In barracks and wigwam

Front matter

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ChapIEZ.; Copyright No, Shelfc._i._i_-

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA c c C

Chapter I. Sowing The Seeds

Nestled in the heart of the famous Cumberland Valley lies the old, quaint, and conservative town of Carlisle, and in all the great State of Pennsylvania one would not find a more charming place of residence. In pre-revolutionary days Carlisle was a name frequently on men’s tongues, and in later years the establishment of United States barracks here gave it a military air and prestige.

At the present time the town is chiefly noted for two things — its college and its Indian school. The former is a handsome and flourishing institution, of wide renown throughout the country. The latter, occupying the old barracks on the outskirts of the town, and presided over by a Government officer and instructors, is equally well known. Here a large number of Indian boys and girls, brought from time to time from the reservations of the West, are educated and taught useful trades, with a view to fitting them for civilized life. The pupils of the school publish a little paper, and are justly proud of a fine band and a strong football team.

On a crisp Saturday afternoon in November the majority of the college students could have been found on the athletic grounds, a field of large extent which lay between the town and the Indian school. A football match played

Sowing the Seeds.

by the teams of the two institutions had just ended, resulting in a narrowly won victory for the college. The spectators had left the ground, but the late contestants and their friends were still there, the students talking eagerly of their success and indulging in a good deal of rough horse-play, the Indian lads mingled here and there with them, and apparently taking their defeat with stolid good nature.

Destiny works in strange and unexpected ways, and at least three of those present were to look back on that afternoon as the turning-point of their lives, and the first step of a series of bitter and thrilling adventures. For two of them the outlook of the future held the rosiest of hopes and ambitions, and they looked confidently forward to careers of their own choice.

Linn Hilliard and Bruce Cameron were certainly to be envied, and they made a handsome pair as they stood surrounded by their admiring friends, the muscular frame of each set off to good advantage by his football togs.

Linn Hilliard, the captain of the team, was just entering his eighteenth year. He was tall and well-built, with a ruddy complexion, fair hair and blue eyes. His reputation and skill in athletics had not been earned at the expense of his studies, for he ranked high in the junior class of the college, and was as good at Latin and mathematics as at football and hammer-throwing.

He belonged, to an old Carlisle family, and was the only child of a wealthy banker. Since the death of his wife ten years before, Mr. Hilliard had led the life of a recluse, rarely venturing into society, but deeply engrossed in his lusiness. He was a man of few words, cold, stern, and capable of great passion when roused to anger. He had peculiar ideas as to the bringing up of children, and though he loved his son in his own way, he manifested little if any outward affection.

Sowing the Seeds.

The banker was not a miserly man, but he limited Linn’s pocket money to an amount no larger than a wellto-do mechanic would have given his son. The lad did not complain, though he found this a most inconvenient drawback at times. He knew that his father loved him at heart, and took a deep interest in his welfare and future; so he was content to rub along as best he could on his small income, the amount of which was no secret to his college friends, nor to the town people in general.

Linn had not forgotten the lessons taught him by his dead mother. He was brave, honest and truthful, hating anything low or mean, and with a rather exalted idea of schoolboy honor — which, though awkward at times, is rather to be commended than blamed. A few years before he had longed to be a soldier, but his father had reasoned him out of this. Now it was understood that he was to succeed in the banking business, and he looked forward with complacent satisfaction to the prospect. He believed his early ambition to be dead, but the spark was still there, and ready to be fanned into life should the opportunity arise.

Linn’s most intimate chum was Bruce Cameron, who now stood beside him, ar 1 -as equally tall and well-built. Bruce had dark eyes and hair, and a handsome, haughty face. He was a half-back on the team, and had a fair ranking in the junior class. He was the son of Captain Cameron, the principal of the Indian school, and until three years ago — he was now seventeen — he had lived in Western towns and on frontier army posts, where he had picked up a good deal of harm, and contracted a liking for dissipation and bad company.

