Dropping my book upon the table, I listened intently to the
hoof-beats. Some one was riding from the direction of Prescott,
evidently in great haste; and Arizona being a country of alarms, I
surmised that the rider was coming to the fort. The horseman stopped
at the great gates.
"Halt! Who comes there?" rang out the voice of Private Tom Clary, who
was sentinel No. 1, stationed at the post entrance. "Sargint Hinery,
is it you, laddie?" the voice continued, in a lower and gentler tone.
"Yes, Tom; and, oh, tell Mr. Duncan, quick, that--"
"Whist! Take care, laddie! Howld on a bit!" and a rifle fell
clattering to the ground and two solid feet sprang forward with a
rush.
Hearing this, I started for the secret postern, and as I opened my
door, heard the honest old soldier shout:
"Corpril uv th' guard, No. 1!" and, in a lower and appealing tone:
"Liftinint, if ye hear me, come quick to the little sargint. I fear
th' dear b'y is dyin'."
In an instant I was through the narrow gate-way, standing beside a
group of the guard that surrounded Clary, who, kneeling beside a
panting and reeking pony, held the inanimate form of Henry Burton in
his arms.
Pages:
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238