Under Fire

by Charles King

  CHAPTER XIII.

  One of the first inquiries made by Mr. Davies was for Trooper Brannan."He is with the detachment up at the reservation," said Mr. Hastings."That's our Botany Bay. That's where Differs ships his bad eggs. Notthat Brannan was a bad egg, but that Differs so regarded him."

  "Had he been drinking or in any trouble?"

  "Well, not exactly trouble," said Hastings. "He didn't get along withone or two of the sergeants. They made frequent complaint of his 'lip,'and the old man seemed suspicious of him." Only one new hand or recruithad been selected to go to the agency with Boynton's detachment, andthat was Brannan. He was sent to replace Fogarty, who broke his leg,just about the time the other troops came. When Davies reported to histroop and battalion commander for duty, Captain Differs received himwith much grave dignity,--with a certain air in which majestic courtesywas mingled with that of forgiveness for injuries received, as though hewould say, "Let by-gones be by-gones. We'll make a fresh start, and inconsideration of your ills, inexperience, and the like, I'll try tooverlook your shortcomings in the field." Davies had never set eyes onhim from the moment of their parting at dusk that gloomy Dakota eveningto the northwest of the Springs,--from that evening to that of hisreturn. Totally ignorant of much that had taken place during hisillness, he was ready to serve his captain faithfully, even though hefelt that he could not like or trust him. They had but brief converse."Take all the time you need to get your quarters ready, Mr. Davies. Youand Hastings can divide the detail work of stables and roll-call betweenyou," said Devers. "Just remember we've got an infantry adjutant herewho's only too anxious to find fault and stir up trouble between us andthe post commander."

  Going into the troop office the day after his return, Davies wassurprised to see a dark-eyed, dark-haired, rather handsome youngsoldier at the clerk's desk. He recognized him as one of the recruitswhom he had brought out in July, but of whom he had seen very littleduring the campaign.

  "That's our new company clerk," said Hastings. "One of Differs's latestpets. There are better clerks and better men in the troop. He relieved abetter man when he sent Moran up to the agency. But what Devers isdriving at is past finding out. There's been a total shaking up sincethat--well, since the campaign."

  And that this was true Davies could see for himself. Never having knownthe troop, except in the field on the worst of campaigns, it took him afew days to become accustomed to the change. Some of the most prominentof the troop sergeants were still on duty with it, but in theirspick-and-span uniforms and clean-shaven cheeks and chins he found themgreatly altered. The first sergeant was the same, and the relationshipbetween him and the captain seemed closer than ever. Haney recognized nomiddleman in his dealings with the troop commander, and had long beenallowed to consider himself as of far more importance than a juniorlieutenant, a theory in which, perhaps, there was much to sustain him.The manner of this magnate to the two subalterns, therefore, was just atrifle independent. Two veteran corporals had stepped up to anadditional stripe vice Daly killed and McGrath missing in September.Some new corporals had been "made." None of those whom Davies best knewand most noticed during the summer were among them. He missed two orthree of the old hands and asked for them. Sergeant Lutz had gone tothe agency. Corporal O'Brien had been reduced for a spree on thehome-coming and was serving as private in Boynton's detachment, andPrivates Sercomb and Riley were up there, too. The resultant vacanciesin the troop had been filled by raw recruits who were beingenergetically licked into shape.

  When Cranston was asked why he supposed it had pleased Captain Devers tosend a recruit like Brannan up to the bleak and unwholesome life at theagency, Cranston replied by saying, "Differs said it was to keep him outof harm's way. Up there he couldn't get liquor, down here he could."When Davies asked if Brannan had shown a disposition to drink sincegetting back from the campaign, Cranston again used Devers's authority."Differs said he had,--two or three times." But when Cranston wrote toBoynton, Boynton replied that young Brannan declared that he had beentotally abstemious since the day after they reached the post. The day oftheir coming in, he arrived half frozen and all tired out, as he hadbeen kept back on wagon guard, and he was offered liquor by SergeantHaney himself, and drank several times, and was wretchedly ill all thenext day as a consequence,--so ill that it frightened him, and he sworeoff more solemnly than before. Hastings said, in fact, that there was aset in "A" troop, a clique that "stood in" with the first sergeant andsome of his favorites, and that no man outside of it could hope forrecognition and no one in it fear punishment. Brannan was not in it.