But Bruce changed for the better after he came East, and he was now one of the brightest scholars in his class. His heart was set on a soldier’s life, and his father had promised him an appointment to West Point as soon as

Sowing the Seeds.

he graduated. This depended, however, on his general good behavior, and Bruce was trying hard to win the coveted reward. The friendship of Linn Hilliard was a great support to him, and kept him from yielding to many temptations that presented themselves. He looked up to Linn, and valued his good opinion, and the two were together so constantly that their classmates dubbed them David and Jonathan.

The third individual who is to play a part in our story was standing a short distance from Bruce and Linn, the centre of a group of friends. Deerfoot was the captain of the Government school’s football team, and he was the son of the noted Sioux chieftain, Flying Thunder. He was eighteen years of age, and most superbly built. He looked more like a Hindoo prince than an American Indian, for his complexion was light, and the high cheekbones were conspicuously lacking from his features.

Deerfoot had been brought East to be educated a year before, and he had already earned a reputation for bravery, skill in athletics, and truthfulness. But lie was a poor scholar, and took little interest in his new life. His face was constantly sombre and sad, and it was no secret that he bitterly hated and despised the trammels of civilization, and longed with all his heart to return to the wild, free life of the plains, and the uncouth habits of his kinsmen.

Among the shouting, rollicking groups of students was Steve Halsey, a rather flashily dressed lad of seventeen, hailing from a large Eastern city. He was the leader of the fast set of the college, and was more noted for his dissipated habits than for proficiency in studies. As a matter of fact, he was nearly at the foot of his class, and was likely to he dropped at any time.

Steve had celebrated the victory by a drink or two from a concealed pocket-flask, and his flushed face showed that

Sowing the Seeds.

he felt the liquor. Fired bv a spirit of mischief, or of braggadocio, he forced his way into the nearest group of Indians, and gave Deerfoot a rude clap on the shoulder.

“Well, we beat you, old cockalorum,” he cried, “and we'l! do it every time.”

“Mebbe so,” replied Deerfoot, drawing himself up proudly. “No can tell.”

“Can’t we, though?” said Steve. “I’d like to know. Look here, old man, you’re not in it with us on anything. We’ve whitewashed you on football. an! we’ve got men here that can clean out any of your set in racing or wrestling. Don’t you believe it?”

“Mebbe,” replied the young Indian, with a gleam of anger and contempt in his dark eyes. “Me willing to run with any white bov ; me throw any one, too.”

“Hurrah! do you hear that, fellows?” shouted Steve, tossing his cap in the air. “Deerfoot challenges you all to a racing and wrestling match.”

In a moment a hundred students had swarmed forward and surrounded the group, and Linn Hilliard was loudly urged to take up the challenge at once.

“Let’s have it right off,” cried one. “Win more laurels for the college, old fellow.”

“Go it, Linn,” yelled another. “You can beat him.”

“I f Linn beats him running I’ll down him ,in a wrestling match,” Bruce Cameron cried, boastfully.

Linn was quite helpless in the matter. He disliked the idea of being dragged into the race by Steve Halsey, whom he heartily despised ; and, moreover, he felt that he was no match in speed for Deerfoot. But his companions allowed him no choice, and the contestants were shortly drawn up side by side just within the main gate of the grounds. It was agreed that the race should be clear around the field, from corner to corner, finishing up io Sowing the Seeds.

at the starting point. This made a course of very nearly a mile.

At the word “go” Linn and Deerfoot were off, watched by every eye. On and on they sped, now one in the lead, now the other. When they rounded the last corner Linn was several yards ahead, and now the excitement was intense.

But Deerfoot was holding his best effort in reserve, and at the last minute he made a spurt that brought him abreast of his competitor. Linn strained every nerve, but in vain. Amid silence from the students, and loud applause from his own friends, the young Indian shot by the goal, a winner by a good three feet.

“Fairly won, Deerfoot,” exclaimed Linn, holding out a hand to his rival. “It was not to be expected that I could beat a chap like you, fresh from the plains. You deserve your name.”

