by Charles King
CHAPTER XXXIII.
All manner of men were gathered at the station of the Union Pacific inOmaha that August morning. Some of the members of the court, thusunexpectedly absolved from a disagreeable duty, had obtained brief leaveof absence and were going to spend a few days in the East beforereturning to their commands. They were there to take the train. Othershad come to see them off; others, like Truman and Leonard, to welcomethe coming witnesses. Far up into the fastnesses of the Big Horn hadgone the couriers from the frontier forts, bearing brief orders that hadcome by telegraph, and even Winthrop's command, having an almost idyllictime of it hunting and fishing in the mountains, was required to yieldup some of its officers and men at the beck of the law. A long ride hadthese fellows to Fetterman and thence over the Medicine Bow to RockSprings. Davies was of this party, but Cranston and Corporal Brannan hada ride still longer. The bulk of the army of witnesses, oddly enough,was marshalled by Lieutenant Archer at the field hospital at Pawnee, andthis distinguished young staff officer was coming "with blood in hiseye," as wrathful a man as lived and swore in army blue that long,eventful summer. To think that he who so prided himself on plainscraftshould have been so utterly hoodwinked by Captain Differs, of all men,was worse to him than gall and wormwood, but he came now fairly snappingwith righteous indignation, fresh from another study of the famous fieldover which he rode with the last man to part with Lieutenant Davies thenight of the tragedy of Antelope Springs,--Devers's long-missingsergeant, McGrath.
Separated from his young officer in the gathering darkness by theeagerly searching Indians, detected by them and shot through the leg, hehad taken refuge in a ravine until dawn, and then the cries of thecoyotes had attracted him to the scene of the massacre, and the sight ofhis mutilated comrades had unmanned him utterly. Feeling sure theIndians were still in the neighborhood, he had determined that if seenhe would adopt the plan told him by an old scout long monthsbefore,--that of feigning insanity and boldly seeking their company.Indians regard the insane as specially guarded by the Great Spirit andlook upon them with superstitious fear, but McGrath little dreamed hownarrow would become the border between the real and the feigned. Fleeingin dismay from the sight of his slaughtered comrades, he had followedthe ravine to the timbered valley, lurked there two days and nights inconstant fear and nervous dread and suffering, and finally swooned fromexhaustion. When he waked with sudden, awful start, two Indian faceswere bending over him. Then he had fallen into the hands of the foe atlast.
But he was in better luck than he had dared to dream. They were of apeaceful band, wanderers from the fold of Red Cloud who had sought thelower valley for peace and protection. They had a hunting lodge and ledhim thither, and their squaws gave him food and ministered to him asbest they knew how in the mad fever that followed. McGrath neverrealized how long he was ill, but when he came to himself it was bittercold and he was living somehow among these strange people,--a smallvillage of them in the heart of the Bad Lands. Not for months did herecover strength. Not until May did he try to ride or walk beyond thelimits of their camp. They were poor; they had no spare ponies, and theymade him understand he was many, many "sleeps" from his friends withhordes of marauding hostiles intervening, and so induced him to remainwith them in hiding until the rebellious tribes were driven from thereservations and Red Dog himself fled to their fastness. Then again hadMcGrath to remain in hiding, secreted by his humble friends, and therehe lay when Winthrop's bugles sounded the charge and his own old troopcame dashing in. He was so worn, ragged, and changed that he haddifficulty in making even "A" Troop know him, but, once they did, theirjoy was boundless, for McGrath was a popular man, and the meetingbetween him and Davies was something long to be remembered, for eachbelieved the other dead. Then, as the wounded were led back to the Skaand he recovered strength and was happy in seeing his Indian protectorslavishly fed, clothed, and rewarded, he began to talk of the events ofthe campaign of the previous summer and to inquire why the captain wasaway now; and then Hastings and Archer took him in hand, and later poorstricken Haney, conscious of the approaching end, begged to see him, andthen came Haney's broken confession. No wonder Hastings and Archer wereconfident they had Differs "done for" now.
These, the wounded and convalescent, were still at Pawnee hospitalawaiting telegraphic summons from the judge-advocate, but Archer wasalready on the ground, and Cranston and Davies and others, reunited,presumably, the previous morning at Rock Springs Station, were due atOmaha by this very train for which all hands were waiting. So wasanother principal witness, who, however, might decline to testifybecause of the danger of self-incrimination. The detectives sent toButte the previous day went too late. Langston's trailers were ahead ofthem, and deserter Howard, in irons, was being forwarded under chargeof a corporal of infantry from Ransom, arrested two days before in arestaurant at Butte.
"Verily," said Truman, "there is quite a batch of interesting evidencetrundling over the Union Pacific to-day," and this was before he hadread that significant despatch from Scott.
But when he read and had pondered over it a moment, the captain suddenlyleft the company of his fellows and strode away after Leonard, nowgloomily pacing the platform a dozen yards away.
"Man alive!" said he, "if they left last night what could they do buttake this train?"
Leonard nodded, darkly. Then again, after a moment's silence, Trumanspoke.
"Could he have been so mad, do you think, as not to have thought ofthat,--of some one being on that train?"
"No one at the fort knew. How was he to suspect when up to yesterday weall supposed Davies would come down the Yellowstone."
Truman shuddered. "She ought to be in now," said he. "Just think of thetragedy there may have been."
The train was late,--half an hour late, said the official at thetrain-despatcher's office. No, there hadn't been any accident orexcitement up the road that he'd heard of. He really didn't know whatcaused it. Did she reach and leave Braska on time? Yes, the delayoccurred this morning somewhere,--began after leaving Kearney.
Then there had been no excitement, no tragedy farther up the road. Therewas comfort in that, said Truman. But there had been a sensation at oldFort Scott, such as these counsellors little dreamed of.
