CHAPTER II
JIM HAMMOND DOES NOT RETURN TO DUTY
PETER STARKLEY got home to Beaver Dam for New Year's Day on a six days'pass. Jim Hammond had also tried to get a pass, but he had failed. Peterfound his homesickness increased by those six days; but he made everyeffort to hide his emotions. He talked bravely of his duties and hiscomrades, and especially of Dave Hammer. He said nothing about JimHammond except when questioned, and then as little as possible.
He polished his buttons and badges every morning and rolled his puttiesas if for parade. The smartness of his carriage gave a distinction evento the unlovely khaki service uniform of a British noncommissionedofficer. He looked like a guardsman and felt like a schoolboy whodreaded the approaching term. He haunted the barns and stables of thehome farm and of his own place and tramped the snow-laden woods andblanketed fields. In spite of his efforts to think only of the harsh andforeign task before him, he dreamed of clearings here and crops there.The keen, kindly eyes of his parents saw through to his heart.
One day of the six he spent in the village of Stanley. He called firstat Hammond's store, where he tried to give Mr. Hammond the impressionthat he had dropped in casually, but as he had nothing to sell and didnot wish to buy anything he failed to hoodwink the storekeeper. Mr.Hammond was cordial, but seemed worried.
He complimented Peter on his promotion and his soldierly appearance.
"Glad you got home," he said. "Wish Jim could have come along with you,but he writes as how they won't give him a pass. Seems to me it ain'tmore than only fair to let all the boys come home for Christmas or NewYear's."
"Then there wouldn't be any one left to carry on," said Peter. "They'vefixed it so that those who have been longest on the job get the firstpasses; but I guess every one will get home for a few days before wesail."
"Jim says the training--the drill and all that--is mighty hard,"continued Mr. Hammond.
"Some find it so, and some don't," replied Peter awkwardly. "I guessit's what you might call a matter of taste."
"Like enough," said the storekeeper, scratching his chin. "It's a matterof taste--and not to Jim's taste, that's sure."
Peter felt relieved to see that Mr. Hammond seemed to understand thecase. He was about to elaborate on the subject of military training whena middle-aged man wearing a bowler hat and a fur-lined overcoat turnedfrom the counter. He had a square, clean-shaven face and very bright andactive black eyes.
"Excuse me, corporal," the stranger said, "but may I horn in and inquirewhat you think of it yourself?"
"You can ask if you want to, Mr. Sill," said Mr. Hammond, "but you won'thear any kick out of Peter Starkley, whether he likes it or not."
"It's easier than working in the woods, either chopping or teaming,"said Peter pleasantly, "and I'll bet a dollar it is a sight easier thanthe real fighting will be."
"That's the way to look at it, corporal," said the stranger. "I guessthat in a war like this a man has to make up his mind to take the funand the ferocity, the music and the mud, and the pie and the pain, justas they come."
"I guess so," said Peter.
The stranger shook his hand cordially and just before he turned awayremarked, "Maybe you and I will meet again sooner than you expect."
"Who is he, and what's he driving at?" asked Peter, when the strangerhad left the store.
"He is a Yank, and a traveler for Maddock & Co. of St. John, and hisname is Hiram Sill--but I don't know what he is driving at any more thanyou do," replied Mr. Hammond.
The storekeeper invited Peter to call round at the house and to stay todinner and for as long as he liked afterwards. Peter accepted theinvitation. The Hammond house stood beside the store, but farther backfrom the road. It was white and big, with a veranda in front of it, arow of leafless maples, a snowdrifted lawn and a picket fence. ViviaHammond opened the door to his ring. From behind the curtain of theparlor window she had seen him approach.
At dinner Peter talked more than was usual with him; something in theway the girl listened to him inspired him to conversation. At twoo'clock he accompanied her to the river and skated with her. They hadsuch parts of the river as were not drifted with snow to themselves,except for two little boys. The little boys, interested in Peter as amilitary man, kept them constantly in sight. Peter felt decidedlyhostile toward those harmless boys, but he was too shy to mention it toVivia. He was delighted and astonished when she turned upon them at lastand said:
"Billy Brandon, you and Jack had better take off your skates and gohome."
"I guess we got as much right as anybody on this here river," repliedBilly Brandon, but there was a lack of conviction in his voice.
"You were both in bed with grippe only last week," Vivia retorted; "butI'll call in at your house and ask your mother about it on my way up thehill."