“You run well,” replied the Indian, taking the proffered hand, and smiling faintly with pride. “Some other time you beat, mebbe.”

A little later, when the runners had recovered breath, Bruce came forward. He was an adept at wrestling, and had mastered many of its skilled points. Heretofore none had thrown him, and he confidently hoped to retrieve Linn’s defeat by downing the Indian.

“It’s my turn now, Deerfoot,” he exclaimed, “if you’re rested enough.”

“Me ready,” replied the Indian, stalking forward into the space that the students had already cleared.

“Look here, Bruce, I wouldn’t go on with this,” Linn whispered to his friend. “It’s not too late to get out of it. He’ll throw you as sure as fate.” -

“Let him alone, Linn Hilliard,” sneered Steve Halsey, who had overheard in part.

Sowing the Seeds. n

A clamor rose from the students, and Linn reluctantly withdrew.

"It’s all right, old fellow,” Bruce called after him. “Just watch me win.”

A moment later the two had grappled, and amid breathless silence the match went on. From the first it was a close struggle. To and fro they swayed and slid, bending this way and that. Each displayed cunning and skill, and after three or four minutes the end was not in sight.

But suddenly Deer foot made a rapid and almost imperceptible movement of one knee, and that quickly stretched his opponent flat on his back. The loud applause of the Indians and jeering laughter from some of Steve Halsey's boon companions, stung Bruce's fiery temper to madness.

“A foul ! a foul !” he cried, scrambling to his feet. “I wasn’t thrown fair, and you know it, you tricky redskin.”

“White boy lie,” declared Deerfoot, his eyes flashing dangerously.

“Do I?” snarled Bruce. “Take that, you copper-faced cheat ”

But before Bruce could deliver the blow, already aimed with full force, Linn sprang forward and pinned his arms fast.

“For shame !” he whispered.

At the same instant half a dozen of the Indian lads surrounded Deerfoot and attempted to carry him away.

“Let me go,” cried Bruce, struggling hard. “Let me get at him. He threw me foul, and called me a liar.”

“Calm yourself, old fellow,” replied Linn. “Don't give way to passion like this. You’re in the wrong, too. It was a fair throw, and a mighty clever one. You owe Deerfoot an apology, and you'll tell him so, won't you?”

“No, I won't,” muttered Bruce. “I didn't expect this of you, Linn.”

Sowing the Seeds.

“Make the meddler let go, Bruce/’ shouted Steve Hah sey. “It’s none of his business.”

Linn faced around angrily, still keeping hold of his friend, and there seemed a fair prospect of a general row. But the wiser students interfered, and after a little more excitement the affair was settled by an almost unanimous verdict in favor of the Indian.

Deerfoot threw a grateful and friendly glance at Linn as he was led away by his companions. Bruce sullenly left the field with Steve Halsey’s crowd, and Linn followed with the others, thinking sadly of the quarrel with his best friend, and yet satisfied that he had done no more than was right.

Thus were sown, on that October afternoon, the seeds of a strange and plentiful crop — a crop of heartaches and sorrows, disgrace and dishonor, friendships and enmities, adventures and 'sufferings. And it all sprang from a thoughtless word, and a fearless defense of justice and honor.

Chapter II

linn's ERRAND TO THE INDIAN SCHOOL.

The unfortunate quarrel between Linn and Bruce was not healed up, so far as putting the lads on their former intimate terms was concerned. Bruce made a feeble effort at reconciliation, admitting himself to have been in the wrong, and Linn was only too glad to meet him half way. But things were never the same after that, and a wider estrangement — which Linn did his best to prevent — grew between the two friends.

Steve Halsey, who had always disliked Linn and recognized a kindred spirit in Bruce, was mainly to blame for the coolness. He played his cards well and cunningly, and as a result Bruce was gradually drawn into the fast set of the college, and his old appetite for dissipation and bad habits got a strong hold on him again.

