It rang like an alarm. The noise of
a man running swiftly sounded on the path, and before the officers
reached the doorway Sergeant Clancey entered it, and halted at
attention.
"The colonel's orders," panted the sergeant, "and the lieutenant's
are to take twenty men from G and H Troops, and ride to Kiowa to
escort the paymaster."
"The paymaster!" Crosby cried. "He's not coming till Thursday."
"He's just telegraphed from Kiowa City, lieutenant. He's ahead of his
schedule. He wants an escort for the money. He left Kiowa a few
minutes ago in the up stage."
The two lieutenants sprang forward, and shouted in chorus: "The
stage? He is in the stage!"
Sergeant Clancey stared dubiously from one officer to the other. He
misunderstood their alarm, and with the privilege of long service
attempted to allay it. "The lieutenant knows nothing can happen to
the stage till it reaches the buttes," he said. "There has never been
a hold-up in the open, and the escort can reach the buttes long
before the stage gets here." He coughed consciously. "Colonel's
orders are to gallop, lieutenant."
As the two officers rode knee to knee through the night, the pay
escort pounding the trail behind them, Crosby leaned from his saddle.
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