The little boys had nothing to say to that. They maintained a casualair, skated in circles and figures for a few minutes and then went home.For ten minutes after that the corporal and the girl skated in anelectrical silence, looking everywhere except at each other. Then Peterventured a slanting glance across his left shoulder at her littlefur-cuddled face. Their eyes met.
"Poor Mrs. Brandon can't manage those boys," she said. "But they arevery good boys, really. They do everything I tell them."
"Why shouldn't they? But I'm glad they're gone, anyway," he replied, ina voice that seemed to be tangled and strangled in the collar of hisgreatcoat.
When Vivia and Peter returned to the house the eastern sky was eggshellgreen and the west, low along the black forests, as red as the draft ofa stove. Their conversation had never fully recovered after the incidentof the two little boys. Wonderful and amazing thoughts and emotionschurned round in Peter's head and heart, but he did not venture to givevoice to them. They bewildered him. He stayed to tea and at thatcomfortable meal Mr. and Mrs. Hammond did the talking. Vivia and Peterlooked at each other only shyly as if they were afraid of what theymight see in each other's eyes.
At last Peter went to the barn and harnessed the mare. Then he returnedto the house to say good night to the ladies. That accomplished, Viviaaccompanied him to the front door. Beyond the front door, as aprotection against icy winds and drifting snow, was the winterporch--not much bigger than a sentry box. Stepping across the threshold,from the warm hall into the porch, Peter turned and clutched and heldthe girl's hand across the threshold. The tumult of his heart flooded upand smothered the fear in his brain.
"I never spent such a happy day in all my life," he said.
Vivia said nothing. And then the mischief got into the elbow of thecorporal's right arm. It twitched; and, since his right hand stillclasped Vivia's hand, the girl was jerked, with a little skip, right outof the hall and into the boxlike porch.
Two seconds later Peter pulled open the porch door and dashed into thefrosty night. He jumped into the pung, and away went the mare as ifsomething of her master's madness had been communicated to her. Thecorporal had kissed Vivia!
Peter returned to his battalion two days later. In St. John he foundeverything much as usual. Hammer was as brisk and soldierly as ever, butJim Hammond was more sulky than before. Peter considered the battalionwith a new interest. Life, even away from Beaver Dam, seemed more worthwhile, and he went at his work with a jump. He wrote twice a week toVivia, spending hours in the construction of each letter and yet alwaysleaving out the things that he wanted most to write. The girl's replieswere the results of a similar literary method.
The training of the battalion went on, indoors and out, day after day.In March, Jim Hammond went home for six days. By that time he was knownthroughout the battalion as a confirmed sulker. The six days passed; theseventh day came and went without sight or news of him, and then theadjutant wired to Mr. Hammond. No reply came from the storekeeper.Lieut. Scammell questioned Peter about the family. Peter told what heknew--that the Hammonds were fine people, that one son was an officeralready in
England, and that the father was an honest and patrioticcitizen. So another wire was sent from the orderly room. That, like thefirst, failed to produce results.
The adjutant, Capt. Long, then sent for Peter. This officer was not muchmore than five feet high, despite the name of his fathers, and was builtin proportion. It tickled the humor of the men to see such a littlefellow chase ten hundred bigger fellows round from morning until night.
"You are to go upriver and find out why Private Hammond has not returnedto duty," said the captain.
"Yes, sir," said Peter.
"Inform me by wire," continued the captain. "Use your brains. I amsending you alone, because I want to give Hammond a chance for the sakeof his brother overseas. Here are your pass, your railway warrant and achit for the paymaster. That's all, Corp. Starkley."
Peter saluted and retired. He reached Fredericton that night and thehome village of Jim Hammond by noon of the next day. He went straight tothe store, where Mr. Hammond greeted him with astonishment. Peter saw nosign of Jim.
"I didn't expect to see you back so soon," said Mr. Hammond.
"I got a chance, so I took it," replied Peter. "How's all the family?"
The storekeeper smiled. "The womenfolk are well," he said.
Peter saw that he had come suddenly to the point where he must exerciseall the tact he possessed. He felt keenly embarrassed.
"Did you get a telegram?" he asked.
"No. Did you wire us you were coming?"
"Not that, exactly. You see, it was like this, Mr. Hammond: when Jimdidn't get back the day he was due the adjutant sent you a wire, andwhen he didn't get an answer he sent another--and when you didn't replyto that he detailed me to come along and see what was wrong."
