In the Midst of Alarms by Robert Barr

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He spun the coin in the air, and caught it. "Heads it is! The Fenians
are my victims. I'm camping on their trail, anyhow. Besides, it's safer
than following the Canadians, even though Stoliker has got my pass."

Tired as he was, he stepped briskly through the forest. The scent of a
big item was in his nostrils, and it stimulated him like champagne.
What was temporary loss of sleep compared to the joy of defeating the
opposition press?

A blind man might have followed the trail of the retreating army. They
had thrown away, as they passed through the woods, every article that
impeded their progress. Once he came on a man lying with his face in
the dead leaves. He turned him over.

"His troubles are past, poor devil," said Yates, as he pushed on.

"Halt! Throw up your hands!" came a cry from in front of him.

Yates saw no one, but he promptly threw up his hands, being an
adaptable man.

"What's the trouble?" he shouted. "I'm retreating, too."

"Then retreat five steps farther. I'll count the steps. One."

Yates strode one step forward, and then saw that a man behind a tree
was covering him with a gun. The next step revealed a second captor,
with a huge upraised hammer, like a Hercules with his club. Both men
had blackened faces, and resembled thoroughly disreputable fiends of
the forest. Seated on the ground, in a semicircle, were half a dozen
dejected prisoners. The man with the gun swore fearfully, but his
comrade with the hammer was silent.

"Come," said the marksman, "you blank scoundrel, and take a seat with
your fellow-scoundrels. If you attempt to run, blank blank you, I'll
fill you full of buckshot!"

"Oh, I'm not going to run, Sandy," cried Yates, recognizing him. "Why
should I? I've always enjoyed your company, and Macdonald's. How are
you, Mac? Is this a little private raid of your own? For which side are
you fighting? And I say, Sandy, what's the weight of that old-fashioned
bar of iron you have in your hands? I'd like to decide a bet. Let me
heft it, as you said in the shop."

"Oh, it's you, is it?" said Sandy in a disappointed tone, lowering his
gun. "I thought we had raked in another of them. The old man and I want
to make it an even dozen."

"Well, I don't think you'll capture any more. I saw nobody as I came
through the woods. What are you going to do with this crowd?"

"Brain 'em," said Macdonald laconically, speaking for the first time.
Then he added reluctantly: "If any of 'em tries to escape."

The prisoners were all evidently too tired and despondent to make any
attempt at regaining their liberty. Sandy winked over Macdonald's
shoulder at Yates, and by a slight side movement of his head he seemed
to indicate that he would like to have some private conversation with
the newspaper man.

"I'm not your prisoner, am I?" asked Yates.

"No," said Macdonald. "You may go if you like, but not in the direction
the Fenians have gone."

"I guess I won't need to go any farther, if you will give me permission
to interview your prisoners. I merely want to get some points about the
fight."

"That's all right," said the blacksmith, "as long as you don't try to
help them. If you do, I warn you there will be trouble."

Yates followed Sandy into the depths of the forest, out of hearing of
the others, leaving Macdonald and his sledge-hammer on guard.

When at a safe distance, Sandy stopped and rested his arms on his gun,
in a pathfinder attitude.

"Say," he began anxiously, "you haven't got some powder and shot on you
by any chance?"

"Not an ounce. Haven't you any ammunition?"

"No, and haven't had all through the fight. You see, we left the shop
in such a hurry we never thought about powder and ball. As soon as a
man on horseback came by shouting that there was a fight on, the old
man he grabbed his sledge, and I took this gun that had been left at
the shop for repairs, and off we started. I'm not sure that it would
shoot if I had ammunition, but I'd like to try. I've scared some of
them Fee-neens nigh to death with it, but I was always afraid one of
them would pull a real gun on me, and then I don't know just what I'd
'a' done."

Sandy sighed, and added, with the air of a man who saw his mistake, but
was somewhat loath to acknowledge it: "Next battle there is you won't
find me in it with a lame gun and no powder. I'd sooner have the old
man's sledge. It don't miss fire." His eye brightened as he thought of
Macdonald. "Say," he continued, with a jerk of his head back over his
shoulder, "the boss is on the warpath in great style, aint he?"

"He is," said Yates, "but, for that matter, so are you. You can swear
nearly as well as Macdonald himself. When did you take to it?"

"Oh, well, you see," said Sandy apologetically, "it don't come as
natural to me as chewing, but, then, somebody's got to swear. The old
man's converted, you know."

"Ah, hasn't he backslid yet?"