  It was a Wednesday night, as has been said, that Davies arrived, andnot until the following Wednesday could they be installed in theirquarters, which were being simply but prettily furnished. PrivateBarnickel had assumed the duties of striker, and Mrs. Maloney'sstrapping daughter Katty was now presiding in Boynton's kitchen as cookand maid-of-all-work. A tenant had been found for the old house at home,who was to pay a certain rental to Squire Quimby, which sum was to besupplemented by a monthly payment from his son-in-law's scanty purse."We must live very simply and economically, my wife," said Davies. "Atthe very least it will take me two whole years to pay principal andinterest and set us foot free; but we have few other debts. We can bewarm and comfortable. You have all the clothing you will be apt to needfor a good while, and I will get along with what I have." And Mira hadreceived the suggestion with all wifely grace. They went to chapeltogether that first crisp, sunshiny, wintry Sunday, and all FortScott--at least all that happened to be there assembled--remarked onAlmira's rich color--and furs--and on Davies's reverent manner. He wasthe only man in the little congregation who actually knelt. The oldchaplain rejoiced that afternoon when the tall lieutenant came in atSunday-school, and, taking immediate charge of the most turbulent of hisclasses,--the big boys,--held them both interested and respectful untilthe close of the session. Almira came too, and made an impression on thejuvenile minds of some of the laundresses' children, who studied herpretty face and new hat and garments with close attention; but it gaveher a headache and she would rather not go to the evening service, shesaid,--a service held more especially for the benefit of the soldiersand their families, and but sparsely attended otherwise. Davies went,however, and when he came home to their temporary quarters, foundAlmira, all animation, chatting with Mrs. Flight and Mrs. Darling, towhom she had been showing the contents of her big trunk. They werecalled for presently by Mr. Sanders and his classmate Jervis, both ofwhom had known the "Parson" in his cadet days, but from the somewhatimmeasurable altitude of a two years' start, yet they were the youngerlooking now, gay, debonair bachelors, pillars of the social gatheringsat the post and most delightful partners, and, having completed theirduties with tattoo roll-call, they were now in search of these reigningbelles and an opportunity to talk over the hop projected for the comingWednesday night. Of course Mrs. Davies would come, said Jervis, butSanders's warning kick brought him to consciousness. "At least Ihope--we all hope you'll very soon be able to attend our parties, Mrs.Davies. I suppose you've reformed the Parson and taught him to waltz."Mira looked at her husband, and she knew not just what to say.

  Davies smiled gravely and said no, he feared that he was too old andawkward to learn even at the Point, but that Mrs. Davies was very fondof dancing, and by and by, perhaps, they would attend. Then the chatflowed merrily on, of the lovely time that they had all enjoyed,--thatis, the garrison people had enjoyed all summer, and the pleasantassociations they had formed with the gentlemen from town, and how muchlovelier it would be now. And while they were talking, through the thinpartition which separated Mr. Boynton's official and personal quartersfrom those of Lieutenant and Adjutant Leonard there came the sound ofsacred music,--Mrs. Leonard at her piano, her clear, true voice blendingwith the deep resonant bass of her soldier husband and the sweet trebleof the children, and Davies stopped to listen. It was a hymn his fatherloved, one they often sang at the old church at home,--

  "Son of my soul, Thou Saviour dear.
"

  It brought sweet and sacred memories. It spoke of home and holyinfluences, of mother love and father's blessing and children's hope andfaith. It filled his heart with reverence and his eyes with tears. Thebabble and chat for an instant were silenced, and then Mrs. Darlingspoke.

  "The worst of these army quarters is that you can hear just what's goingon next door; but," she added, cheerfully, "you'll soon be where youwon't be bothered on one side, at least."

  Sanders gave a queer, quick glance at the speaker and then at Davies.Jervis plunged into an immediate rhapsody on the subject of Mrs.Leonard's children, whom he declared to be the best little beggars heever knew, unless it was Cranston's. "Of course," he added,diplomatically, "I can safely praise them in your presence, ladies, asyou have none of your own."

  Then conversation languished, for Davies was silent and Mrs. Daviesuninspired. The visitors left and went laughing down the row, their gayvoices ringing in the frosty air.

  "How long had they been here, dear?" asked Davies as he returned to thefireside.

  "The ladies? Oh, I don't know. Quite a little while. They were sointerested in everything,--so friendly. I quite forgot my headache whilethey were here. Now it seems to be coming on again, and if you don'tmind I think I won't sit up,--unless somebody else is coming."

  "There will hardly be any more callers to-night," he answered, gravely."If your head aches you might be better for going early to bed, and Iwill sit here and read awhile."

  But the wandering thoughts refused to be chained to the page before him.His heart was full and vaguely troubled. "I shall be better for a turnin the cold air," he thought, and so, throwing his cape over hisshoulders, he quietly left the house.