Captain Cameron knew nothing of this, for he was a very busy man and had time to think of nothing else but the management of the Indian school. It was well known in the college, however, that Bruce was dropping lower in his class, and that he spent his evenings with Steve Halsey’s set, playing billiards and pool, drinking and gambling in one or another of his new companion’s rooms, or prowling about the town in search of mischief at late hours.

Linn remonstrated with him from time to time, but his influence now was of no avail, and he almost lost hope of reclaiming his friend. He could rarely find a chance to talk to Bruce alone, for Steve Halsey stuck to him

14 Linn’s Errand to the Indian School.

like a shadow. His affection for his estranged chum was sincere, and he was more than once on the point of appealing to Captain Cameron, whose ignorance he was aware of, and who, he knew, would speedily bring about a change for the better. But his sense of honor kept him from taking this step — a step which was sure to be misunderstood, and sure to bring him into unmerited disgrace with his fellow students.

Strangely enough, during the months that followed the football game, Deerfoot entered on friendly relations with both lads. Bruce was a good hater, and slow to forgive either a real or fancied grievance. It was rather remarkable, therefore, that he should of his own accord have apologized to the young Indian, and expressed a wish that the past should be forgotten.

Possibly the fact that Bruce lived at the school, and could not have kept up the enmity without discovery, had a great deal to do with the matter. At all events, Deerfoot's truthful nature suspected neither this motive, nor a deeper one, and he readily consented to be reconciled.

The friendship between the young Sioux and Linn had a firmer foundation, springing from the latter’s magnanimous conduct when he was beaten in the race, and from his fearless championship of the Indian’s cause. They did not see each other very often, nor had they much to say when they did meet, but it was tacitly understood that they were firm friends.

Sometimes they went tramping together of an afternoon, and when they were alone in the woods and fields Deerfoot would talk more freely, and tell of his wild and happy life in the West. Linn gathered from the conversation that the Indian was intensely dissatisfied, and longed for his former life. Linn could understand this feeling, and sympathize with it ; but nevertheless he tried to reconcile the young Sioux to his surroundings and to

Linn’s Errand to the Indian School.

instill a desire to become a useful and civilized citizen of the United States. But he could not flatter himself that he succeeded. Deerfoot avoided the subject with evident aversion, and as the weeks passed on he grew more sad and melancholy.

One afternoon in May, six months after the events on the athletic ground, Linn went from the college recitation room to his father’s bank. It was four o’clock, and the bank had been closed to the public for an hour. A couple of, clerks were bending over ledgers, and Mr. Hilliard sat at a desk in his private room. He held a letter in his hand, and a stack of bank-notes lay before him. He wheeled around in his chair as his son entered.

“Father, I would like to have twenty-five dollars,” said Linn, abruptly.

“Twenty-five dollars?” exclaimed the banker. “Nonsense! What can you want with such a sum of money, Linn?”

Linn’s heart sank, and he did not reply. The truth of the matter was that a needy friend had begged him for the loan of that amount for a few days, and he had made a half promise to get it, though with little hope of success.

“Are you in debt?” the banker went on. “I can’t believe that you would dare to disobey me. You remember what I told you some time ago ”

“I don’t owe a penny,” Linn interrupted. “It is not that. But I want the money very badly, father.”

“Yes, to squander on foolishness,” said Mr. Hilliard. “I certainly don’t intend to give you twenty-five dollars. Money is the root of all evil, and in the hands of a lad of your age it becomes a most pernicious factor. You have no idea of its use.”

“I never had a chance to learn,” Linn replied, a little

16 Linn’s Errand to the Indian School.

bitterly. “But this is not for foolishness, father. I want the money for a particular purpose, and if you insist- ”

“You can’t have it,” Mr. Hilliard said, sternly, “and there is an end of the matter. Don’t sit down ; I am going to send you on an errand. The book-keepers have not finished, and can’t be spared from their desks.

“Captain Cameron has been summoned by telegram to Washington on urgent business,” he added, glancing at the open letter. “He must leave by an early train in the morning, and as he may be ordered straight, to the West, he needs five hundred dollars. He incloses his check for the amount, and asks that I send him the money at once by a trusty messenger, as he is too busy to come for it himself.”