"No, he hasn't. I was afraid this scrimmage was going to do for him,
but it didn't; and now I think that if somebody near by does a little
cussing,--not that anyone can cuss like the boss,--he'll pull through.
I think he'll stick this time. You'd ought to have seen him wading into
them d--d Fee-neens, swinging his sledge, and singing 'Onward,
Christian soldiers.' Then, with me to chip in a cuss word now and again
when things got hot, he pulled through the day without ripping an oath.
I tell you, it was a sight. He bowled 'em over like nine-pins. You
ought to 'a' been there."

"Yes," said Yates regretfully. "I missed it, all on account of that
accursed Stoliker. Well, there's no use crying over spilled milk, but
I'll tell you one thing, Sandy: although I have no ammunition, I'll let
you know what I have got. I have, in my pocket, one of the best plugs
of tobacco that you ever put your teeth into."

Sandy's eyes glittered. "Bless you!" was all he could say, as he bit
off a corner of the offered plug.

"You see, Sandy, there are compensations in this life, after all; I
thought you were out."

"I haven't had a bite all day. That's the trouble with leaving in a
hurry."

"Well, you may keep that plug, with my regards. Now, I want to get back
and interview those fellows. There's no time to be lost."

When they reached the group, Macdonald said:

"Here's a man says he knows you, Mr. Yates. He claims he is a reporter,
and that you will vouch for him."

Yates strode forward, and looked anxiously at the prisoners, hoping,
yet fearing, to find one of his own men there. He was a selfish man,
and wanted the glory of the day to be all his own. He soon recognized
one of the prisoners as Jimmy Hawkins of the staff of a rival daily,
the New York _Blade_. This was even worse than he had anticipated.

"Hello, Jimmy!" he said, "how did you get here?"

"I was raked in by that adjective fool with the unwashed face."

"Whose a--fool?" cried Macdonald in wrath, and grasping his hammer. He
boggled slightly as he came to the "adjective," but got over it safely.
It was evidently a close call, but Sandy sprang to the rescue, and
cursed Hawkins until even the prisoners turned pale at the torrent of
profanity. Macdonald looked with sad approbation at his pupil, not
knowing that he was under the stimulus of newly acquired tobacco,
wondering how he had attained such proficiency in malediction; for,
like all true artists, he was quite unconscious of his own merit in
that direction.

"Tell this hammer wielder that I'm no anvil. Tell him that I'm a
newspaper man, and didn't come here to fight. He says that if you
guarantee that I'm no Fenian he'll let me go."

Yates sat down on a fallen log, with a frown on his brow. He liked to
do a favor to a fellow-creature when the act did not inconvenience
himself, but he never forgot the fact that business was business.

"I can't conscientiously tell him that, Jimmy," said Yates soothingly.
"How am I to know you are not a Fenian?"

"Bosh!" cried Hawkins angrily. "Conscientiously? A lot you think of
conscience when there is an item to be had."

"We none of us live up to our better nature, Jimmy," continued Yates
feelingly. "We can but do our best, which is not much. For reasons that
you might fail to understand, I do not wish to run the risk of telling
a lie. You appreciate my hesitation, don't you, Mr. Macdonald? You
would not advise me to assert a thing I was not sure of, would you?"

"Certainly not," said the blacksmith earnestly.

"You want to keep me here because you are afraid of me," cried the
indignant _Blade_ man. "You know very well I'm not a Fenian."

"Excuse me, Jimmy, but I know nothing of the kind. I even suspect
myself of Fenian leanings. How, then, can I be sure of you?"

"What's your game?" asked Hawkins more calmly, for he realized that he
himself would not be slow to take advantage of a rival's dilemma.

"My game is to get a neat little account of this historical episode
sent over the wires to the _Argus_. You see, Jimmy, this is my
busy day. When the task is over, I will devote myself to your service,
and will save you from being hanged, if I can; although I shall do so
without prejudice, as the lawyers say, for I have always held that that
will be the ultimate end of all the _Blade_ staff.

"Look here, Yates; play fair. Don't run in any conscientious guff on a
prisoner. You see, I have known you these many years."

"Yes, and little have you profited by a noble example. It is your
knowledge of me that makes me wonder at your expecting me to let you
out of your hole without due consideration."

"Are you willing to make a bargain?

"Always--when the balance of trade is on my side."

"Well, if you give me a fair start, I'll give you some exclusive
information that you can't get otherwise."

"What is it?"

"Oh, I wasn't born yesterday, Dick."

"That is interesting information, Jimmy, but I knew it before. Haven't
you something more attractive to offer?"