For a brief time after their return from the cantonment Mrs. Davies andher new friend, Mrs. Plodder, had kept house together. In those dayswhen so many of our officers were almost constantly in the field, itbecame quite the thing for some of the ladies left at the garrisons toclub together, share expenses, and thereby economize. Old No. 12 wasstill at Mira's service, but she couldn't bear the house, she said, andso the ladies moved their furniture into an abandoned bachelor den nextto Flight's, and for a few days all went merrily. Then there came aservants' squabble, and their cook differed with Mrs. Flight'smaid-of-all-work, and, refusing arbitration, was impudent to heremployers. Mrs. Plodder was an Amazon in whom there was no weakness. Shedischarged the cook and sent her back to Braska. Then they "messed" withMrs. Flight, and about this time the hops began and the visits from townand the drives, and Mrs. Plodder presently conceived it to be her dutyto remonstrate with Mira, who wept and stormed, and after a time, asWillett's visits began to grow frequent, Mrs. Plodder said she would notremain under the same roof with Mira, and moved over and kept house withMrs. Darling. The Cranston household had gone East some time beforethis, and, as Mira could not bear the chaplain's worthy wife, and Mrs.Stone had become estranged, and Mrs. Darling, with Mrs. Plodder, haddecided that she was openly encouraging Mr. Willett's devotions and toldher so, and as Mrs. Leonard held aloof from them, one and all, it mustbe admitted that the poor brainless child was restricted in her choiceof friends and intimates. Davies had had but brief time in which to giveher instructions, and there is no use in setting forth their purport. Heasked Mrs. Cranston, if a possible thing, to give his wife the benefitof her experience and aid her in any way Mira might need, and Margaretwarmly assured him that she was ready at any time and glad to be of anyand every service to Mrs. Davies
, but even in so saying she felt wellassured that there was little hope of being of use. What made the matterworse was that this summer Congress adjourned without making provisionfor the pay of the army, even while expecting it to perform rather morethan its customary functions; but here Cranston stepped in and insistedon placing at Mrs. Davies's disposal a certain sum in Courtenay's bankat Braska. Davies could return it when Uncle Sam resumed payment, and soMira had been provided with a check-book and taught its use. She was, atleast, to have no financial anxieties. The regiment had to remain longin the field and the Cranstons went home, as Davies expected and hadadvised that Mira go with them to Chicago. Even if her people could notmake her welcome at Urbana, she could board there with former friends inperfect comfort, and be ready to rejoin him by and by. Many and many anarmy wife and mother had similarly to live a Bedouin life that summer.One cavalry regiment, the --th, for instance, was scattered fromCheyenne to Chicago, facing riotous mobs one month and chasing Indiansall over the upper Yellowstone the next. One thing Davies firmly yetgently strove to impress upon Mira,--that her intimates at Scott werenot at all the women with whom a poor and debt-burdened officer's wifeshould foregather. He begged her to be guided by Mrs. Cranston and Mrs.Leonard, and wrote a brief line to the chaplain, commending Mira to hiscare, and then he had to go.
But once back at Scott, where she could sport the lovely toilets withwhich her hopeful aunt had supplied her, Mira went the way of theempty-headed. Admiration, adulation were to her as the breath of life.So long as she was perfectly innocent of wrong intent how couldpeople--how dare people rebuke her? She told Willett the horrid thingsMrs. Darling, Mrs. Plodder, and Mrs. Stone were reported to have said,and he replied that it was all because they envied her her beauty andwere jealous of the attentions she won. She almost told him what thechaplain said, but that sent the burning blushes to her forehead, yetshe dreaded what the old soldier of the cross might have written to herhusband. She knew he would surely condemn the renewal of her associationwith Mr. Willett, but so long as he wasn't there to say so, and so longas she intended the association to be purely platonic, as a rebuke toall who had rebuked her, she proposed to assume that no objectionexisted.
The news that he had been sent for and was coming in as a witness inCaptain Devers's court startled her inexpressibly, despite her consciousrectitude. She told Willett that very evening, as they were drivingslowly among the willow-wooded islands, and he looked imploringly intoher eyes, and Mrs. Flight and Mr. Burtis on the back seat could see thathe was talking eagerly, earnestly, pleadingly, and that her eyes weredowncast, her cheeks aflame, and still they did not take alarm. "She'stoo much in love with herself and her own good looks ever to do thatfoolish thing," said Mrs. Flight to those who asked her why she didn'twarn her. Willett himself, so Burtis afterwards declared, had said inanswer to some friendly words of remonstrance on the Sunday nightpreceding the meeting of the court, that the girl was as heartless andcold as a stone. No one need worry on her account. It was plain toBurtis that the young fellow was well-nigh insane about her, and he hadsent a letter ten days before to Langston urging him to come and lookafter his kinsman; but Langston was far away at the time and never knewthat Willett had quit the sea-shore and gone back to the charmer inmid-continent,--never knew, indeed no one ever knew until too late, thatit was she herself who baited the line that drew him there.
There was a gathering at the post on Tuesday evening and all the fewsociety men were out from Braska. The ladies, in their summer toilets,sat on the verandas and told one another and their visitors from townhow dreadful it was to be so long bereft of their husbands andprotectors, and Mrs. Flight and Mrs. Darling said they wished with alltheir hearts the court had called some witnesses from the infantry.Surely they knew as much about the matter as some of the cavalry who hadbeen summoned. There was Mrs. Davies who could expect her husband withinthe week, while it might be months before they set eyes on theirs. Theyseemed to take comfort in harping on this theme for Willett's benefit,He sat near Mira's side, as she reclined languidly in her wicker chair,his eyes glowing, his hands and lips twitching at times, listening andoccasionally addressing low-toned, eager words to her. "Mr. Davies willhave finished his testimony by Thursday at the latest," said Mrs.Flight, decisively; "I heard Mrs. Leonard say so to the chaplainto-day," and here she glanced meaningly at Mira; "so what's to preventhis being here early Friday morning? I know I'd let no grass grow undermy feet."
And Mira could only say she surely hoped so, but she couldn't tell. Thelast letter from him was away up near the mouth of Powder Riversomewhere, and he thought then they mightn't be home before November;but she was plainly unwilling to discuss the matter, and with evidentrelief took Willett's arm when the musicians presently were heard tuningup at the hop-room.
But it was noticed then how flushed and excited she looked, how quicklyshe seemed to tire of the dance and went out on the veranda for coolerair, and presently they were missed and were gone from the room the restof the evening, so that the hop broke up early, and the anxious womenhurrying homeward were incensed to find her in a dark, vine-coveredcorner of the veranda of the quarters, Willett in close attendance. "Ididn't feel like dancing," was her sole explanation. "I begged Mr.Willett to go back to you, but he wouldn't." And Burtis, later, had toshout angrily for him before he could get him into the wagon and off fortown.