The storekeeper stared at him. "I never got any telegram. Jim came homeon two weeks' furlough, and he has five days of it left. You and youradjutant must be crazy."
"Two weeks," repeated Peter. "It was six days he got."
"Six days! Are you sure of that, Peter Starkley?"
"As sure as that's my name, Mr. Hammond. And the adjutant sent you twotelegrams, asking why Jim didn't return to duty when his pass wasup--and he didn't get any answer. If you didn't get one or other ofthose telegrams, then there is something wrong somewhere."
Mr. Hammond's face clouded. "I didn't get any wire, Peter--and Jim wentaway day before yesterday, to visit some friends," he said.
They eyed each other in silence for a little while; both were bitterlyembarrassed, and the storekeeper was numbed with shame.
"I'll go for him," he said. "If I fetch him to you here, will youpromise to--to keep the truth of it quiet, Peter--from his mother andsister and the folk about here?"
"I'll do the best I can," promised the corporal, "but not for Jim'ssake, mind you, Mr. Hammond. Capt. Long is for giving him a chancebecause of his brother, Pat, over on Salisbury Plain--and that's why hesent me alone, instead of sending a sergeant with an escort."
"I'll go fetch him, Peter," said the other, in a shaking voice. "You goalong to Beaver Dam and come back to-morrow--to see Vivia. When Jim andI turn up you meet him just like it was by chance. Keep your mouth shut,Peter. Not a word to a living soul about his only having six days. He'snot well, and that's the truth."
A dull anger was awake in Peter by this time.
"Something the matter with his feet," he said and left the store.
Here he was, told to be tactful by Capt. Long and to keep his mouth shutby Mr. Hammond, all on account of a sulky, lazy, bad-tempered fellow whohad been a disgrace to the battalion since the day he joined it. And nota word about stopping for dinner!
He crossed the road to the hotel, made arrangements to be driven out toBeaver Dam and then ate a lonely dinner. He thought of Vivia Hammondonly a few yards away from him, yet unconscious of his proximity--and hewanted to punch the head of her brother Jim. He drove away from thehotel up the long hill without venturing a glance at the windows of thebig white house on the other side of the road.
The family at Beaver Dam accepted his visit without question. No mentionwas made of Jim Hammond that night. Peter was up and out early the nextmorning, lending a hand with the feeding and milking.
After breakfast he and Dick went over to his own place to have a look athis house and barns.
"Frank Sacobie came home last week," said Dick. "He's been out to see ustwice. He wants to enlist in your outfit, but I am trying to hold himoff till next year so's we can go over together."
"You babies had better keep your bibs on a few years longer," saidPeter. "I guess there will be lots of time for all of you to fight inthis war without forcing yourselves under glass."
They rounded a spur of spruces and saw Sacobie approaching on snowshoesacross the white meadows. He had grown taller and deeper in the chestsince Peter had last seen him. The greeting was cordial but not wordy.Sacobie turned and accompanied them.
"I see Jim Hammond yesterday, out Pike Settlement way," he said.
"That so?" returned Peter, trying to seem uninterested.
"No uniform on, neither, and drinkin' some," continued Sacobie. "Sayshe's got his discharge from that outfit because it ain't reckoned asfirst-class and has been asked to be an officer in another outfit."
Then Peter forgot his instructions. Jim Hammond too good for the 26thbattalion! Jim Hammond offered a commission! His indignant heart senthis blood racing through him.
"He's a liar!" he cried. "Yes, and a deserter, too, by thunder!"
Dick was astonished, but Frank Sacobie received the information calmly,without so much as a flicker of the eyelids.
"I think that all the time I listen to him," he said. "I figger to gethis job, anyway, if he lie or tell the truth. I go down to-morrow,Peter, and you tell the colonel how I make a darn sight better soldierthan Jim Hammond."
Peter gripped the others each by an arm.
"I shouldn't have said that," he cautioned them. "Forget it! You boyshave got to keep it under your hats, but I guess it's up to me to take ajog out Pike Settlement way. If you boys say a word about it, you get inwrong with me and you get me in wrong with a whole heap of folks."
They turned and went back to Beaver Dam. There they hitched the mares tothe big red pung and stowed in their blankets and half a bag of oats.
"I can't tell you where I'm going or what for, but only that it is amilitary duty," said Peter in answer to the questions of the family.