"Yes, I have. I have the whole account of the expedition and the fight
written out, all ready to send, if I could get my clutches on a
telegraph wire. I'll hand it over to you, and allow you to read it, if
you will get me out of this hole, as you call it. I'll give you
permission to use the information in any way you choose, if you will
extricate me, and all I ask is a fair start in the race for a telegraph
office."

Yates pondered over the proposition for some moments.

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Jimmy," he finally said. "I'll buy that
account from you, and give you more money than the _Blade_ will.
And when I get back to New York I'll place you on the staff of the
_Argus_ at a higher salary than the _Blade_ gives you--taking
your own word for the amount."

"What! And leave my paper in the lurch? Not likely."

"Your paper is going to be left in the lurch, anyhow."

"Perhaps. But it won't be sold by me. I'll burn my copy before I will
let you have a glimpse of it. That don't need to interfere with your
making me an offer of a better position when we get back to New York;
but while my paper depends on me, I won't go back on it."

"Just as you please, Jimmy. Perhaps I would do the same myself. I
always was weak where the interests of the _Argus_ were concerned.
You haven't any blank paper you could lend me, Jimmy?"

"I have, but I won't lend it."

Yates took out his pencil, and pulled down his cuff.

"Now, Mac," he said, "tell me all you saw of this fight."

The blacksmith talked, and Yates listened, putting now and then a mark
on his cuff. Sandy spoke occasionally, but it was mostly to tell of
sledge-hammer feats or to corroborate something the boss said. One
after another Yates interviewed the prisoners, and gathered together
all the materials for that excellent full-page account "by an
eyewitness" that afterward appeared in the columns of the _Argus_.
He had a wonderful memory, and simply jotted down figures with which he
did not care to burden his mind. Hawkins laughed derisively now and
then at the facts they were giving Yates, but the _Argus_ man
said nothing, merely setting down in shorthand some notes of the
information Hawkins sneered at, which Yates considered was more than
likely accurate and important. When he had got all he wanted, he rose.

"Shall I send you help, Mac?" he asked.

"No," said the smith; "I think I'll take these fellows to the shop, and
hold them there till called for. You can't vouch for Hawkins, then, Mr.
Yates?"

"Good Heavens, no! I look on him as the most dangerous of the lot.
These half-educated criminals, who have no conscientious scruples,
always seem to me a greater menace to society than their more ignorant
co-conspirators. Well, good-by, Jimmy. I think you'll enjoy life down
at Mac's shop. It's the best place I've struck since I've been in the
district. Give my love to all the boys, when they come to gaze at you.
I'll make careful inquiries into your opinions, and as soon as I am
convinced that you can be set free with safety to the community I'll
drop in on you and do all I can. Meanwhile, so long."

Yates' one desire now was to reach a telegraph office, and write his
article as it was being clicked off on the machine. He had his fears
about the speed of a country operator, but he dared not risk trying to
get through to Buffalo in the then excited state of the country. He
quickly made up his mind to go to the Bartlett place, borrow a horse,
if the Fenians had not permanently made off with them all, and ride as
rapidly as he could for the nearest telegraph office. He soon reached
the edge of the woods, and made his way across the fields to the house.
He found young Bartlett at the barn.

"Any news of the horses yet?" was the first question he asked.

"No," said young Bartlett gloomily; "guess they've rode away with
them."

"Well, I must get a horse from somewhere to ride to the telegraph
office. Where is the likeliest place to find one?"

"I don't know where you can get one, unless you steal the telegraph
boy's nag; it's in the stable now, having a feed."

"What telegraph boy?"

"Oh, didn't you see him? He went out to the tent to look for you, and I
thought he had found you."

"No, I haven't been at the tent for ever so long. Perhaps he has some
news for me. I'm going to the house to write, so send him in as soon as
he gets back. Be sure you don't let him get away before I see him."

"I'll lock the stable," said young Bartlett, "and then he won't get the
horse, at any rate."

Yates found Kitty in the kitchen, and he looked so flurried that the
girl cried anxiously:

"Are they after you again, Mr. Yates?"

"No, Kitty; I'm after them. Say, I want all the blank paper you have in
the house. Anything will do, so long as it will hold a lead-pencil
mark."

"A copy book--such as the children use in school?"

"Just the thing."

In less than a minute the energetic girl had all the materials he
required ready for him in the front room. Yates threw off his coat, and
went to work as if he were in his own den in the _Argus_ building.

