Little Jack Austin ran down to meet his mother when she returned, with a cheery smile, because he had in his heart a sure trust that G. W. would save the day, no matter what the danger that threatened Daddy!

VI.

"WAR, G. W.!"

G. W.'s wanderings from camp became less and less frequent. He thought no longer of going anywhere but to the hill-top; and that detested limit became more hated as oftener and oftener the Colonel pa.s.sed beyond the faithful little guardian's gaze.

"I'd jes' like to know whar de Colonel goes _all_ de time!" sighed G. W.

Colonel Austin was not unmindful of the boy, but evidently he was deep in business and anxiety. An occasional pat upon the little woolly head, or a word of cheer, was all the devoted comrade received; yet, with only that to feed upon, the childish devotion continually grew.

He took to talking aloud to the Boy and his Mother, in the long silent hours of evening. They became as alive and intimate to him as he, all unknown to himself, had become to Jack. He made solemn promises regarding the Colonel which, had Jack heard, would have set to rest any doubt as to G. W.'s capabilities of "managing the Colonel."

"Doan you-uns be frettin'," he whispered one night when his own heart was like lead in his body; "you kin jes' keep on a-smilin' an'

a-smilin'--I 'low I can take care ob de Colonel. Dat hill gets de best ob me, jes' fur de minute, but you min' I'm a-thinkin' 'bout dat ar hill! I'se goin' git de bes' ob dat der hill, yit!"

One hot day when G. W. had smothered as usual his loathing for his limit, and followed at a respectful distance the tall, well-beloved figure of his Colonel, he had a hard fit of sighing. "I reckon if de Colonel knew 'bout how I is feelin' dis minute," he said, wiping the perspiration from his face, "he'd jes' holler back 'howdy' ter me." But the Colonel not knowing of the faithful little henchman's nearness, sent back no word of loving cheer--did not once turn.

The two were plodding along the road called the Santiago Road at the time, and the long strides of the officer presently put him beyond G.

W.'s vision.

Suddenly G. W. sighed aloud. "He's gone!" There was a break in the soft voice. "I clar ter goodness, he's always gone! I'm bressed if I doan't wish de war would come an' be done wid! Dese days done w'ar me to frazzles!"

A low, deep, rumbling sound made G. W. start. By instinct, he crouched under some nearby bushes.

"What's dat?" he muttered, his eyes growing round and full of inquiry.

"Dat ain't thunder!" The ominous, threatening sounds were drawing nearer, approaching over the road along which he had come, and along which he must return to camp.

"Lawd!" gasped G. W.; "jes' 'spose dat is war a-comin' an' a-ketchin' me alone by myself; good Lawd!" The small face became terror-stricken. He clutched his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

The rumble grew louder. Suddenly the sun flashed upon a strange object being drawn up the rough trail.

"Cannoneers, forward!" came a full loud cry that echoed and re-echoed in G. W.'s brain. Then the boy perceived, as far as his gaze could travel, soldiers and cannon filling the familiar road. He forgot his terror, and thrilled and palpitated as he gazed from his leaf-covered hiding-spot.

Then a new thought made him reel backward. Was the entire American army marching away from camp, leaving him behind who was bound to return there?

The Colonel had left no orders for him; and the hill stood, as ever, between him and any following of the soldiers. Then came a thought that relieved him--there would be the sick in camp; surely they could not join this rushing company and he would remain with them until the Colonel remembered him.

Back toward camp he sped, keeping within the tangle of bushes and out of sight of the oncoming men; pushing and tumbling, he made his way as fast as his uniformed legs would carry him.

When he reached camp, panting and heated, he found a scene of great excitement; and as far as he could judge, the men, both sick and well, were all there! The Ninth, at least, had not gone over the hill-top!

"What's goin' ter happen?" G. W. gasped.

A boyish soldier who was writing a letter home looked up and answered,

"War, G. W.! that's what's going to happen, and mighty quick, too."

"And is us all goin' to de war?" G. W. sat down beside the soldier; indeed, his legs could hold him up no longer.

"There are no orders yet, but I reckon we'll get our chance. Two more transports are in, and a lot of guns."