She slept that night in the room adjoining Mrs. Flight's, and slept butlittle, said that lady later. She seemed ablaze with nervous excitementand utterly unlike her usual self,--placid and satisfied except whensubjected to reproof. She had gone thither right after the departure ofthe men and shut her would-be mentor out. Mrs. Flight afterwardsdeclared she saw the coming catastrophe and was determined to avert itif a possible thing, but Mira said she had a dreadful headache andwouldn't talk. Mrs. Flight, considering that she had a duty to perform,began, however, from outside. The result was a quarrel and Mira'sannouncement from behind the door that she would not speak to Mrs.Flight again. When Wednesday came she refused to leave her room. It hadbeen arranged that three of the ladies were to drive to town with thesole cavalier left at the post, a lieutenant of the Fortieth, and Mirawas one of them, but they supposed she had abandoned the plan. To thesurprise of everybody she appeared, satchel in hand, arrayed in sobertravelling garb, and asked the driver of the ambulance to help theirservant bring out her trunk, and took her seat in the Concord while itwas being tossed into the boot. It was Mrs. Darling who ventured to askwhat it meant, and Mira calmly explained. She had determined to go andmeet her husband in Omaha. They were amazed, yet what could they do orsay? It was after luncheon-time and she merely urged that they shoulddrive rapidly so as to get her to the bank before it closed, and thenshe left them, saying she would remain at the hotel at the station untilher train arrived. It was due soon after midnight.
Before returning to the post the others, Mrs. Darling and Mrs. Plodder,called upon Mira at the hotel, for they were oppressed with strangefears. They strove to remonstrate with her, pointed out that Mr. Davieswould be with her in three days. Mira said it might not be for a week.Well, wasn't it unusual for a lady to be going alone? Not at all. Shewould sleep all the evening in her room, and the landlord would placeher in charge of the conductor. Surely Mrs. Plodder had come from Omahaalone. That was different, said Mrs. Plodder, in rueful recognition ofthe fact that a plain woman is exempted from annoyances which a beautyhas to suffer, yet would suffer indefinitely rather than be plain. "But,_dear_ Mrs. Davies, is it not very expensive?" said Mrs. Darling. "Notwhen I have passes all the way to Chicago," said Mira. So they had toreturn to the fort at dusk, though Mrs. Plodder did suggest staying allnight and seeing her off. They had not set eyes on Willett. They bothentertained, though neither expressed, a hope that he was not to be ofthe party. They asked for Willett casually when they met Mr. Burtis.Burtis said with perfect truth that he was out at the ranch, that he hadhoped to be here to meet the ladies, but was called out by urgentbusiness.
It was dark, and t
hey were tired, hungry, and worried when they got backto the post, and the lieutenant on escort found the ladies strangelypreoccupied and silent. The first thing on reaching home was to go insearch of the chaplain. As a devoted friend of Mr. Davies he should beinformed of this odd freak of Mira's, and, if there were any grounds fortheir fears, there was still time to avert what would bring such awfulscandal about their social circle. They assumed that they were comingback with sensational news, forgetful of the fact that garrison servantshelped pack Mira's trunk, and garrison eyes had seen it start with herfor town. The chaplain's wife knew all about it before two o'clock, andthe chaplain would have known it, too, had he not been long miles awayat the death-bed of an old soldier turned cow-boy. Not until after theeast-bound train was whistling far down the valley and the dawn was inthe sky did an inkling reach him. Somebody said he thought the least Mr.Willett could have done was to come over and see how his best "puncher"was getting on, and somebody else replied, in low tone, that any onecould see Willett had no thoughts for anything or anybody outside ofFort Scott, whereupon somebody Number 1 replied that Willett had been athis "shack" most of the afternoon, packing some things and burningothers, and had taken the midnight train at Duncan Switch, ten mileswest of Braska.
And even while the news of his going was bringing strange comfort to thegood old man, who rejoiced that this wolf in the sheepfold was eventemporarily out of the way, there came a messenger from the distant postand a packet was handed in for him. Some letters and a note from hiswife.
"Expecting you home during the evening, I did not send these, but theymay be important. Mrs. Davies suddenly made up her mind to go to Omahathis afternoon, and was to take the night train at Braska." Here theother letters dropped to the floor, and the reader's eyes filled withsudden consternation and dismay. Not until his ambulance had beenhitched and brought to the door did he cease his restless pacing to andfro. Kneeling a brief moment at the bedside of the unconscious andfast-failing sufferer, he bade his fellows hurried adieu and drove withspeed to town, a long eight miles. It was then broad daylight, but hestirred up the sleepy telegraph operator and asked about wiring afterthe train. "Grand Island's the place to catch 'em," said the operator."They breakfast there at seven." And the chaplain flushed and glancedkeenly at the man. Why should he speak of catching anybody or anything?Was all the valley already aware of this shameful flight? The hotelstood not a stone's throw away. There must be no unnecessary scandalabout this business. He needed to see the proprietor, and roused him,too. Boniface came down anything but smiling, yet thawed a trifle atsight of the man whom all Nebraska seemed to know and swear by.Certainly, Mrs. Davies spent the evening at the hotel in her room, andhe put her aboard the sleeper at 12.20, the moment the train came in. Hehad wired to Pawnee and secured her section and checked her trunk toOmaha. She had her tickets, she said. Was Mr. Davies aboard or--anybodyelse to meet her? Not that the landlord knew of. The porter showed herin and said her section was ready. Everybody else was sound asleep,apparently, but there were some soldiers in the forward cars. Some ofthem got out and had a cup of coffee at the stand, and "piled aboard asshe pulled out." They had a prisoner, a deserter, in manacles. Then thechaplain wired to Duncan Switch, and the answer came that Mr. Willettleft there, bound for Omaha, at midnight, and then he wired theconductor of the train at Grand Island, and later to Leonard at Omaha,then sat him down to wait and watch and pray.
The sleeping-car, said the conductor afterwards, was fuller than usualthat night. Some officers got aboard at Rock Springs, and sat up quitelate, chatting with others who had boarded them at Butte and Pawnee.There were five officers in all. One of them, who had not taken a berth,went forward about ten o'clock and made a "roost" in the day car. Theconductor heard the others talking about it, and how the lieutenantwould never spend an unnecessary cent, and some of them thought he wasfoolish, and others said he was right, and they respected him for it.These gentlemen slept late, saying they would rather breakfast afterthey got to Omaha. The lady who came aboard at Braska was the first oneup in the morning. She was astir with the sun, and came back from thedressing-room as soon as the porter had made up her section, looking asfresh and fair as the day. Presently a gentleman joined her,--a man hehad often seen on the road,--who travelled, as most cattlemen did inthose days, with a pass, and who boarded them at Duncan Switch, and wentat once to his berth. He seemed very much surprised to meet the lady,but sat down and talked with her until we whistled for Grand Island, andthere, said the conductor, "as I bustled off the train, the operatorhanded me a despatch just at same minute that the brakeman came to tellme we had a cracked wheel on the smoker. One look at the wheel told methat the car must be left behind, so I ordered out the passengers whileanother car was being put on."