"This is a ---- of a vacation," he muttered to himself, as he drove his
pencil at lightning speed over the surface of the paper. He took no
note of the time until he had finished; then he roused himself and
sprang to his feet.

"What in thunder has become of that telegraph boy?" he cried. "Well, it
doesn't matter; I'll take the horse without his permission."

He gathered up his sheets, and rushed for the kitchen. He was somewhat
surprised to see the boy sitting there, gorging himself with the good
things which that kitchen always afforded.

"Hello, youngster! how long have you been here?"

"I wouldn't let him go in to disturb you while you were writing," said
Kitty, the boy's mouth being too full to permit of a reply.

"Ah, that was right. Now, sonny, gulp that down and come in here; I
want to talk to you for a minute."

The boy followed him into the front room.

"Well, my son, I want to borrow your horse for the rest of the day."

"You can't have it," said the boy promptly.

"Can't have it? I must have it. Why, I'll take it. You don't imagine
you can stop me, do you?"

The boy drew himself up, and folded his arms across his breast.

"What do you want with the horse, Mr. Yates?" he asked.

"I want to get to the nearest telegraph office. I'll pay you well for
it."

"And what am I here for?"

"Why, to eat, of course. They'll feed you high while you wait."

"Canadian telegraph office?"

"Certainly."

"It's no good, Mr. Yates. Them Canadians couldn't telegraph all you've
written in two weeks. I know 'em," said the boy with infinite scorn.
"Besides, the Government has got hold of all the wires, and you can't
get a private message through till it gets over its fright."

"By George!" cried Yates, taken aback, "I hadn't thought of that. Are
you sure, boy?"

"Dead certain."

"Then what's to be done? I must get through to Buffalo."

"You can't. United States troops won't let you. They're stopping
everybody--except me," he added, drawing himself up, as if he were the
one individual who stood in with the United States Government.

"Can you get this dispatch through?"

"You bet! That's why I came back. I knew, as soon as I looked at you,
that you would write two or three columns of telegraph; and your paper
said 'Spare no expense,' you remember. So says I to myself: 'I'll help
Mr. Yates to spare no expense. I'll get fifty dollars from that young
man, seeing I'm the only person who can get across in time.'"

"You were mighty sure of it, weren't you?"

"You just bet I was. Now, the horse is fed and ready, I'm fed and
ready, and we're losing valuable time waiting for that fifty dollars."

"Suppose you meet another newspaper man who wants to get his dispatch
through to another paper, what will you do?"

"Charge him the same as I do you. If I meet two other newspaper men,
that will be one hundred and fifty dollars; but if you want to make
sure that I won't meet any more newspaper men, let us call it one
hundred dollars, and I'll take the risk of the odd fifty for the ready
cash; then if I meet a dozen newspaper men, I'll tell them I'm a
telegraph boy on a vacation."

"Quite so. I think you will be able to take care of yourself in a cold
and callous world. Now, look here, young man; I'll trust you if you'll
trust me. I'm not a traveling mint, you know. Besides, I pay by
results. If you don't get this dispatch through, you don't get
anything. I'll give you an order for a hundred dollars, and as soon as
I get to Buffalo I'll pay you the cash. I'll have to draw on the
_Argus_ when I get to Buffalo; if my article has appeared, you get
your cash; if it hasn't, you're out. See?"

"Yes, I see. It won't do, Mr. Yates."

"Why won't it do?"

"Because I say it won't. This is a cash transaction. Money down, or you
don't get the goods. I'll get it through all right, but if I just miss,
I'm not going to lose the money."

"Very well, I'll take it to the Canadian telegraph office."

"All right, Mr. Yates. I'm disappointed in you. I thought you were some
good. You aint got no sense, but I wish you luck. When I was at your
tent, there was a man with a hammer taking a lot of men out of the
woods. When one of them sees my uniform, he sings out he'd give me
twenty-five dollars to take his stuff. I said I'd see him later, and I
will. Good-by, Mr. Yates."

"Hold on, there! You're a young villain. You'll end in state's prison
yet, but here's your money. Now, you ride like a house a-fire."

After watching the departing boy until he was out of sight Yates, with
a feeling of relief, started back to the tent. He was worried about the
interview the boy had had with Hawkins, and he wondered, now that it
was too late, whether, after all, he had not Hawkins' manuscript in his
pocket. He wished he had searched him. That trouble, however, did not
prevent him from sleeping like the dead the moment he lay down in the
tent.

CHAPTER XIX.