He took Dick and Frank Sacobie with him. Once they got beyond theoutskirts of the home settlement they found heavy sledding. At noon theyhalted, blanketed and baited the mares, boiled the kettle and lunched.The wide, white roadway before them, winding between walls ofgreen-black spruces and gray maples, was marked with only the tracks ofone pair of horses and one pair of sled runners--evidently made the daybefore. Peter guessed them to be those of Mr. Hammond's team, but hesaid nothing about that to his companions.
Here and there they passed drifted clearings and little houses sendingblue feathers of smoke into the bright air. They came to places wherethe team that had passed the previous day had been stuck in the driftsand laboriously dug out.
They were within two miles of the settlement, between heavy woodsfronted with tangled alders, when the cracking _whang!_ of explodingcordite sounded in the underbrush. The mares plunged, then stood. Thereins slipped from Peter's mittened hands.
"I'm hit, boys!" he said and then sagged over across Dick's knees.
"'I'M HIT, BOYS!' HE SAID."]
They laid him on hay and horse blankets in the bottom of the pung andcovered him with fur robes. Then Sacobie got up in front and drove.
No sound except the rapping of a woodpecker came from the woods. Peterbreathed regularly. Presently he opened his eyes.
"It's in the ribs, by the feel of it--but it doesn't hurt much," hesaid. "Felt like a kick from a horse at first. Remember not to sayanything about Jim Hammond."
They put him to bed at the first farmhouse they reached. All hisclothing on the right side was
stiff with blood. Dick bandaged thewound; and a doctor arrived two hours later. The bullet had nipped inand out, splintering a rib, and lay just beneath the skin. Peter hadbled a good deal, but not to a dangerous extent.
Before sunrise the next morning Dick and Frank Sacobie set out on theirreturn journey, taking with them a brief telegram and a letter for Capt.Long. Peter had dictated the message, but had written the letter withgreat effort, one wavery word after another.
Mr. Hammond and John Starkley reached Pike Settlement late at night. Thestorekeeper seemed broken in spirit, but some color came back to hisface when he saw Peter lying there in the bed at the farmhouse with ascheerful an air as if he had only strained his ankle.
"I must see you a few minutes alone before I leave," he whispered,stooping over the bed.
"Don't worry," answered Peter.
John Starkley was vastly relieved to find his son doing so well. Hisbewilderment that any one in that country should pull a trigger on Peteralmost swamped his indignation. The more he thought it over the morebewildered he became.
"You haven't an enemy in the world, Peter--except the Germans," he said."But that was no chance shot. If it had been an accident, the fellowwith the rifle would have come out to lend a hand."
"I guess that's so," replied Peter. "Maybe it was a German. It means alot to the Kaiser to keep me out of this war."
His father smiled. "Joking aside, lad," he said, "who do you suppose itwas? What was the bullet? Many a murderer has been traced before now ona less likely clue than a bullet."
"Isn't the bullet on the table there, Mr. Hammond? The doctor gave it tome, and I chucked it somewhere--over there or somewhere."
They looked in vain for the bullet. Later, when the guests and thehousehold were at supper, Mr. Hammond excused himself from table and ranup to Peter's room. He closed the door behind him, leaned over the bedand grasped Peter's left hand in both of his.
"I did my best," he whispered. "I found him and told him you had beensent because the officer wanted to give him a chance. But he had beendrinking heavy. He wasn't himself, Peter--he was like a madman. I beggedhim to come back with me, but he wouldn't hear reason or kindness. Heknocked me down--me, his own father--and got away from that house. Whatare you going to do, Peter? You are a man, Starkley--a big man--bigenough to be merciful. What d'you mean to do?"
"Nothing," said Peter. "I came to find Jim, and I haven't found him. Igot shot instead by some one I haven't seen hair, hide or track of. It'sup to the army to find Jim, if they still want him; but as far as I amconcerned he may be back with the battalion this minute for all I know.I hope he is. As for the fellow who made a target of me, well, he didn'tkill me, and I don't hold a grudge against him."
Mr. Hammond went home the first thing in the morning. John Starkleywaited until the doctor called again and dressed the wound and said hehad never seen any one take a splintered rib and a hole in the side sowell as Peter.
"If he keeps on like this, you'll be able to take him home in ten daysor so," said the doctor.
So John Starkley returned to Beaver Dam, delivered the good news to hisfamily and heard in return that young Frank Sacobie had gone to St. Johnand joined the 26th.