  It was just after ten, a still, sparkling winter's night. Across thesnowy level of the parade the long rows of wooden barracks lay dark andsilent, no lights burning except in the window of some company office orfirst sergeant's room. Those were the days of "early to bed and early torise," and every man was supposed to be sleeping by ten so as to be upand doing stable duty--or nothing--at dawn. Officers and ladies, theprivileged class of the army, made their own regulations as to domestichours of retiring. The enlisted man slept or was supposed to sleep "byorder." Mr. Davies, finding it essential to his comfort to sally forthand imbibe free air, had no one to say him nay,--Mrs. Davies havingretired,--and might wander the live-long night about the post at will.Trooper Blaney or Private Rentz, on the contrary, might toss for hourson sleepless pillow, and could only grin and bear it. It meant so manydollars "blind," or such other punishment as a court-martial mightinflict to a soldier caught out of barracks after the sound of thesignal to extinguish lights.

  Already, in the quarters of his next-door neighbor, the adjutant, theparlor was darkened, and except for the studious head of the family, nowporing over some precious volume in the privacy of his den, thehousehold had gone aloft. Davies paused a moment, irresolute. To hisright the walk extended only a short distance. There were but two morehouses. To his left lay the main length of the line,--the colonel's, thesurgeon's, the cavalry commander's, and most of the captains'.Cranston's roof, however, was one of the two to the right, and thitherDavies turned. Dim lights were burning in the little army parlor, as hecould see through the half-drawn curtain. A shadow flitted across thedormer window above him,--Mrs. Cranston's. The other windows in theupper floor were dark. He wanted to go in and commune with Cranston, theman of all others whom he most liked, but he shrank from ringing theirbell at so late an hour. Elsewhere along the row many a window wasbrilliantly illuminated and the social life of the post seemed in fullflow. The Cranstons were home-keeping folk as a rule, "not at allsociable," said some of the dames of the Fortieth, and yet they werehighly regarded throughout the garrison.

  Except for a mere bow, as they were going to morning service, he had notmet Mrs. Cranston or Miss Loomis since the dinner of Thursdayevening,--the evening of Almira's provincial display of endearments, forbetween Katty and Striker Barnickel they had been enabled to breakfastat Boynton's quarters, and had lunched and dined elsewhere among themany hospitably disposed throughout the garrison. Davies wanted to seeand talk with the captain, but to-night he shrank unaccountably frommeeting either of the ladies. It is under such circumstances that many aman finds Fate unkind. Even as he stood there the hall door flew openand a bright beam from the astral lamp within shot athwart the road. Ablithe voice called back in answer to some presumable remonstrance."What nonsense, Margaret! I can run over there as well as not and beback in a moment." The door closed, and muffled in her long fur-linedcloak, Miss Loomis was at the gate. "Why! Mr. Davies!" she exclaimed insurprise.

  "I was just wondering whether I might venture to ring and ask for thecaptain," he hesitatingly said. "I wanted very much to see him."

  "Captain Cranston is out. That is how it happens that _I_ am going out,"she spoke, with prompt and cheery tone. "Old Sergeant Fritz is very lowto-night, and you'll find the captain there," and she indicated the wayto the married men's quarters over to the southwest. "I have to run overto the hospital, for Louis's cough is very troublesome, and we happenedto be entirely out of medicine."

  "Well, my talk with the captain can wait, Miss Loomis. Let me be yourorderly for to-night. What can I get for you?"

  "Indeed you shall not!" she answered, with quick decision. "I'maccustomed to doing my own errands. Good-night." And with that sheturned independently away to where the dim lights in the hospitalglimmered at the eastward.

  "Then your ex-patient may at least trot along as escort," said he, aspromptly placing himself by her side and, army fashion, tendering hisarm.

  "No, thank you," she answered, resolutely muffling her cloak about herand rebelling against the rising impulse of vexation, "I do not needsupport, and indeed, Mr. Davies, I need no escort. I'm quite accustomedto going about the post by myself. I--I would very much rather you wenton to see Captain Cranston, as was your intention."

  "And I would very much rather walk with you to the hospital," heanswered, with calm decision. "Come."

  She had stopped as though striving to dismiss him from her side, but heignored her wishes entirely. His lips were curving into something verylike a smile of amusement, and it nettled her.

  "To be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Davies, I wish now that I had madea reconnoissance before venturing out so boldly. If there is anything Ihate it is this idea of burdening a man with escort duty. Just as thoughone needed to be guarded at every step. It is the dependence of thething I despise,--a dependence that is entirely forced upon us."