The result of the struggle was similar in effect to an American railway
accident of the first class. One officer and five privates were killed
on the Canadian side, one man was missing, and many were wounded. The
number of the Fenians killed will probably never be known. Several were
buried on the field of battle, others were taken back by O'Neill's
brigade when they retreated.

Although the engagement ended as Yates had predicted, yet he was wrong
in his estimate of the Canadians. Volunteers are invariably underrated
by men of experience in military matters. The boys fought well, even
when they saw their ensign fall dead before them. If the affair had
been left entirely in their hands, the result might have been
different--as was shown afterward, when the volunteers, unimpeded by
regulars, quickly put down a much more formidable rising in the
Northwest. But in the present case they were hampered by their
dependence on the British troops, whose commander moved them with all
the ponderous slowness of real war, and approached O'Neill as if he had
been approaching Napoleon. He thus managed to get in a day after the
fair on every occasion, being too late for the fight at Ridgeway, and
too late to capture any considerable number of the flying Fenians at
Fort Erie. The campaign, on the Canadian side, was magnificently
planned and wretchedly carried out. The volunteers and regulars were to
meet at a point close to where the fight took place, but the British
commander delayed two hours in starting, which fact the Canadian
colonel did not learn until too late. These blunders culminated in a
ghastly mistake on the field. The Canadian colonel ordered his men to
charge across an open field, and attack the Fenian force in the woods--
a brilliant but foolish move. To the command the volunteers gallantly
responded, but against stupidity the gods are powerless. In the field
they were appalled to hear the order given to form square and receive
cavalry. Even the schoolboys knew the Fenians could have no cavalry.

Having formed their square, the Canadians found themselves the helpless
targets of the Fenians in the woods. If O'Neill's forces had shot with
reasonable precision, they must have cut the volunteers to pieces. The
latter were victorious, if they had only known it; but, in this
hopeless square, panic seized them, and it was every man for himself;
at the same time, the Fenians were also retreating as fast as they
could. This farce is known as the battle of Ridgeway, and would have
been comical had it not been that death hovered over it. The comedy,
without the tragedy, was enacted a day or two before at a bloodless
skirmish which took place near a hamlet called Waterloo, which affray
is dignified in Canadian annals as the second battle of that name.

When the Canadian forces retreated, Renmark, who had watched the
contest with all the helpless anxiety of a noncombatant, sharing the
danger, but having no influence upon the result, followed them, making
a wide detour to avoid the chance shots which were still flying. He
expected to come up with the volunteers on the road, but was not
successful. Through various miscalculations he did not succeed in
finding them until toward evening. At first they told him that young
Howard was with the company, and unhurt, but further inquiry soon
disclosed the fact that he had not been seen since the fight. He was
not among those who were killed or wounded, and it was nightfall before
Renmark realized that opposite his name on the roll would be placed the
ominous word "missing." Renmark remembered that the boy had said he
would visit his home if he got leave; but no leave had been asked for.
At last Renmark was convinced that young Howard was either badly
wounded or dead. The possibility of his desertion the professor did not
consider for a moment, although he admitted to himself that it was hard
to tell what panic of fear might come over a boy who, for the first
time in his life, found bullets flying about his ears.

With a heavy heart Renmark turned back and made his way to the fatal
field. He found nothing on the Canadian side. Going over to the woods,
he came across several bodies lying where they fell; but they were all
those of strangers. Even in the darkness he would have had no
difficulty in recognizing the volunteer uniform which he knew so well.
He walked down to the Howard homestead, hoping, yet fearing, to hear
the boy's voice--the voice of a deserter. Everything was silent about
the house, although a light shone through an upper window, and also
through one below. He paused at the gate, not knowing what to do. It
was evident the boy was not here, yet how to find the father or
brother, without alarming Margaret or her mother, puzzled him. As he
stood there the door opened, and he recognized Mrs. Bartlett and
Margaret standing in the light. He moved away from the gate, and heard
the older woman say:

"Oh, she will be all right in the morning, now that she has fallen into
a nice sleep. I wouldn't disturb her to-night, if I were you. It is
nothing but nervousness and fright at that horrible firing. It's all
over now, thank God. Good-night, Margaret."

The good woman came through the gate, and then ran, with all the speed
of sixteen, toward her own home. Margaret stood in the doorway,
listening to the retreating footsteps. She was pale and anxious, but
Renmark thought he had never seen anyone so lovely; and he was startled
to find that he had a most un-professor-like longing to take her in his
arms and comfort her. Instead of bringing her consolation, he feared it
would be his fate to add to her anxiety; and it was not until he saw
she was about to close the door that he found courage to speak.

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