A Soldier's Trial: An Episode of the Canteen CrusadeKing, Charles
General
A Soldier's Trial: An Episode of the Canteen Crusade
King, Charles
United States. Army -- Military life -- Fiction
There was no one near enough to reach them at the moment. Jimmy was on
his feet again in an instant, dazed, half-stunned, breathless, but still
unbelieving. Father could not have heard. Father would surely hear; but
now the father's hand had seized his arm, and, when the boy again began
to gasp his plea, it was almost dragging him across the _acequia_. Blood
was beginning to trickle from the corner of the piteous little mouth.
There was foam upon the set and livid lips of the man. "Silence! You've
lied enough!" was the savage order, as Dwight thrust the boy through the
gate. "Not there, sir!" as Jimmy, dumbly striving to show his loyalty,
his obedience, his unshaken trust, would have run on up the steps. "To
the cellar!" and in fury he pointed to the walk that circled the house,
and Jimmy hurried on. They had vanished from sight as Marion Ray, with
terror in her eyes, came almost running up the row, Priscilla and Mrs.
Thornton staring, speechless and miserable, after her. A lone trooper,
an humble private soldier, riding in from the westward gate, had sprung
from saddle, thrown the reins over a post and, with consternation in his
face, had started after them. It was young Hogan, faithful henchman of
the Rays, still borne on the rolls of Ray's old squadron. They were in
the cellar, under the rear of the quarters, when he reached them, and
Jimmy's jacket was lying on the floor, while the lad, with streaming,
pleading eyes, was looking up in his father's face.
"Your shirt, too, sir!" Dwight ordered, as Hogan came bounding in.
"For the love o' God, Major, don't bate the boy! Sure he never knew he
did it, sir. I saw----"
"Out of here, you!" was the furious answer. "Out or I'll----" And in his
blind rage the officer grasped the unresisting soldier by the throat and
hurled him through the doorway whence he came. "Off with that shirt!" he
again shouted, as he turned. It was already almost off. Ah, how white
and smooth and firm was that slender, quivering little body, as, for the
last time the streaming eyes were imploringly uplifted, the slender arms
upraised, the sobbing prayer poured forth only to be heard--only to be
heard.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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