Free Once an Eagle by Anton Myrer Page B

okay, son. You take those exams. And I’ll be rooting for you.” He went back inside and closed the door.
    Standing by the desk and looking down into the girl’s resentful face, answering her questions, Sam could hear voices and laughter from the private office. He had his chance! The chance he needed. You couldn’t keep a good man down, as they said. But even then you needed a shot of luck. He stole a glance at his watch: he still had nine minutes to make the train.

3
    The wind came up again and the dust lifted, swirling in baby twisters across the diamond from first to third; and Sam Damon put his glove to the side of his face. When it cleared again Sergeant Kintzelman, known to his intimates as Jumbo, went into his ponderous, pumping motion, rocked and threw. The batter, a corporal named Hassolt, lashed at the pitch—the ball skipped like a dirty white pebble into right field, where Mason fielded it and threw in to second to hold the runner. There was a stir in the little knots of soldiers clustered along the foul lines and Sergeant Merrick, captain of the Company B team, coaching at third, began to holler: “Old Jumbo’s fading, he’s blowing sky-high …”
    Far away on the horizon there were mountains like great beasts: mountains a hundred miles away. But around them there were only plains. The post was a dreary little huddle of huts and barracks on a tiny rise beyond the ballfield. Turning his head, Sam Damon gazed at it, the lumpy adobe buildings, the flag snapping out straight from its staff, the drifting plume of dust made by a solitary horseman coming from Valverde. He still felt mildly astonished at the chain of events that had flung him down here at Fort Early, in this vast desertland on the edge of Mexico …
    He had gone back to Lincoln again a few weeks later and taken the entrance exams for West Point. He felt certain he’d passed; and when he’d come in from haying for Fritz Clausen and his mother had handed him the long envelope his heart had given the high, taut leap reserved for such momentous occasions. He had lowered his eyes.
    â€œIt’s a very important-looking letter,” Kitty Damon ventured shrewdly.
    â€œYeah,” Uncle Billy said. “I couldn’t help noticing the return address.”
    â€œThat’s bad manners, Billy.”
    â€œDo you think so? Maybe. Matt Bullen must be running scared if he’s out recruiting suckling babes. Ever since Wilson’s got in they’re terrified the bloody revolution’s on the way.”
    Sam sat down and opened the letter, ran his eye quickly along the lines. It was straight and to the point. He had passed the examinations with flying colors. The principal appointee had also passed, but he, Bullen, was pleased to inform Sam that he would definitely be named as principal appointee for the following year. He sent his warm regards.
    The following year. Sam folded the letter with care. After the interview with Bullen, the exams, the soaring sense of possibilities, of destiny unfurling, the delay was like a defeat; cruel, not to be borne. A full year to wait. But he let no trace of consternation or chagrin cross his face. If that was how it was, that was how it was. They were all watching him.
    â€œIt’s nothing,” he said calmly, and slipped the letter back into the envelope. “Just a little idea I had.”
    Uncle Billy laughed once. “Black Matt trying to turn you into one of his grubby ward heelers, is he? That why you’ve been running to Lincoln all the time?”
    That was the trouble with small towns: everybody knew everything about you; they knew when you used the privy and what for. Well, they wouldn’t find out if he could help it.
    â€œOh no,” he said easily. “No, it was a different matter entirely.” He smiled. “It just didn’t pan, that’s all.”
    â€œJesus, I hope not,” Billy Hanlon said. “It’d