave you to come down out of the tree and trail us along, then come back here for help and bag us all. No, no, young man! We know the regulars, and we're not going to leave any cards in the hands of the fighting line of the Army." "But it's so comfortable up here," objected Hal. "I'm going to give you, Sergeant, until I count three. Then, if you haven't started, we'll simply have to bring you down like a cantankerous grizzly. Or, if you start and then stop again, we'll shoot just the same. We can't afford to waste any more time talking." Where had Hal seen this man before? Where and when had he heard that voice? Face and voice both seemed strangely familiar, yet, to save him, Overton could not place the fellow at that moment. "One!" counted the leader, and Hal saw three rifle muzzles pointed at him. "Two!" "All right! I'm the 'coon. Be with you in a minute, Davy Crockett," laughed Sergeant Hal Overton. It was hard luck, but the soldier boy felt that he had made all the fight that could be expected of any one. There seemed no sense in being killed for sheer stubbornness, now that he had not a ghost of a chance of fighting back. Having once started groundward, Overton continued to descend rapidly. As he reached the last limb on his descent he took a swift slide and landed among his captors. "Good boy," mimicked the leader of the invaders. "Now continue to be sensible. Just lie down on your face and put your hands behind your back the way your two men did. Nothing happened to them and nothing worse will happen to you." The wretch's words were smooth and oily. To Hal it really looked as though this fellow respected gameness enough not to take it out on a defenseless enemy. So Hal lay face downward and gave up his hands for binding. Wrap! wrap! He felt the cord passing swiftly around his wrists, and then an extra turn was taken around his ankles. "Your name's Overton, isn't it?" asked the leader with a wicked grin on his face. "Yes." "Then you're the man we want." "From the way you acted I judged that you wanted me," mocked Hal dryly. "Yes; but we wanted you for more than general reasons. In fact, we want you, most of all, for purely personal reasons. Or, at least, one of our fellows does. Here he comes." An eighth man of the wretched crew now came swiftly forward from the hiding that he had kept from the first. As he came he chuckled maliciously, and Hal Overton knew that sinister laugh. Then the fellow halted, bending over the prostrate, tied young sergeant. The face was the face of that evil deserter from the Army--ex-Private Hinkey! _ |
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