But the telegram took more than one look. It puzzled him, said theconductor. It was sent by the chaplain, a man he knew well, and in briefwords it said, "The lady in Section 7 is the wife of Lieutenant Davies,Eleventh Cavalry. She needs escort to Omaha, where Lieutenant Leonardwill meet her. If any army officer is aboard, show him this andintroduce him. She should not leave the train."
"Now, there were officers on the car, but they were not yet up,"continued the official. "Of course I supposed at once that she must beout of her mind, and that was the trouble. Just at that moment I caughtsight of the young lieutenant who had spent the night in the forwardcar. He was a tall, slender fellow, with thick, close-cropped brownbeard and clear blue eyes, and he had got that poor devil of a prisonerand his guard together, and was fetching them back along the track tothe coffee-stand that happened to be right opposite where the sleeperstopped. 'Will you read this, and see if you know what to make of it?'said I, handing him the despatch, and then, as he stopped to read, mybrakeman asked me some question, and I turned around to answer, andthere, just stepping off the Pullman, was Mr. Willett, looking back andgiving his hand to the lady herself. The handcuffed prisoner was justopposite them at the moment, between two soldiers, and then the nextthing I knew I heard an awful scream, and the lady had covered her facewith her hands and fallen back on the steps, right at the feet of anofficer who was just coming out, and the prisoner thought he saw achance, perhaps, and gave a spring and dove like a rat under the car,the guard clumsily following, and Mr. Willett stared about him oneinstant, with a face that turned the color of chalk, then he too gave asort of stifled exclamation, 'My God!' and sprang up the steps and overthe platform of the day-car and was out of sight in the flash of an eye.We heard shouts of 'Halt, halt, or we fire!' from the guards on theother side of the car, and then two quick shots a little distance away,and another wail or cry from the lady, and then I felt some one brush byme, and the lieutenant sprang to her side, lifted her in his arms as hereached the steps, and carried her, without a word, into the car by anopen window, where she cowered and sobbed and shivered and moaned, andhe all the time bending over and striving to soothe and calm her."
But when that train drew up at the station at Omaha an ambulancereceived the bleeding, pain-distorted form of the prisoner Howard, shotthrough the leg in his mad effort to escape. Leonard and Truman,scanning every face as the passengers stepped off the cars, waved theirhands in greeting to the knot of officers on the sleeper platform, andLeonard sprang aboard, inquiry in his snapping black eyes. They made waysilently for him to enter, and then he knew not whether to believe hissenses.
"Leonard," said Davies, quietly, "my wife came on to surprise me atOmaha, not expecting me this way. I supposed she'd already come in withthe Cranstons. She was hardly well enough for the journey. Will youkindly order a carriage?"
She was driven away in the very dust of the ambulance that was trundlingone poor wounded fellow to hospital, the conductor lamenting that awoman so young and lovely should be thus afflicted. No one else aboardthat train could dream from Davies's words or manner that any otherexplanation for her coming existed than that she was simply hastening toOmaha to meet him.
But no claimant appeared for the handsome leather bag and ha
t-box andumbrella left in Section 10.
A few days later when the witnesses were scattering back to theirstations, or going on brief leaves of absence before so doing, Cranstontook his soldierly-looking corporal, the recruit of the previous year,to gladden the eyes of the mother so eagerly awaiting him in Chicago;but before starting they had been summoned to the hospital where Howardlay, where "Brannan" formally, though still with sorrow and reluctance,identified him as Powlett. Leonard was there with the leatherwriting-case and its contents, at sight of which Brannan's last barrierof compunction fell, and Davies stood by the bedside, looking pale,haggard, and ten years older, and Colonel Rand, the inspector of thedepartment, and another sad-faced fellow, Langston. And Archer wasthere, and Hastings, when Sergeant Haney's formal confession was read.There was little sensation over it. Everybody seemed to know just aboutwhat it would be. He said nothing to directly accuse Captain Devers ofconspiracy, but Haney had been his first sergeant for five years, andthe devious ways of his troop commander had necessitated the existenceof a right bower who could swear straight and strong to what the captainthought should be established. They got to know each other thoroughly,and each lived in mortal dread of some betrayal on the other's part.There was a squad of six or eight men in the troop which practically"ran things," and Haney was its head. For years these men had triumphedover all efforts to break their line, just as Devers had baffled thosewhich would have cornered him, but they could see plainly that thecaptain was nearing the end of his "tether," and his downfall meanttheirs. The catastrophe of Antelope Springs brought matters to a climax.Half the men in the troop heard Major Warren's orders to Devers, and allknew he had slighted if not disobeyed them. This, if proved, meant ruinto the ring, and the plan to shift the blame on Davies's shoulders,--tomake the investigating officer believe the troop had marched right downalong the ridge within supporting distance, and that Davies had becometerror-stricken and had hidden instead of instantly communicating withhis captain, was the result. Devers, indeed, boldly announced that ashis theory and explanation of the whole affair, and Haney, Finucane,Boyd, and the intelligent Howard were there ready to swear to it andsave the captain the trouble. So long as Davies and McGrath never turnedup to combat the accusation all would go well. The captain didn't tellthem in so many words they must swear to the ridge trail as the one theypursued the evening of the tragedy, but he did not oppose it. He askedthem for their recollection of the matter and made his map, as did Mr.Archer his report, accordingly.
Then when it was found that Recruit Brannan as well as certain old handsresented the idea of Mr. Davies being held accountable, they had tomuzzle him. Brannan declared he would warn the lieutenant the moment hereturned to the troop, so they made up their minds that he must bediscredited, if not ruined. Howard said that there was in hiswriting-case a sealed packet that contained evidence that would send himto State's prison and "kill" him in the lieutenant's eyes; and this,indeed, was no idle threat, for Powlett, fearing detection if he eithersold or kept the watch he had torn from Davies's pocket after thecowardly assault, had sealed it in one package and tied Mira's gushingletters in another, and long before had induced the unsuspecting boy topromise to keep and guard them for him as a sacred trust. Only as a lastresort, said Haney, were they to exhibit the proofs of Brannan'sapparent criminality. Meantime, by sending him to the agency or temptinghim with liquor they hoped to keep him harmless.
