or the youngest
man in each company to come up there and get some milk for his coffee
tomorrow morning, and butter for his bread. There was only enough issued
for the youngest boys, and if he wanted his share he'd have to get a big
hustle on him, for the feller whose nose he'd put out o' joint 'd try
hard to get there ahead o' him, and get his share. So Skidmore went off
at a dead run toward the sound of the bugle, with the boys looking after
him and snickering. But he didn't come back at roll-call, nor at tattoo,
and the smart Alecks begun to get scared, and abuse each other for
setting up a job on a poor, innocent little boy. Osc Brewster and Ol
Perry, who had been foremost in the trick had a fight as to which had
been to blame. Taps come, and he didn't get back, and then we all became
scared. I'd sent Jim Hunter over to Brigade Headquarters to look for
him, but he came back, and said they hadn't seen anything of him there.
Then I turned out the whole company to look for him. Of course, them
too-awfully smart galoots of Co. A had to get very funny over our
trouble. They asked why we didn't get the right kind of nurses for our
company, that wouldn't let the members stray out of their sight? Why
we didn't call the children in when the chickens went to roost, undress
'em, and tuck 'em in their little beds, and sing to 'em after they'd
said 'Now I lay me down to sleep?' I stood it all until that big,
hulking Pete Nasmith came down with a camp-kettle, which he was making
ring like a bell, as he yelled out, 'Child lost! Child lost!' Behind
him was Tub Rawlings singing, 'Empty's the cradle, baby's gone.' Then I
pulled off my blouse and slung it into my tent, and told 'em there went
my chevrons, and I was simply Scott Ralston, and able to lick any man in
Co. A. One o' their Lieutenants came out and ordered them back to their
quarters, and I deployed the company in a skirmish-line, and started 'em
through the brush toward Brigade Headquarters. About three-quarters o'
the way Osc Brewster and Ol Perry, when going through a thicket, heard
a boy boo-hooing. They made their way to him, and there was little
Skidmore sitting on a stump, completely confused and fagged out. He'd
lost his way, and the more he tried to find it the worse he got turned
around. They called out to him, and he blubbered out: 'Yes, it's me;
little Pete Skidmore. Them doddurned fools in my company 've lost me,
just as I've bin tellin' 'em right along they would,