The Militants by Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews


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Page 33

There was a touch of color in the Colonel's face, and he sighed as if
glad to have it over. The General watched him, and slowly, after a
pause, he demanded:

"May I ask, Colonel, why you chose that blond baby to send on a mission
of uncommon danger and importance?"

The Colonel answered quietly: "There were several reasons, General--good
ones. The blond baby"--that ghost of a smile touched the Colonel's lips
again--"the blond baby has some remarkable qualities. He never loses his
head; he has uncommon invention and facility of getting out of bad
holes; he rides light and so can make a horse last longer than most,
and"--the Colonel considered a moment--"I may say he has no fear of
death. Even among my officers he is known for the quality of his
courage. There is one more reason: he is the most popular man I have,
both with officers and men; if anything happened to Morgan the whole
command would race into hell after the devils that did it, before they
would miss their revenge."

The General reflected, pulling at his mustache. "It seems a bit like
taking advantage of his popularity," he said.

"It is," the Colonel threw back quickly. "It's just that. But that's
what one must do--a commanding officer--isn't it so, General? In this
war music we play on human instruments, and if a big chord comes out
stronger for the silence of a note, the note must be silenced--that's
all. It's cruel, but it's fighting; it's the game."

The General, as if impressed with the tense words, did not respond, and
the other officers stared at the Colonel's face, as carved, as stern as
if done in marble--a face from which the warm, strong heart seldom
shone, held back always by the stronger will.

The big, fresh-colored young Captain broke the silence. "Has the General
ever heard of the trick Morgan played on Sun Boy, sir?" he asked.

"Tell the General, Captain Booth," the Colonel said briefly, and the
Captain turned toward the higher officer.

"It was apropos of what the Colonel said of his inventive faculties,
General," he began. "A year ago the youngster with a squad of ten men
walked into Sun Boy's camp of seventy-five warriors. Morgan had made
quite a pet of a young Sioux, who was our prisoner for five months, and
the boy had taught him a lot of the language, and assured him that he
would have the friendship of the band in return for his kindness to Blue
Arrow--that was the chap's name. So he thought he was safe; but it
turned out that Blue Arrow's father, a chief, had got into a row with
Sun Boy, and the latter would not think of ratifying the boy's promise.
So there was Morgan with his dozen men, in a nasty enough fix. He knew
plenty of Indian talk to understand that they were discussing what they
would do with him, and it wasn't pleasant.

"All of a sudden he had an inspiration. He tells the story himself, sir,
and I assure you he'd make you laugh--Morgan is a wonderful mimic. Well,
he remembered suddenly, as I said, that he was a mighty good
ventriloquist, and he saw his chance. He gave a great jump like a
startled fawn, and threw up his arms and stared like one demented into
the tree over their heads. There was a mangy-looking crow sitting up
there on a branch, and Morgan pointed at him as if at something
marvellous, supernatural, and all those fool Indians stopped pow-wowing
and stared up after him, as curious as monkeys. Then to all appearances,
the crow began to talk. Morgan said they must have thought that spirits
didn't speak very choice Sioux, but he did his best. The bird cawed out:

"'Oh, Sun Boy, great chief, beware what you do!'

"And then the real bird flapped its wings and Morgan thought it was
going to fly, and he was lost. But it settled back again on the branch,
and Morgan proceeded to caw on:

"'Hurt not the white man, or the curses of the gods will come upon Sun
Boy and his people.'

"And he proceeded to give a list of what would happen if the Indians
touched a hair of their heads. By this time the red devils were all down
on their stomachs, moaning softly whenever Morgan stopped cawing. He
said he quite got into the spirit of it and would have liked to go on
some time, but he was beginning to get hoarse, and besides he was in
deadly terror for fear the crow would fly before he got to the point. So
he had the spirit order them to give the white men their horses and turn
them loose instanter; and just as he got all through, off went the thing
with a big flap and a parting caw on its own account. I wish I could
tell it as Morgan does--you'd think he was a bird and an Indian rolled
together. He's a great actor spoiled, that lad."

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Wed 14th Jan 2026, 16:35