But Howard soon began striking for leadership. He held the secrets ofhis captain and two of his sergeants and was safely out of the troublesthat involved him at home. (He had been wise enough to confide these tono one and to make poor Brannan swear to preserve his secret.) He wasbeginning to hear from relations and receive money from them. He beganto put on airs over everybody, captain and all, and though Haney hated,and was jealous of his influence, he dared not offend him. They knew itwas he who was seen prowling about Davies's quarters, but they could notaccount for it, and strove to make it appear that Brannan was theculprit. And then he began "sparking" Robideau's daughter in town, andhad become moody, nervous, excitable; talked about mysterious spies andtrailers, and then, suddenly and unaccountably, deserted after a spreein Braska that had cost him much money,--after a mad scrape in which hehad terrified Mrs. Davies and thrashed Mr. Willett. Who he was or whathe was Sergeant Haney didn't know, but that he was a villain with ahistory and a capacity for further devilment was certain. Haney hadstill more to tell. The captain had sent for him and told him of theadjutant's being in conference with the chaplain and Mr. Davies, and hefelt sure it was about the Antelope Springs matter. He was sure they hadhis map, the one on which Archer based his report, and that this wouldsome day be brought up in evidence against him. It was locked for thenight in the second drawer of the adjutant's desk, said he, and Haneyunderstood. The drawer was chiselled that night and the map and paperstaken, but not until the robbery was known all over the post did thecaptain see the map and see that it wasn't his original at all, butsimply a copy. Except for information obtained in the memoranda, theyhad robbed the desk to no purpose.
Howard was gone before this, but there was Brannan's writing-case inHaney's possession, why not throw further suspicion upon him? and sothere were the papers hidden in the hopes of further damning him shouldhe ever appear as a witness against them. For all this and much more thepoor dying sinner craved forgiveness, and, hearing promptly of theconfession, through Finucane, who had fled with horse, equipments, andeverything, Howard, in hiding and in want at Butte, wired to hiscaptain, hoping to extract more money, for Devers had been a thrifty,and was regarded a wealthy, man.
And then when this confession had been made known to the woundedsufferer the chaplain spoke. "You see the case that is building upagainst you, Powlett, and just as soon as you are able to sit or standthe court will meet for your trial. You have assault with intent tokill, at Bluff Siding if not at Urbana, highway robbery, theft,desertion, conspiracy, and kindred crimes to answer for; would it not beinfinitely better that you should confess fully and at once? Even themen whom you have so bitterly wronged join in no clamor against--theywould even spare--you."
But Powlett was a villain game, and answered only with a sneer. It wasthat packet of Mira's letters handed to Davies with his father's watchthat supplemented Brannan's story and told him all. Mira could not livewithout adorers, could not resist the longing to flaunt her victims inthe faces of other girls, and Powlett was a conquest indeed until hisrascality at the institute became known. Then he had to flee, but suchwas his infatuation that he returned in hopes of seeing her. She didmeet him in secret, for it was sweet to see his despair. She refused tomeet him again, however, and then he charged her with faithlessness anddemanded to be told the truth about Davies. If that fellow reappeared asher lover he swore to kill him, and then she bade him go and never seeher more, with the result already known. And at Bluff Siding in thecrowd and confusion he might have killed Davies but for Brannan'swatchful eye and warding hand. That was the last pound that broke theback of Brannan's feeling of friendship and gratitude. He would no moreof Powlett, yet remained true to his pledge of secrecy. Mira's dream ofjoy and triumph as an army bride met its first rude shock when, underher window at Scott, she heard stealthy footsteps and the soft, lowwhistling of a familiar air, the signal with which he used to summon herto their trysting-place at home. The mad fool thought either to recoverhis ascendency over her or revenge himself by tormenting, and then, whenher husband was sent to the agency and he saw opportunity of meeting andterrorizing her, he was infuriated with new jealousy by her flirtationwith Willett. Even there at Scott he must have written and made furtherthreats, for the freshest and newest of the precious collection of herletters found in "Brannan's" case referred to something of the kind.Driven to desperation, she wrote that she would expose him to herhusband and Captain Cranston if he again presumed to address her, andfinally wrote this last:
"My husband will be here within forty-eight hours and I have fullyresolved to confess all to him: that you, who ma
de the cowardly assaultand left him for dead at Urbana, and have been guilty of such abominablecrimes, are here, in this garrison, a soldier in his troop. If youremain it is at your peril. On my knees I swear it." And with thismelodramatic conclusion Mira had really frightened him. He had senseenough to know that, with all the other complications in which he wasinvolved, this exposure was more than he could stand. He made otherefforts to see and plead with her, but they were fruitless, and his ownmelodramatic _coup_,--his last appearance, as he supposed, before hereyes, then followed. After that, desertion.
Davies read but two of these missives, the first and the last. Herestored them to her without a word. She was lying in the seclusion ofher shaded room at the hotel when he returned from the hospital, thechaplain with him. They spoke few words together on the way, and partedon the corridor, near her door, for there Davies turned and faced hisfriend.
"And you must go back to Scott to-night, sir?"
"Yes." The chaplain was still grasping his hand and looking into thesad, stern face with anxiety and tenderness and unspoken longing in hiseyes. "I will see to all you have charged me with." He placed his otherhand upon the broad shoulder before him. "My son, though I never met, Iknew, your father, and that told me what to look for in you." And nowthe rich, deep voice was tremulous, and the kind old eyes were dim withunshed tears. "The hand of the Lord has been laid in heaviness upon you,but 'those whom He loveth He chasteneth.' Even could I lift the burdenof your sorrow as easily as I raise this hand, I should falter, because,as I believe in God, so do I believe that through trial even such asthis your light shall yet shine before men so pure and strong that menthemselves shall be purer and stronger because of it."
There was a moment's pause. Davies stood with bowed head. Cranston,coming into the hall-way, stopped at sight of them and tiptoed back,motioning to others to wait. Then the chaplain spoke again,--
"You will write--as soon as--you have decided?"
"I have decided," was the low, calm answer.
"And----?"
"Yes, we go to-night. She is not too ill to move, and once at Urbana--noone need know."
"Do you mean----?" began the chaplain.
