Part 33 (1/2)

Every bush, and clump of gra.s.s, weed, stone, stock, or other place that could possibly give shelter to friend or foe, Brownie or Pixie, within a wide circuit of the fatal picket post, was thoroughly explored. Nothing more dangerous was found than the horizontal snare of a young Uloborus among the laurels and a few young Furrow spiders. The latter lay within their silken tubes which were snugly embosomed within a dainty tuft of dry moss, or tucked within the folds of rolled leaves or curled birch bark, with a trap line strung from the openings to nearby round webs.

The Brownies were no wiser than before. The mystery was unsolved.

”Shall we place another picket?” asked Sergeant Vigilant.

”It must be done,” answered the Captain. ”But call for volunteers.”

”You see how it is, my good fellows,” said the Sergeant turning to the guard. ”Two of our men are gone. Where, how, n.o.body knows. There is foul play somewhere, and the sort that leaves no trail. The next picket may uncover the villainy, or he may go the way of the others. I shall not draft any one to this post unless necessary. Who will volunteer? Step out!”

[Ill.u.s.tration: FIG. 112.--”Snugly Embosomed Within a Dainty Tuft of Dry Moss.”]

There was a moment's pause. The sentinels cast glances from one to another, as though each waited for his comrade to volunteer. Then, as if by one impulse, every one stepped to the front.

”Bravo!” cried the Captain. ”It is just what I expected of you. But I only meant to test your courage. I shall take this post myself, and do duty for the rest of this watch as one of the picket guards. Sergeant, dismiss the men and resume your rounds. Call here in half an hour. I will solve this mystery, if it can be done. Away!”

Vigilant and his guard began to remonstrate with their leader against this exposure of his life. But when he bade them away in such peremptory tones, they knew that his mind was made up, and there was nothing for them but to obey. Slowly and unwillingly they withdrew; not to sleep however, but to talk in subdued voices over the strange events of the night, and await the issue of their Captain's watch.

The half hour had well nigh pa.s.sed. A cry of alarm startled the guard.

It ran through the camp. Officers and men sprang from their bivouac fires and rude couches, and seized their arms.

”Fall in! Fall in!” shouted the officers. The bugle sounded the call.

”Is it a night attack?”

”Yes!”

”No!”

”Where have the Pixies a.s.saulted the line?”

”There! Don't you see the guard rallying in yonder open s.p.a.ce by the ridge. The enemy is coming straight over the plain.”

”Pshaw! There's not a Pixie in sight. It's a false alarm raised by some stupid picket.”

Thus backward and forward ran question and answer, as the Brownie soldiers swiftly fell into line of battle.

”Where is the Captain?” asked Lieutenant MacWhirlie, saluting Acting-Adjutant Bright.

”At the picket line I believe, Sir,” answered Bright, ”looking after the cause of the alarm. Ah! here comes the Sergeant of the guard. Why--in Heaven's name, Vigilant, what's the matter?”

”Captain--Bruce--is--gone!” said the Sergeant, jerking out the words between sobs.

”Gone--what do you mean?” cried both officers at once. The story was soon told. The Captain had disappeared as mysteriously as the two privates. Lieutenant MacWhirlie after a brief consultation with the officers issued the following order: ”Let the soldiers be informed of everything. Appeal to their honor, loyalty, courage and good sense.

Dismiss them to their quarters, and bid them sleep upon their arms.

Come, Sergeant, lead the way to the picket line.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: FIGS. 113, 114, 115 and 116.--”Tucked Within the Folds of Rolled Leaves or Curled Birch Bark.” (Furrow Spiders.)]