Mr. Hilliard counted over the bank-notes, put them in a long envelope, sealed it, and gave the package to Linn.

“Take this to Captain Cameron,” he said, “and have him examine it in your presence. Then come straight home to supper.”

A moment later Linn was out in the street, and walking rapidly toward the Indian school. He felt sore and hurt at his father’s refusal to give him the twenty-five dollars he had asked for, and he dreaded meeting the friend whom he desired to assist.

“Father treats me like a baby,” he reflected, “but I suppose he means it all for the best. I won’t ask for the money again, and I don’t believe it would do any good if I did. I’m sorry for Tom Owner. He’s a good fellow, and it was hard luck that he should break old Meadow’s plate-glass window. Still, he needn’t have played ball in the street.”

Linn soon reached the Indian school, and rang the bell of Captain Cameron’s handsome house, which stood just inside the grounds, and in close proximity to the barracks. A servant led him to a room on the second floor, a cozy lyinn’s Errand to tlie Indian School.

*7 apartment containing easy-chairs, book-cases, and a heavy mahogany secretary. It adjoined the captain’s bedchamber, and two windows, partly shaded by stout vines that had grown up from the ground, looked out on the side of the house.

The captain made his appearance from the front room, where his wife had been helping him to pack his trunk.

“Glad to see you, Linn,” he said, cordially. “I suppose your father sent you with the money. I was sorry to trouble him."

“Here it is, sir," replied Linn, “and it was no trouble at all. Father says will you please count it."

Captain Cameron took the' envelope, opened the secretary, and sat down. He counted the bank-notes with great care, and then thrust them loosely into a pigeonhole. Linn stood beside him, glancing curiously around the room, and twice he saw Bruce go by the hall door and look quickly in. The second time he nodded at Linn, and then passed down the stairs.

“The money is all right,” said the captain, as he rose to his feet, and closed and locked the secretary. “Tell your father that I am indebted to him for his promptness and kindness. But won’t you stay for supper? Bruce is about somewhere, and will be glad to see you.”

“I’m afraid I must go right home,” replied Linn.

“Well, come again. Good-afternoon.”

“Good-afternoon, Captain Cameron,” said Linn.

He looked for Bruce as he went downstairs and out of the house, hoping to get a few words with him. But that young gentleman was nowhere to be seen, and Linn went on home, little dreaming of what was to result from His errand to the barracks.

Chapter III. The Discovery Of A Plot

Mr. Hilliard’s residence was at some distance from the bank. The house was inclosed by shrubbery and a terraced lawn, and fronted on a quiet street that led from the college to the Indian school.

Supper that night was a more dull and gloomy ceremony than usual, for father and son had little to say to each other. Linn still resented the denial of his request, and the banker busied himself between courses with the evening paper.

From the table Linn went to his own room, and studied hard for three or four hours. About ten o’clock — which was a late hour for Carlisle— he put up his books, took his hat, and left the house by a side door, locking it after him and slipping the key into his pocket. This was his frequent custom when he had wearied his brain over lessons, and he always found that he could go to sleep quickly after a short stroll in the night air.

He wandered down the quaint old street, the footways of which were paved with flagstones and shaded by close rows of lofty elm trees. No one else was astir, and few lights were to be seen in the houses. When he had reached the outskirts of the town, and was midway between the college and Indian school, Linn turned to retrace his steps.

Just then, happening to glance across the street, he saw two lads pass under the feeble light of a lamp-post, and stealthily vanish in the deep shadow of the trees.

*9

The Discovery of a Plot.

The two were Bruce Cameron and Steve Halsey — as Linn discovered at once — and they were headed toward the Indian school.

“What can they be up to?” Linn muttered. “Some mischief, I’ll bet anything. Just one scrape, if he is caught at it, will settle Bruce. I have half a mind to— — ”

On the spur of the moment he struck diagonally across the street, and gained the opposite pavement, at a spot where the shadows were deep, barely in time to head the boys off.

