Now, good-night!"
Another instant and Field was in saddle and speeding away toward the
post where lights were now dancing about the quartermaster's corral, and
firefly lamps were flitting down the slope toward the stables on the
flats. Ray's men were already up and doing. Slowly, stiffly following,
Pat Kennedy rubbed his aching head, with a hand that shook as never did
his resolution. His bewildered brain was puzzling over a weighty
problem. "The lieutenant's safe all right," he muttered, "but what's
gone wid the squaw that was shoutin' Sioux at that murdherin' buck?"
Meantime all Fort Frayne had seemed to wake to life. No call had sounded
on the trumpet. No voice had been raised, save the invariable call of
the sentries, passing from post to post the half hours of the night; but
the stir at the guard-house, the bustle over at the barracks, the swift
footsteps of sergeants or orderlies on the plank walk or resounding
wooden galleries, speedily roused first one sleeper, then another, and
blinds began to fly open along the second floor fronts, and white-robed
forms to appear at the windows, and inquiring voices, male and female,
hailed the passerby with "What's the matter, sergeant?" and the answer
was all sufficient to rouse the entire garrison.
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