There was little sleep in Fort Flint that night.
Now, Hogan wasn't much of a success as a garrison soldier, but when a
chance for a genuine fight presented itself, all the Irish blood in his
nature came to the surface, and after much pleading and begging, the
adjutant allowed him to join his company, detailing Jones of D Company
as operator in his stead. Jones wasn't as good an operator by far as
Denny, but in a pinch he could do the work, and besides, he had just
come out of the hospital and was unable to stand the rigors attendant
upon a winter campaign in Montana.
Denny went to the company quarters in high glee and soon had his kit all
packed. Some weeks before he had been out repairing the line and when he
returned to the post he had left a small pocket instrument and a few
feet of office wire in his haversack. He saw these things and was about
to remove them, when something impelled him to take them along. What
this was no one ever knew. Perhaps premonition.
The next morning just as the first dim shadows of early dawn stole over
the snow-clad earth, the gallant old 29th, five hundred strong, swung
out of Fort Flint, on its long tramp.
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