body," promised the lieutenant, earnestly. "I will report you to the Government."
The governor had clumped out, in his uniform and jack-boots. Lieutenant Bartholomew, and Captain D'Almansa who was to command the escort southward, were with him. They all entered the splendid coach decorated with gilt.
The door slammed. The servant climbed to the seat beside the driver—the sergeant in charge of the dragoons shouted an order, and away they went, mules and horses at a gallop.
That was the last that Stub or anybody in Santa Fe ever saw of young Lieutenant Pike.
Stub went to the barracks with his father and Solomon Colly, to watch the men off. They were about to go. He shook hands with them, too: with Freegift, and Alex Roy, and John Brown, and Hugh Menaugh, and William Gordon, and Jake Carter—that brave six, still limping from frozen feet.
"Good luck to you, boy."
"Good luck."
"An' never forget you've been a Pike man, on one o' the toughest marches in history," added Freegift. "Stick up for your country. You've l'arned never to say die—an' that's the American of it."
"Yes, sir. I know it."
"Ah, lads, but Sol and I wish we were going