"I mean," said Davies, looking calmly and with dry, tired eyes into thechaplain's face, "that she is utterly alone in the world,--homeless,friendless. Who knows but that her story may be true, despiteindications? What would be her fate if I were to fail her now? It was'for better, for worse,' chaplain. I have tried to do my duty in thepast. God help me to do it to the end."
The tears were running down the old clergyman's face when, around thecorner, he came suddenly on Cranston and his friends, and they seemed tounderstand.
* * * * *
There was a new post commander at Scott when the first snows fell thatwinter, for honest Pegleg had retired and Leonard had a colonel afterhis own heart, and the Fortieth sang songs of praise when the campaignwas over, and moved into quarters and renewed acquaintances with theirfamilies and "assurances" with the Eleventh when they happened to meetalong the Union Pacific, and said they sorely missed them at the post,as probably they did, but the Eleventh didn't care to go back. It wastoo near civilization, said Truman. Tintop had his warriors under hisown wing after the close of the fighting season, and they were havinggrand times at Ransom. There this winter were most of the familiar namesand faces. The Cranstons, Trumans, and Hays, Boynton, Hastings, andSanders, battle-scarred heroes, most of them, and dozens of others inthe congenial circle; but Margaret Cranston sorely missed her boys, whowere big enough now to be at school, and far too big to be stayingaround garrison. She missed, too, their fair teacher and her friend, butAgatha Loomis firmly told her she had decided not to return to thefrontier now that she no longer had her pupils. To the unspeakableindignation and grief of her cousin, she had chosen what Margaret termed"a life of drudgery" as a teacher in Mrs. Forester's seminary for youngladies, only a few miles out of Chicago. Even there had Langstonfollowed, but in vain. That, however, was a subject on which Margarethad promised to dilate no more. She had done her best, she said, forAgatha. She had striven to aid and abet this distinguished and worthygentleman in his suit. She thought the difference of some twenty-fiveyears between his age and her cousin's a feeble consideration as againsthis sterling worth and wealth. Agatha owned that she respected andesteemed him highly,--looked up to him, in fact,--but as a maid oftwenty looks up to the man of forty-five. She did not love and thereforewould not marry him. The whole regiment seemed to feel for him, but hecame to them no more. He was East again, and seeking resignation in theone safe solace, hard and constant work.
But the Davieses, where were they? Time and again was that questionasked. He hurried back for the grand chase they had in September whenChief Joseph made his memorable rush cross continent. He left Mira atUrbana installed in lodgings near her father's home. He went back to herin December when the troops returned, and then came orders announcingthat Lieutenant Percy Davies, Eleventh Cavalry, was detailed ontemporary duty at division head-quarters. It was at this time that AuntAlmira urgently offered him and her pretty niece, his wife, thehospitality of her home, begging that he, her boy's friend andfellow-soldier and admiration, should bring her and be their guest inChicago as long as they could possibly stay, and Aunt Almira was amazedat the refusal, grateful, gentle, courteous though it was in every way.Mira, junior, had been devoted to society when there before, was itpossible she had so soon tired of it all? Davies had some topographicalwork to do, it soon transpired, for the lieutenant-general wantedcertain maps made of the Bad Lands traversed during the campaigns of thetwo years, and the Gray Fox recommended the silent, observant younggraduate, whose field-notes had proved so accurate and complete. Notoftener than once a week did Davies go in to consult the chief engineerat head-quarters. The work he did in quiet at Urbana, and it mightdetain him several months. Aunt Almira thought it really strange that hecould succeed in it at all. She was sure that the descriptions her boyhad given of the Bad Lands were so vividly accurate that he must knowthem even better than did her nephew-in-law, the lieutenant. She askedher husband if it did not seem almost as though Davies might be afraidto have her lambkin take any part in it lest it should rob the officerof the credit, but that hard-headed old railway-man thought not. Heshared her gratification in the wonderfully improved appearance of theboy, and secretly marvelled at his apparent reformation. He had severaltalks with him, gave her for him abundant money, so that on his homevisit he might dress as became his mother's son and enjoy himself like agentleman. He expected him to turn up speedily somewhere on a tremendousdrunk, and was rejoiced and surprised that he did not. Aunt Almira hadplanned a grand dinner to which should be bidden the general and staff,the Cranstons and others, all in honor of the home-coming of theirfellow-soldier, her son, and was utterly bewildered and crestfallen whenthe latter laughingly told her to go ahead with the dinner, but counthim out; corporals didn't dine with their generals and captains, despitethe teachings of the modern military drama. The mother indignantlyprotested. The son was firm. If her boy, said she, wasn't good enough tosit at table with the President of the United States then she wasn't. Ifthat was the result of his joining the cavalry, the sooner he resignedand quit the better, and then he saw the indignant tears and teased nomore, but took her in his arms and soothed and strove to explain. Soothehe could, but explain he could not. She gave up the dinner until afterhe had gone back to his regiment, for go he would, as he meant to be asergeant inside of two years, and when she found that the soledifference between sergeant and corporal in our blessedly democraticservice was simply half an inch or so more of stripe on his trousers,and brought him no nearer the commission and little farther from therank and file, she marvelled that the Department of War could be soslow to appreciate a soldier ready to do so much for so little. Go backto "C" Troop he would and did, and was proud of it, and her husbandcomforted her by saying "Bran" was a man at last.
