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Updated: June 15, 2025
Poor Crane was the victim of the final experiment, and it was his last attempt to be facetious for many a weary month. It was a snapping December morning, one of the Advent Sundays, Truscott was officer of the day, and Ray had escorted Mrs.
"It is not a question of her 'caring' for him as you say, Mrs. Turner," spoke up Mrs. Truscott, with unusual spirit. "He is my husband's warmest friend. We're all proud of him, all indignant at his treatment, and your language is simply incomprehensible!" Just didn't Mrs. Turner tell that interview with variations all over the garrison within twenty-four hours?
Tattoo was just sounding out on the parade, and the men could be seen flitting to and fro against the lights of the company barracks. They were standing at the little gate in front of his quarters, and two or three officers passed them. "Oh, Mr. Gleason, one moment," called Truscott. Gleason turned and approached them.
Grace Truscott had known her well by reputation, though this was their first meeting.
Verily, "In the midst of life we are in death." And Russell, too, has had its jubilee on a more extensive scale, for here are Webb and Truscott with their fine troops of horse, the band, the infantry companies, and a brace of old howitzers, with which they make the welkin ring. No tidings of any account have come from the front. The Gray Fox is puzzled at the situation.
H. Truscott. 9th Ward Percival Upton, John Martin. 10th Ward George Presley, Michael Crapser. 11th Ward Stephen Buhrer, Edward Russell. Mayor Herman M. Chapin. President of the Council Thomas Jones, Jr.
Truscott's soldier servant, an old cavalryman whose infirmities had made him glad, long since, to exchange the functions of a trooper for those of general messenger, bootblack, and scullion on better pay and rations. He had come in from the rear. He held out a note. "Mrs. Truscott said I was to find you at once, sir."
While waiting for Truscott's coming, the major could see that at the colonel's tent there was also excitement and a gathering of several officers. He had not long to wait. Truscott joined him in a few moments. "I called you here because it was where we could talk unobserved. What do you say to that?" And he handed him the despatch.
Truscott and Miss Sanford were just seating themselves at breakfast one bright morning, when Mrs. Stannard came rushing in all aglow with mingled excitement and emotion. "Hurrah for the Sanford colors!" she cried. "Read that! I cannot, I cannot!" And throwing them a long despatch, she astonished her next-door neighbors by fairly bursting into tears.
Another time, still farther in their past, and yet within a dozen years, away down the broad valley of the very stream of which this little Elk was a tributary, the Cheyennes had hemmed in and sorely hammered two depleted troops that owed their ultimate rescue to the daring of the very officer who so coolly, confidently headed the defence this day to a night ride through the Indian lines that nearly cost him his brave young life, but that brought Captain Truscott with a fresh and powerful troop sweeping in to their succor with the dawn.
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