“Hallo, Bruce,” he whispered. “I thought that was you.”

Steve dodged quickly toward a tree, evidently scared by the unexpected encounter, but Bruce held his ground.

“What are you doing here, Linn Hilliard?” he demanded, sullenly.

“Just taking a little walk before going to bed,” Linn answered. “I want to talk to you a minute, if you don’t mind.”

He made a gesture to Bruce, and the latter accompanied him a few yards down the street, leaving Steve standing alongside the tree.

“I hope you won’t be angry,” Linn began, “for what I am going to say is for the sake of old friendship.”

“I don’t know why you need say anything,” muttered Bruce. “I can take care of myself.”

“You haven’t been doing it very well lately,” replied Linn, “if all that I hear is true. And you and Steve have surely got some mischief on hand for to-night.”

“No, we haven’t,” declared Bruce. “What makes you think that? Steve is only walking part of the way home with me.”

Linn was not convinced, for he knew by his uneasy manner and by the tone in v/hich he spoke that Bruce was telling an untruth.

The Discovery of a Plot.

“I don't suppose my talking will do any good," he replied, sadly, "though it was different at one time. It is not my fault that we have become estranged, P>ruce. I feel just as friendly toward you as ever "

"And so do I toward you," interrupted Bruce, in a petulant tone. "But a fellow has got to have some fun once in a while, and if you're not in for anything of that sort you can’t blame me for taking up with fellows that are."

"Fun?" said Linn, scornfully. "It's mighty poor fun if you measure it by results. Can't you see what you are drifting to, Bruce? If you keep this up, you will drop into a lower class, or be expelled from college. And then good-by to West Point ! You know what your father will do if he finds that you have fallen into the old habits you learned cut West. You told me yourself that he would make you enlist in the army, and serve as a common soldier for three years."

"There's no danger," said Bruce. "I’m not so very far down in the class, and I’m cramming hard now for the examinations. I’ll pull through all right. And as for bad habits — why, what little sport I have is nothing compared to what it was out in those Western towns. Wait till you've seen a little real life, Linn "

"I don’t want to see that kind," exclaimed Linn. “There is danger, Bruce, and you are either willfully running into it, or you are too blind to see it. You can’t continue safely in these courses much longer.

"For the sake of our old friendship, Bruce," he went on, earnestly, "drop Steve Halsey and his set, give up your rollicking and dissipation, and stick to your studies like a man. Let us be the chums that we once were. Graduation is only a year from now, and you will be well rewarded by a cadetship to West Point. Do listen to me, Bruce. I mean it fairly, and I can’t bear to see you going

The Discovery of a Plot.

astray, dragged down by fellows like Steve Halsey and his crowd. Shake on it, old chap, do.”

Bruce hesitated, but made no effort to accept the proffered hand. Before he could reply Steve approached half way from the tree, and gave an impatient whistle.

“How much longer are you going to keep me waiting while you talk to that old stick?” he called, in a low tone. “If you don’t come right off I’m going home. I didn’t bargain for this when I promised to walk part way with you.”

“I’m coming now, Steve,” Bruce replied. “Don’t be angry, Linn,” he added, in a whisper. “I’ll think over what you’ve said and let you know about it. Goodnight.”

With this Bruce hurried away, and he and Steve vanished down the dark street. Linn stood still for a moment, sorely grieved and perplexed in mind, and hesitating between two courses.

“It seems a hopeless case,” he reflected. “My influence counts for nothing with Bruce. What shall I do, go home or follow them? They have some deep-laid plan on foot for to-night — I am confident of that more than ever now. But it seems like a mean and underhand trick to dog their steps. Still, it would be no more than a friendly act. If I can save Bruce from a scrape I’m going to do it, cost what it may. So there.”

Having resolved on this step. Linn was quick and cunning to act. He slipped down a side street, and, on a steady trot, made a detour that finally brought him to the angle of the Indian school nearest the town. Here, in the shadow of a tree across the road, he crouched down to wait and watch.