But if the Eleventh heard but little of the Davieses
for a time, theyhad abundant news of Devers, and much comfort did he seem to find insending to them stacks of local papers, and in writing long,argumentative letters in which he sought to convince his readers that hewas a wronged and injured man. When Trooper Howard came up for the trialwhich resulted in his going in irons for a five years' tour in prison,an effort was made to get Devers before the court as a witness, and a_subpoena duces tecum_ was duly served upon him in his far distanthome within sight of the sounding sea, but it did not fetch him. Deversexplained that as a civilian he had no interest in the proceedings andcould not be required to obey the mandate of a purely military court, aview in which the judiciary of the great republic, ever steadfast in theprinciple that military must be subservient to the civil power,virtually sustained him. It was perfectly competent for a court-martialto summon a civilian witness, said the bench, but it had no recourse incase the civilian treated both court and summons with contempt, andDevers's fellow-citizens in the far East, headed by the editor of the_Mooselemeguntic Mirror_, congratulated their returned hero on thespirited and just rebuke he had administered to a satrapy which shouldhave no place among an enlightened people. Indeed, the _Mirror's_interviews and editorials were both full of brilliant mendacity justnow. Devers's story was in every issue, more or less of it, and WestPoint jealousy was the theme of many a paragraphic fling. Brilliant,daring, conspicuous as had been Devers's services during the civil warand on the wild frontier, he had never succeeded in winning recognition,owing to the persistent calumnies of his seniors, who, graduates of thegreat national charity school on the Hudson, were leagued to down anyman whose ability, dash, and daring made him the object of their narrowjealousy and the victim of their inordinate greed. After years ofpatient service, loyal and dutiful, their distinguished fellow-citizen,said the _Mirror_, had been relieved from his command on trumped-upcharges, and, though he pleaded hard to be allowed to go with them inany capacity, even as an humble trooper in the ranks, his company tookthe field on the late campaign without him, and, deprived of theservices of their beloved captain, met with grievous and irreparabledisaster. Even then his enemies were not silenced. The faithful soldierswho clamored for the restoration of their captain were driven to deathor desertion. He himself begged to be confronted with his accusers, butmet denial, delay, and deceit at every hand. One pretext after anotherwas resorted to in postponing the meeting of the court, and at last,worn out with long struggle against prejudice, injustice, and organizedenmity, he had thrown up his commission in a thankless service andreturned to the welcoming arms of his fellow-citizens. The _Mirror_, inwhich Devers had a controlling interest, inquired whether the time hadnot come for the recall of the amiable fossil then misrepresenting thedistrict in Congress, and the unanimous election of Colonel Devers ashis successor. The governor, needing the support of the _Mirror_ in acoming campaign, gladly availed himself of the opportunity of rewardinga war-tried veteran, and named the returning soldier an aide-de-campwith the rank of colonel on his staff, and humble subalterns ofartillery from the two-battery post at the entrance of MooselemegunticBay looked with awe upon the future military committeeman of the --thCongress, yet were charmed with his affability at the governor's ball,where his new uniform fitted him better than did those of his associateaides, and where the artillerymen heard things confirmatory of theirconvictions that their comrades of the cavalry really had no idea how tofight Indians. Devers was on the high-road to fame and Congress, andmight indeed have made successful run had the election occurred withinfour months after his return, but four months was too long for him tolive without differing, and little by little the _Mirror_ became dimmedand Devers's image faded out of public sight.
Only once did it revive, and that was when, several years after, all ona sudden there appeared in the columns of the army paper notice that abill had been introduced in Congress providing for the restoration tothe army, with the rank he would have held had he remained continuouslyin the cavalry service, of Jared B. Devers, formerly captain EleventhCavalry, who had tendered his resignation some years before owing todisagreements with certain officers representing the West Point element,which was hostile to him, and friends in Washington warned the Elevenththat old Differs had strong political backing.
And then did the Eleventh arise in its wrath. Good old Tintop had beengathered to his fathers by that time. Riggs was rusting out of activeservice, Pegleg was buried and Mrs. Pegleg was married again,--alieutenant this time; but there was no lack of men to remember how hehad managed by political influence at Washington to secure theacceptance of his resignation the moment he saw how surely, if broughtto trial, the case would go against him, and the Eleventh published amemorial, signed by almost every surviving officer who was with it inthe old days. The bill if passed would make Devers a major well up onthe list, for Warren was now lieutenant-colonel of the --th, Trumanmajor of the Fourth, Cranston senior captain, Boynton and Hastings werejunior troop commanders, Sanders a senior first and regimentalquartermaster. All these and other names appeared attached to theremonstrance, and that bill was never even reported in committee. It waslearned that in the course of some years of differing with his businessassociates, the gentle Devers, though still a colonel on his nativeheath, had nearly wrecked the "Mirror" and his fortune with it, and sobethought him of this scheme of restoration to the army. Leonard was bythis time an assistant adjutant-general, and prompt to act. There was ajubilee at Ransom the evening after his despatch was received reportingarrival of the regimental protest and the remarks thereon by members ofthe military committee. The officers gathered in the club-room and dranklong life to Leonard and confusion to Devers, and then little Sanderstuned up his guitar and sang. He was just back from leave, and apopular lyric of the day was one they called "The Accent On," for thelast line of every verse was "with the accent on" some syllable of thelast word of the previous line. There was nothing especially poetic orrefined about the composition, but the newspapers were ringing thechanges on it. A popular comedian had sung and made much of it, and itscomposer had presumably made something if not much out of it, andSanders was sure of laughter and applause when he sang it at the"stags." One verse was of a man who came home in a maudlin state and hiswife remarked, "Well, you are beautiful. With the accent on the full."Another was of a man who wanted unlimited credit at a bar and was told,"I like not your arithmetic. With the accent on the tick." All very poorliterature, perhaps, but it amused, and this night after singing threeverses of the old song, Sanders "turned loose" on a verse of his ownwhich, when heard, the mess applauded and chorused to the echo, andbroke up singing again and again Sanders's telling hit in the last line:
We had a cap in our corps Who left us years ago, Who never said a manly word Nor struck a manly blow. He never faced when he could dodge, He only spoke to slur, And now he is a colonel, But the accent's on the cur.
And that was Devers's requiem in the Eleventh Horse as well as in thehouse of Congress. He never vexed them more.
One of the old names was lacking on the list that accompanied theremonstrance,--that of the man of whom, nearly a decade before, Devers"only spoke to slur." Lieutenant Davies would not sign. He was with theregiment too, but, just as of old, eschewed the club-room and allgatherings of the kind. They had taken the paper to him and he read,pondered, and said no. Gray it was, now captain of "I" Troop, with whichDavies was on duty as first lieutenant, who draughted the paper, andconfidently presented it to his subaltern. "Why not?" said he, insurprise. "No man ever did more to injure you except perhaps----" Andhere Gray broke off short in sudden confusion.
"Perhaps that is why I prefer not to be quoted against him," saidDavies, quietly. And mentally kicking himself, as he expressed it, formaking such a "break" as in his bungling half allusion to the exception,Gray hastened away to tell of it. His story came to unsympathetic ears.
"In my opinion," said Sanders, "if you mean that other fellow, he didn'tinjure Parson half as much as he hurt himself."
