Marion Marlowe in Salt Lake City — page 18: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

16 MY QUEEN. as ever, only their real lives-were lived in” secret. If they could only induce her to accept their faith, or, better, to fall in love with the handsome elder! There was some- thing else in their minds, but neither spoke it. They intended to seal -the young girl’s lips in such a manner that she would be glad to hide in whatever shelter they chose to offer her. But the beautiful young girl knew noth- ing of their plots, and her laugh -ripppled out merrily as she danced and chatted. It was a great night at the garrison, and discipline was almost forgotten. There were a few pretty drills of mili- tary manceuvres sandwiched in between, the dances, and, during one of these, Marion - and her escort escaped from the heated bal!- room. Her escort placed a wrap over Mar- ions’ head and shoulders, and, tegether, they strolled,out toward the parade ground for some fresh air. & It was a very dark night, with only,a few stars visible, but the air was mild and the scene about the barracks was fascinat- _ ing to her eyes, for it was the New England girl’s first visit to a military encampment. She was leaning upon the arm of a par- ticularly attractive officer and, as they re- traced their steps toward the drill-room, one of the sentries saluted him. Her escort excused himself and stepped to one side. There were a few low sen- tences which Marion did not catch, then the words “escaped from the guard-house”’ fell upon her ears, and, in-an instant, her face paled with instinctive terror. “Go at once, if you are needed! Don’t mind mel” -she cried, quickly, as the officer turned toward her. She was only a few steps from one of the entrances to the ball-room, so there was nothing to harm her and, with a word of regret, the gallant officer darted in polite the direction of the guard-house. “Oh, LT hope it indians who have escaped and not the serge ant,’ the young girl to herself; then she stopped at the low step le: ading up to the brightly lighted doorway. the blast of a bugle and the is the ' whispered There was clang of a bell. Marion caught her breath with a thrill of horror. The fire alarm of the aay had been sounded! CHAPTER VIII. THE EXPLOSION. As Marion stood like a statue, she could hear the rapid orders of the colonel and the measured tread of the soldiers passing out of the drill-room by another exit. There were more bugle calls and more orders from | all points of the camp; then a great blaze of light suddenly illumined the barracks. Some one had taken advantage of the festivi- ties to wreak vengeance upon the camp, and she felt instinctively that it was the brutal sergeant. 7 It did not once occur to her to re-enter the ball-room, whefe the rest of the guests were waiting in breathless horror. The scene from where she stood was too thrilling for that, for the fire was throwing | a weird glare over the low buildihgs and the soldiers were darting here and there, like so many shadows. It was a long, low wooden building which was enveloped in flames, and the brave fighters were trying to keep it from spreading, for there were hundreds of guests who must be protected. Sentries sprang up like magic at every coi- ner of the ground, and their slow, deliber- ate steps and monotonous voices sounded strange enough when compared with the sharp orders of the officers and the rapid tread. of the busy soldiers. Suddenly Marion thought of Alma and the rest of her party. She must go in at once or they would be apt to miss-her. The glare was a little less now, and she could hear the streams of water hissing and splut- tering, but, as she turned at last to the door, Bert appeared beside her. “Marion! ‘Thank the stars! I’ve found you!” cried Bert. “I’ve chased all over this blooming place! Been halted by no end of sentries, and nearly plugged full of holes, — but here you are at last, and I might have known it. Of course, you'd have to be owt to see what was going on! Why, the rest of the women are in there crying like ba- hies!”’ | Eomichbooks.com