"It's a call, Dick! It's a call!" he cried.
Gale had no answer to make. Mercedes stood as if stricken. The
bugle call ended. From a distance another faintly pealed. There
were other sounds too remote to recognize. Then scattering shots
rattled out.
"Dick, the rebels are fighting somebody," burst out Thorne,
excitedly. "The little federal garrison still holds its stand.
Perhaps it is attacked again. Anyway, there's something doing over
the line. Maybe the crazy Greasers are firing on our camp. We've
feared it--in the dark....And here I am, away without
leave--practically a deserter!"
"Go back! Go back, before you're too late!" cried Mercedes.
"Better make tracks, Thorne," added Gale. "It can't help our
predicament for you to be arrested. I'll take care of Mercedes."
"No, no, no," replied Thorne. "I can get away--avoid arrest."
"That'd be all right for the immediate present. But it's not best
for the future. George, a deserter is a deserter!...Better hurry.
Leave the girl to me till tomorrow."
Mercedes embraced her lover, begged him to go. Thorne wavered.
"Dick, I'm up against it," he said. "You're right. If only I can
get back in time. But, oh, I hate to leave her! Old fellow, you've
saved her! I already owe you everlasting gratitude. Keep out of
Casita, Dick. The U.S. side might be safe, but I'm afraid to trust
it at night. Go out in the desert, up in the mountains, in some
safe place. Then come to me in camp.
Pages:
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72