Brief description:
Cowboy and West Pointer, “Texas" Griffen finds need for all his skill as he plunges into the dangers of Army life on the Mexican border
CHAPTER I.
TOWARD THE RIO GRANDE.
Cross the level desert, the train headed toward the border, rattling through the hot Texas night. This was no deluxe, cross-continent special. The passenger cars-, both of them day coaches, had known better and younger days.
The second car carried an assortment of passengers - a heavy-set, red-faced soldier was snoring audibly. Opposite him sat two Mexicans. In the center of the car, on the same side with the Mexicans, was a party of four. Wealthy ranch owners, evidently with their wives. A lone passenger sat in the rear of the car. He was a young man of about twenty-four years of age....
An altercation ensued when the train was boarded by Mexican bandits.... Griffen lost some valuables but was unharmed, not the case with others. Later Griffen was deposited at the gates of Fort Smith Texas . Gone were the Broadway clothes of the evening before. In their stead was the uniform of Uncle Sam.
Tex surveyed the small, weather-beaten building, over the door of which was nailed a sign: HEADQUARTERS FORT SMITH, TEXAS NINETY-SEVENTH CAVALRY
He was joining the army. Taking in a full breath, he squared his shoulders and marched in to report to the commanding officer of the Ninety-Seventh Cavalry. Tex’s spurs clicked together as he saluted. “ Sir, Lieutenant Griffen reports for duty.”
The gray-haired, distinguished colonel, who sat behind the desk, fingered the eyeglasses which hung from his neck on a narrow black ribbon. "So you’re Mr. Griffen. Humph!” commented the colonel gruffly. His keen eyes traveled up and down.
Tex was silent.
“ You on that train that was held up by Mexican bandits last night?”
“ Yes, sir.”
Colonel Camp’s lips tightened, then he swore, a good, round cavalryman’s oath. “One of these days I’m going to catch that blasted son of hell and hang him to the nearest tree.”
“The man with the blue patch on his jaw, sir?” Tex related the robbery of the preceding night.
“ Yes, that’s the man. Alverado Miguel. Bluejaw. For over a year now he has been raiding the border. Train robbery, murder, pillaging and burning a ranch—-—they’re all the same to him. He’s a wily devil.”
The colonel rose to his feet and paced the floor...
CHAPTER I.
TOWARD THE RIO GRANDE.
Cross the level desert, the train headed toward the border, rattling through the hot Texas night. This was no deluxe, cross-continent special. The passenger cars-, both of them day coaches, had known better and younger days.
The second car carried an assortment of passengers - a heavy-set, red-faced soldier was snoring audibly. Opposite him sat two Mexicans. In the center of the car, on the same side with the Mexicans, was a party of four. Wealthy ranch owners, evidently with their wives. A lone passenger sat in the rear of the car. He was a young man of about twenty-four years of age....
An altercation ensued when the train was boarded by Mexican bandits.... Griffen lost some valuables but was unharmed, not the case with others. Later Griffen was deposited at the gates of Fort Smith Texas . Gone were the Broadway clothes of the evening before. In their stead was the uniform of Uncle Sam.
Tex surveyed the small, weather-beaten building, over the door of which was nailed a sign: HEADQUARTERS FORT SMITH, TEXAS NINETY-SEVENTH CAVALRY
He was joining the army. Taking in a full breath, he squared his shoulders and marched in to report to the commanding officer of the Ninety-Seventh Cavalry. Tex’s spurs clicked together as he saluted. “ Sir, Lieutenant Griffen reports for duty.”
The gray-haired, distinguished colonel, who sat behind the desk, fingered the eyeglasses which hung from his neck on a narrow black ribbon. "So you’re Mr. Griffen. Humph!” commented the colonel gruffly. His keen eyes traveled up and down.
Tex was silent.
“ You on that train that was held up by Mexican bandits last night?”
“ Yes, sir.”
Colonel Camp’s lips tightened, then he swore, a good, round cavalryman’s oath. “One of these days I’m going to catch that blasted son of hell and hang him to the nearest tree.”
“The man with the blue patch on his jaw, sir?” Tex related the robbery of the preceding night.
“ Yes, that’s the man. Alverado Miguel. Bluejaw. For over a year now he has been raiding the border. Train robbery, murder, pillaging and burning a ranch—-—they’re all the same to him. He’s a wily devil.”
The colonel rose to his feet and paced the floor...
Publication
Argosy Magazine, May 1929