  "Well, so long as the escort is not forced upon you, I hope you willnot despise it. I am going with you because, as it's after taps, you mayneed help in rousing the steward. He was up all last night, I'm told,with Fritz, and may be abed now."

  And so her protests, not her scruples, were silenced. Down the row theyrapidly walked, under the sparkling heavens, through the keen,exhilarating air of the wintry prairie, passing, door by door, thequarters of the officers of the garrison, some still brightly lighted,others dark and silent. She was talking fast and with a nervous impulseas they hurried by the colonel's, the broad portals of whose officialresidence were just then thrown open to admit another party to join thelittle circle sure every evening to be surrounding Mrs. Stone, andwelcoming voices and laughter floated out on the night. The momentbefore they passed the gate whence he had issued forth barely threeminutes earlier. The hall light burned low as he left it, the parlorshades were down. Almira presumably was nursing her headache in thesanctity of the chamber at the rear. Boynton's upper story was occupiedby a junior subaltern of the Fortieth, who was believed to sleep thereat odd hours, but was generally to be found almost anywhere else.

  "Mrs. Davies looked so well to-day," remarked Miss Loomis. "I hope shefinds her welcome pleasant."

  "She is very well, except for a headache that sent her early to bedto-night," he answered. "And her welcome from everybody has been mostkind and cordial, and from none more so than from Mrs. Cransto
n andyourself. You are always adding to the obligations I am under."

  "I shall quarrel with you some day if you talk of obligations, Mr.Davies. But I'm so sorry to hear of her headache," she went on, quickly,as though to prevent argument on the point. "The chapel does get veryhot and stuffy by evening service. Ought they not to air it afterSunday-school?"

  "It would be a good plan. But my wife did not go to-night. Her headachebegan earlier in the day. I thought the close atmosphere of the chapelwould only increase it and so counselled her remaining home."

  He remembered, however, that he had counselled her going early to bed,but found her engrossed in her volatile callers on his return. It wasall very natural. Upon spirits like Almira's, communion with such gayand frothy natures acted like champagne. He was trying to believe he wasglad she could be so readily benefited. The houses grew darker as theyapproached the east end. Even the hall lamp was extinguished at Devers'squarters, though there were lights aloft. Devers had a storm-door,another instance of his individuality, as even the colonel's quarterswere not so embellished. It was a perfectly still night, not a whiff ofwind astir, and yet Davies could have sworn the storm-door swung slowlyopen a foot or so as they neared the gate, then suddenly shut to. Whatwas more, he felt that his companion had seen and noted the samecircumstance, for she drew an instant closer to his side, then asquickly seemed to recollect herself and edged away.

  Davies looked back over his shoulder. So certain was he that thestorm-door had been opened and closed by some unseen hand within thewooden casing that he would have turned to investigate, but for hiscompanion. He could not well leave her. They had now reached the eastend, right in front of the set of quarters which were so soon to be hisown. The hospital loomed up dark and massive across an open space twohundred yards away. Only a narrow foot-path had been cleared from theend of the sidewalk to the main entrance of the big building. He had notthought to put on his over-shoes, and so, letting Miss Loomis lead,Davies fell behind. Now that they were away from ear-shot of thequarters their talk languished. Davies at least was thinking of thatmysterious door and wondering if he should not have looked into thematter then and there. Now it was too late. If some garrison prowlerwere the cause, he had doubtless by this time taken alarm and slippedaway; if Captain Devers or any of his household were the "power behind,"then it was none of Davies's business. Hurrying up the creaking,snapping steps of the hospital, they found the office-door locked. "Imore than suspected you would need me," said Davies. "Will you wait onemoment?" He tiptoed away through the long corridor, found the drowsyattendant in the big ward, and learned that the steward had gone to hislittle home in Sudstown, but would return in five minutes. It was nearerfifteen when he came, and meantime Miss Loomis and her escort seatedthemselves in the warm corridor and chatted in low tone as befitted thetime and place. In one of the little wards a suffering soldier wasmoaning, evidently in penance for recent spree, and weakly imploringdrink of a stolid nurse.

  "Don't make a fellow mad with misery," they heard him plead. "You knowwhere to get it. You know it's worse than hell to have to choke offshort."

  "Of course I do," was the brutal answer. "If I'd never knew it before,I'd learned it that night on the train when you could have sent me helpand wouldn't."

  "My God, Paine! you asked me to steal from the captain's flask. I simplyask for what's my own----"

  But the voice was suddenly hushed, for, springing to his feet, Mr.Davies hurried to the door. "Who is this--who have you here?" he asked."You--you? Brannan!"

