Like every other soul in all
Camp Sandy she seemed to long to be just there. Some few had even gone
out further, beyond the sentries, to the point of the low bluff, and
there, chatting only in whispers, huddled together, listening in
anxiety inexpressible for the muffled sound of galloping hoofs on soft
and sandy shore. No, she _dare_ not, for within the four walls of that
little white room what dreams and visions had the girl not seen? and,
wakening shuddering, had clung to faithful Kate and sobbed her heart
out in those clasping, tender, loyal arms. No beauty, indeed, was
Kate, as even her fond mother ruefully admitted, but there was that in
her great, gentle, unselfish heart that made her beloved by one and
all. Yet Kate had pleaded with Angela in vain. Some strange, forceful
mood had seized the girl and steeled and strengthened her against even
Janet Wren's authority. She would not leave the little band of
watchers. She was there when, toward half-past twelve, at last the
message came. Plume's own horse came tearing through the flood, and
panting, reeking, trembling into their midst, and his rider, little
Fifer Lanigan, of Company "C," sprang from saddle and thrust his
dispatch into Truman's outstretched hand.
With women and children crowding about him, and men running to the
scene from every side, by the light of a lantern held in a soldier's
shaking hand, he read aloud the contents:
"BIVOUAC AT PICACHO, 9 P.
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