"I saw dem," said G. W., thrilling again. "Miles ob dem an' millions of men! Lawd, Corporal!" Then, after a pause, and very softly, he said, "Say, Corporal Jack, if--if my Colonel don't send orders back fur me to come ter him, an' if youse all get orders ter go on, will yer jes' fur my sake try ter find de Colonel an' tell him a message? Jes' tell him not ter fret 'bout me, cos I'se goin' ter remember de hill!" G. W. had never humiliated himself by allowing any one to suppose he cared to go beyond the hill-top. "An' jes' tell him I'll take care ob de picture!"

There were tears rolling down G. W.'s upturned face. Corporal Jack laid down his pen and pad. "Well!" he cried, "you're a brick, G. W. But the Colonel is not going to forget you, G. W. Brace up and hold on. And just give us your hand, comrade!"

The two clasped hands gravely; then Corporal Jack went on with his letter, and G. W. pa.s.sed into Colonel Austin's tent, to have all things ready in case there came an order to march.

Late that night, as G. W. lay upon his camp-bed (for he had been promoted from the humble mattress) in the dismantled tent, Colonel Austin entered. He was very weary, very pale. The boy upon the bed watched him silently. The moonlight was streaming in the opening, and the tall figure was distinctly outlined as the Colonel paused within the doorway and glanced about the bare, disordered place. All at once he seemed to understand; a smile flitted across his worn face. He went over to the soapbox table, shorn of its gorgeous cover, the photograph alone adorning it. He took the picture, looked long and tenderly at the two faces, then slipping the card out of the frame he put it in his breast pocket.

A moment later he came over to G. W.'s bed. The boy looked up trustingly.

"I'se awake, Colonel."

"Good for you, comrade. I want to have a little talk with you."

A thin brown little hand slipped itself into the large firm one, and G.

W. sat up.

"G. W.," said the Colonel, "I'm going to the front. You know what that means?"

"I 'low I does, Colonel. When does we start? I'se been a-workin' ter get ready."

"But, comrade, _you_ are not to go!" The poor little body-guard had feared this. In his misery he looked up into the Colonel's face and gulped helplessly.

"Don't take it that way, my child," said the Colonel, smoothing the little woolly head burrowing back in the pillow; "it would be impossible for me to take a little fellow like you along. There's just a chance, you know, G. W., that I may not get back. I've thought lately that I did wrong to bring you from Tampa; but you had nothing there, and we have had each other here, comrade, and _that_ ought to count for something."

A tightening of the little hand replied.

"If I shouldn't come back, my child," the Colonel continued, "I want you to know that I have made all arrangements for you to be sent up to the Boy and his Mother. They'll look out for you, comrade, for they know that you are my little body-guard, and they will adopt you in their home--for your own sake too, G. W.; there's the making of a man in you, G. W., and you will not ever disappoint anybody, no matter what happens to me. During the coming days here, keep within your limits, my boy.

Obey orders, and you will be a hero indeed, for I know how much you want to go along to take care of me. By staying right here you are doing a harder thing."

G. W. was sobbing forlornly. The Colonel got up and paced the tent for a silent moment or two.

"You've been the best kind of a comrade, G. W.," he went on, as he came back, while the listener drew his legs up and down under the coa.r.s.e gray blanket, in an agony of sorrow. "And you're not going to fail me now, old fellow."

"Yes, sah! No, sah!" The pillow half stifled the words.

Presently poor G. W. sat up in bed again. "Colonel," he said, "you jes'

banish me out yo' mind! You do your work, an' be keerful to take keer ob yo'self. I'se goin' ter do what yo want an' keep in dem limits--but if yo' does _not_ come back frum dat front, I doan' think I can face dem two up Norf! I'd jes' feel dat I hadn't done been no body-guard--fo de Lawd, Colonel Austin, doan't ask me ter face de Boy an' his Mother 'thout you! I ain't goin' ebber ter forget what you don teach me, an'

I'se nebber goin' ter shame yer while I lib, but I can't go 'thout you to dem--de Lawd knows I can't."

"Under those circ.u.mstances I'll be obliged to come back, G. W."

Something choked the soldier's voice. Then bending down he kissed the boy's dusky brow, as often he had kissed the white one of his own little son.