Ambush by Luke; Short

broodingly, hearing a quick step at the far side of the quadrangle. He saw someone enter Troop barracks, and presently six more men turned out on the double, headed for the hay barns.
    A faint annoyance touched him. Was the officer of the day going to turn out the whole post to look for one drunken trooper? He thought of Lieutenant Tremaine with understanding and some compassion. The boy was new, in deep earnest, very young, unsure of himself, wanting ferociously to do his job well. Overzealous though he was, he would be a good officer some day. As for this absurd chore, his own men would punish him in their own small ways, until he was an officer they liked to serve under. He would make other mistakes a lot graver than this, and Brierly smiled into the night, remembering his own excesses as a new lieutenant.
    He was, suddenly, sleepy and tired. He had half pulled himself from his chair when he remembered his request to Tremaine to report to him when Riordan was found. Settling back in his chair, he drew out a fresh cigar.
    He had smoked it down, and yet another one, when his patience finally ended. Rising, he left the veranda, and turned back toward the stables. As soon as his view was clear, he saw a half-dozen lanterns down near the forage sheds, and he tramped in that direction. Tremaine’s crisp voice, answering Isaacs, was the only sound in the night: “All right, Sergeant, then move the sacks. Look alive, now!”
    Tremaine heard Brierly’s footsteps and turned. Unconsciously, he stiffened. “No luck yet, sir, but I’m positive he’s in the forage sheds.”
    â€œWhy are you?” Brierly asked dryly.
    â€œIf he’s drunk, he’ll want to sleep, sir. The softest stuff to sleep on is in here.”
    Brierly couldn’t resist asking, “Do you base that on personal experience, Mr. Tremaine?”
    Tremaine hesitated and then answered painfully, “Personal observation, sir.”
    â€œYou’re probably right. Still, we can’t keep the men awake all night. It seems to me the only danger is from fire.” He hesitated a moment. “Finish your search of this shed, and then dismiss the detail. Have the guard make a round of the stables and forage shed every quarterhour. Now, good night, Mr. Tremaine.”
    â€œYes, sir. Good night, sir,” Tremaine answered. Brierly turned and started back for the quadrangle. He was rounding the corner of the parade walk, when he glanced up at the dark veranda of the officer’s quarters. Lieutenant Storrow had a lamp lighted, and by its diffused light that filtered dimly through a window, Brierly saw a figure standing on the veranda. His incurious glance held the figure a moment, left it, and then, curiosity jogged, his glance returned. He thought he had distinctly seen the figure moving, but it was with a lurching unsteady stride. The thought occurred to him that one of his officers, with ho head for liquor, had not survived the dinner for Harcourt without trouble.
    He halted, watching, a deep disapproval gathering in him, and then moved up the gravel walk toward the figure. If one of his officers couldn’t carry his liquor, he had no business confessing it in public.
    Major Brierly was almost abreast the figure, which he could not identify, when he was heard; the man whirled, and at the same time Brierly heard the clatter of wood against the wall.
    â€œWho’s that?” Brierly asked sharply.
    There was no reply, and now Brierly stepped up onto the veranda. Suddenly, it came to him with the impact of a physical jolt. “Riordan?”
    No reply. Brierly turned and called, “Sergeant of the guard! On the double!” He turned back just in time to see the figure lurch away from the wall toward him. He was reaching for his pistol before he remembered his belt and pistol were looped over the back of the chair on his porch.
    He said sharply, “Steady now, soldier,” and then he saw the arms