"Come! We're on the verge of morning," said Armitage, "and there's no
time to lose."
CHAPTER XXIV
THE ATTACK IN THE ROAD
Cowards and laggards fall back; but alert to the saddle,
Straight, grim and abreast, vault our weather-worn galloping legion,
With a stirrup-cup each to the one gracious woman that loves him.
--Louise Imogen Guiney.
"There's an abandoned lumber camp down here, if I'm not mistaken, and if
we've made the right turns we ought to be south of Lamar and near the
railroad."
Armitage passed his rein to Claiborne and plunged down the steep road to
reconnoiter.
"It's a strange business," Claiborne muttered half-aloud.
The cool air of the ridge sobered him, but he reviewed the events of the
night without regret. Every young officer in the service would envy him
this adventure. At military posts scattered across the continent men whom
he knew well were either abroad on duty, or slept the sleep of peace. He
lifted his eyes to the paling stars. Before long bugle and morning gun
would announce the new day at points all along the seaboard. His West
Point comrades were scattered far, and the fancy seized him that the
bugle brought them together every day of their lives as it sounded the
morning calls that would soon begin echoing down the coast from Kennebec
Arsenal and Fort Preble in Maine, through Myer and Monroe, to McPherson,
in Georgia, and back through Niagara and Wayne to Sheridan, and on to
Ringgold and Robinson and Crook, zigzagging back and forth over mountain
and plain to the Pacific, and thence ringing on to Alaska, and echoing
again from Hawaii to lonely outposts in Asian seas.
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