The Rushers by J. T. Edson

the moccasins.
    ‘You’re sure that’s who you are, mister?’ asked Dusty savagely. ‘You’re not some trail-end town mac blacksmithing on the calico cats?’
    Gilbey frowned. He did not stop to wonder where a desk warmer from the east, like this Dandy van Druten, might know such terms as mac for pimp, blacksmithing used to describe pimp’s living on the earnings of a calico cat, or prostitute. All he knew was he’d been insulted.
    ‘Here, easy—!’ he began.
    ‘Easy, mister!’ roared Dusty in a tone which took Gilbey back to the days where he was a raw plebe at the West Point. It slammed a brace into his shoulders and warned him that, no matter what he’d heard of Dandy van Druten, this man would stand for no laxness in military etiquette. ‘Have you forgotten your training. You salute a senior officer and you address him as sir. Why are you out of uniform?’
    ‘No excuse, sir.’
    While leaving a lot unexplained the reply was the only one Gilbey could make under the circumstances. His instincts and good sense warned him not to state truthfully that he had been taking advantage of his temporary position as post commander to relax. He’d been in command ever since Major Lingley died and suddenly he saw how he’d missed his chance. This was not entirely true. He’d known a new post commander would be along and tried to hold things together. On hearing Dandy van Druten would be the next commander he let things slip, for he knew the other would never acknowledge his junior officers’ ability lest it detract from his own record.
    Gilbey stood rigid at a brace with the cold unfriendly eyes on his face. A thought puzzled him, something about Dandy van Druten, yet he could not tie it. It came almost as a relief when Dusty spoke again, although one might term it the relief at having a sore throat after toothache.
    ‘Perhaps a week as officer of the day might remind you of your duties, mister,’ Dusty snapped. ‘You will report in uniform, with the other officers, to my office in fifteen minutes. In uniform, mister!’
    With that Dusty took Dandy van Druten’s watch from his tunic pocket and looked at it, closed the case and walked out of the room. For a long moment Gilbey stood and watched the open door. Then slowly he wiped his brows. The point of that glance taken at the watch did not escape Gilbey. Fifteen minutes he had and if he took more he’d wish he did not.
    ‘Wow!’ he gasped, heading for the next room. ‘That Dandy van Druten’s a mean one. But, by all that’s holy, he’s a soldier and he’ll shake the battalion together one way or another.’
    In the next room Second-Lieutenant Farrow slept in peace, a slim, wiry and cheery youngster. He jerked erect as Gilbey shook him, gasping out a demand to know what all the excitement was for.
    ‘He’s here,’ Gilbey answered. ‘We’ve got fifteen minutes to get into number one uniform and report to his office. Where’s Card?’
    ‘Took Joanna for a ride to see if they could scare up a mess of fool-hens,’ answered Farrow.
    Gilbey clasped a hand to his forehead. ‘No!’ he groaned. ‘I’ll never get off officer of the day.’
    Before Farrow could ask questions which boiled in his mind Gilbey dashed back to his own room and started to dig out his best field uniform. Farrow came to the door.
    ‘Hey, what’s all the fuss?’
    ‘The fuss, Jimmy boy,’ snapped Gilbey, ‘is that Captain van Druten wants to see us in his office in about eleven minutes and I for one don’t aim to be late or untidy. Now get the hell out of here and leave me to change.’
    Farrow turned, scratched his head. Then he realized what Gilbey had said. If Frank Gilbey was jumping like a flea on a griddle it would be as well to hop to the music. He dashed into his own room and jerked open his foot-locker ready to change.
    Even in the short time since entering the officers’ quarters Dusty found a change in the square. Hogan acted as he would if Dusty really commanded