  And then, as a slender, graceful, womanly shape came noiselessly in andappeared by the lieutenant's side, quivering, shaking in an agony ofshame and misery and nervousness, the lonely patient threw himself overtowards the wall, and burying his distorted face in his arms, burst intoa passion of tears, the attendant meantime slinking out into the hall.

  "Come back here, my man," ordered Davies, in low, stern voice, whileMiss Loomis, without one instant of hesitation, threw off her cloak,drew a chair to the bedside, and laid her soft white hand upon thetumbled head of the wretched boy. Unwillingly, sullenly, the man obeyed.

  "You are Paine, of 'A' troop, are you not?"

  "Yes, sir. And the captain's orders and the doctor's were that heshouldn't have a drop."

  "Never mind that. When did he get here? How did he come?"

  "COME BACK HERE, MY MAN."

  Page 180.]

  "With the mail-carrier this morning, from the agency, sir, and he'd beendrinking on the way and got to going harder as soon as he reached thepost. The captain ordered him confined and the doctor sent him here. Butmy orders was----"

  "Never mind your orders. What I want to know is, who detailed you, andwhen were you detailed for hospital duty?"

  "The captain sent me over, sir, after Brannan was taken in, and he'sbeen begging like that for a drink for an hour back."

  Meantime, with great sobs shaking his form, Brannan lay there saying noarticulate word. Miss Loomis gently drew an arm from underneath hishead. "Let me have your wrist, Brannan," she gently said. "You know yourold nurse of last summer, don't you?" And in another moment herpractised touch was on the sufferer's pulse. In silence Davies awaitedthe result. Her eyes filled with grave anxiety as she counted the feeblefluttering,--a mere shadow of the vigorous throb of a soldier's heart."This man ought not to be here--neglected," she murmured to Davies.Then, rising, she turned to the attendant. "Go at once to Dr. Burroughsand say that Miss Loomis asks him to come here as quick as he can."

  And Private Paine concluded it best to go without further words. Thesteward, returning to his post, was met at the steps by the youngcontract surgeon coming over from his corner on the run. A moment moreand the two stood in presence of the sufferer and of his nurse. Shesmiled kindly upon the new-comers. "I sent for you, doctor, because Iknew you had not been informed of Brannan's state. His pulse----" andhere she lowered her voice so that only Burroughs and Davies couldhear,--"is so thin and wiry as to be almost gone. My father would say heneeded stimulant at once, and treatment later. See for yourself."

  And the daughter of the well-known and beloved old army surgeon knew herground and never faltered. Burroughs made brief examination and noremonstrance. In another minute the steward was administering brandy andwater in a tablespoon while, anxious to re-establish himself, the youngdoctor was explaining. "I had no previous knowledge of the case," hestammered. "Captain Devers told me of the man's arrival and downfall,and I ordered him into hospital at his request, and,--yes,--I did say nostimulants of any kind. The captain so urged, and of course that wouldbe the customary mode of treatment in most cases, but in a case likethis, of course, had I been aware----"

  "Oh, certainly," she interposed, with the same gracious smile andmanner. "It was because I knew you hadn't been made aware. Now we'llsoon be able to make him comfortable, and then when he's on his feetagain he can tell us how it all happened." Again her white hand was laidupon the haggard forehead. "Courage, Brannan. Don't worry. We'll get youto sleep presently. Now, doctor, I want to send some medicine and a noteto Mrs. Cranston. With your permission I mean to stay here a while."

  "I will be your messenger, Miss Loomis," said Davies, "as the attendantdoesn't seem to have returned, and then I can let Mrs. Davies know thatI shall come here again, myself."

  As he sped along the row, note and medicine phial in hand, Davies wassurprised to see his captain's storm-door wide open and a light shiningthrough the transom within. A light was moving through the parlor, too,but Davies paid no further heed, left the note and medicine in Mrs.Cranston's hands with brief explanatory word, then hurried back toBoynton's quarters. He had turned down the light when he went out forhis walk and had left his wife in the darkness of her room, trying,presumably, to go to sleep. He found the lights turned on again, andAlmira, a heavy shawl bundled about her shoulders, sitting with white,scared face, trembling and twitching, at the big coal base-burner inwhat was called the parlor.

  "Why, Mira!" he cried. "What has happened? Are you
ill?" And he bentover as though to fold her in his arms, but she shrank away.

  "Don't!" she cried. "I was frightened. You--you were gone so long. Ithought you'd never come back." Then to his utter amaze she burst into awild fit of hysterical weeping. "Oh, take me away,--take me away fromthis dreadful place, or I shall die,--I shall die!"