Tha
t, too, was an old story in the Eleventh by this time. Six longmonths was Davies absent from the regiment on his map-work at divisionhead-quarters. Then came the customary call to the field for anotherseason of scouting and campaigning, and he rejoined his troop, somewhatpallid and graver looking, the result probably of long days of toil overhis drawing board. He was only a few hours at Ransom before theymarched, but the ladies wanted to know all about Mrs. Davies and whatshe was to do in his absence. Mrs. Davies would remain at Urbana, saidhe, where her father and sister dwelt, and those were indeed hisinjunctions to her, and for a month after his departure she observedthem, then repaired to Chicago and Aunt Almira's roof. Davies by thistime was with his troop scouting near Yellowstone Park, far beyond reachof telegrams or letters. Society was unusually gay that summer. Therewas dancing, boating, dining, summer resorting, and one of the loveliestof summer resorts within an hour's run of the great city was ForestGlen, the seat of the famous seminary where Agatha Loomis was enjoyingthe quiet of her vacation, and one night, strolling with Mrs. Forresterover to the hotel to watch the dancers and hear the lovely music, shecame face to face in the soft moonlight with a couple so absorbed intheir conversation that not until they were actually brushing by didthey look up, and even Mrs. Forrester saw the sudden confusion anddismay in their faces. The man turned white and made a hurried movementas though to lift his hat. The woman flushed, almost angrily. MissLoomis bowed calmly and coldly and passed on without a word.
The next day, however, she called at the Glen House, where the twoAlmiras, aunt and niece, were spending the week, and asked for Mrs.Percy Davies. Mrs. Davies was out. Miss Loomis wrote a few words inpencil, slipped them into an envelope, sent that up, and the next daycalled again, and Mrs. Davies begged to be excused. Miss Loomis sadlywent home, penned a long letter to Mrs. Davies, and on the followingmorning sent it. In half an hour her messenger and note returned. Mrs.Davies had left for home that morning. Urbana was not far away, and twodays later Miss Loomis was there inquiring for Mrs. Davies on her nativeheath. She had not returned. She was visiting her aunt at Forest Glen,and then Agatha knew she had come too late. She had striven to prove tothe poor empty-headed, empty-hearted girl that she had at least onefriend. She had hoped to plead, to point out the right, and, ifpossible, save her from herself and the impending step, but all to nopurpose. Two years later, among the papers of her unhappy boy, asorrowing mother found two little notes written, like Beatrix Esmond's,to lure her lover on. One was dated Fort Scott in the summer of '77. "Weare desolate again with all our soldiers in the field, but we pray forhappier days. Have you no new waltz music for us?" And this reached himat the sea-shore. The second was posted on the railway and addressed tohis club in New York. "I am even more desolate than last year. Shall Inever hear from you again?" It contained a self-addressed envelope. Andthat was why her boy postponed until later in the summer the voyage hisphysician had advised, and why he lived apart from friends and kindred,in Paris most of the time, until the death of his wretched companionwithin a year of their flight. Then Langston, at his mother's prayer,went over and fetched him home. It had been a year soon given over torecrimination, bitter reproaches, and frequent and increasingestrangement. Willett was but the moody wreck of his old self whenrestored to the one faithful friend who clung to him as only motherswill, in spite of all.
The Eleventh was a thousand miles or so away the summer of poor Mira'sfinal escapade, and not until she was across the sea did the news reachher husband. She wrote a few words of farewell such as would be expectedof her. "You never loved me," she said, "never understood me, and inevery way I was made to feel that I was only a burden, only a doll. Youhave mured me here in prison, where I have no soul to sympathize withme, and I can bear it no longer. You will not miss me. Indeed, I knowtoo well how soon you will find solace, and where. Henceforth I dedicatemy life to one who adores me, whose soul responds to every thought ofmine. Adieu."
It was predicted about this time that Davies would resign, shootWillett, or study for the ministry. Many men thought that he bore hiswrongs so meekly that he had mistaken his calling. One man, a sergeant,said as much in Corporal Brannan's presence, and the result was a scenethat called for the intervention of the guard and the adjudication of acourt-martial. Brannan lost his chevrons, but gained an enthusiasticfriend and champion in Cranston, who sifted out the cause of thefight,--a matter scrupulously hidden from the court. Brannan went intothe Ute campaign the following year a sergeant, and out of the army withan Indian bullet through his arm and into his chest, where the doctorscouldn't find it. Little by little the doting mother at home began tolearn how very far away that longed-for commission might be. Her boyhimself flouted the idea. "I haven't the education," he said, "and wouldbe ill at ease and out of place among them." And so the magnate wassteadily importuned, and when at last the young fellow came home afterthe Milk River campaign, and generals like Sheridan and Crook praisedhis pluck and devotion, and the doctors said he simply couldn't go backto service, they got him his discharge,--a medal of honor camelater,--and presently in the long list of railway officials of the Q. R.and X. appeared his name as assistant general passenger agent, and for acouple of years the way that great corporation dealt out passes to thearmy was a matter that finally came up at directors' meeting and led toa preliminary to the Interstate Commerce Law of '87, and a restrictionof the powers of the assistant. But there was no longer any hitch in thematernal schemes for elaborate dinners to generals and staff. Theyenjoyed meeting "the sergeant," as he rejoiced in being called, as muchas he could wish, and if they did not quite look upon him as she did, asthe central figure, the one Prince Paramount of the late campaign, therewas at least warmth and cordiality and comradeship enough to gratifyeven a mother's heart.
But the Parson did not resign. He was away from the regiment again along month after Mira's flight, and again after her death, returningsuddenly on each occasion because of the imminence of Indian hostilitieswhich for a time seemed breaking out in new spots with every spring.Between Cranston and himself there was ever the same firm and steadfastfriendship. He sought no intimacies anywhere, but in the same calm,grave, consistent way he went about his duties in garrison, waking up tosomething like enthusiasm or excitement only when "on the trail." Forthree years after his brief absence in the summer of '79 he never lefthis troop a day. A wonderfully good drill officer was the Parson, with apowerful, ringing voice. "Make a splendid exhorter," said some of theboys. He was an accurate tactician, too, and a man who had the facultyof getting admirable results out of his command "without ever a cussword," said Truman, a thing which that old-time troop leader could notunderstand. Davies lived hours in the open air, but read and studiedmuch. Popular he was not, and never cared to be; but, honored andrespected by one and all and loved by little children, he went hisearnest way, and little by little Margaret Cranston found herselfleaning more and more upon his opinions as to the pursuits and studiesof her boys, and would sit with her needle-work listening to the longdiscussions between him and her husband, who read not much outside thepapers, and presently it got to be the established thing for the Parsonto read aloud to them when he came, and though Wilbur scandalized her bygoing to sleep and snoring on two occasions, he soon began to wake upand talk and discuss, and others, dropping in, either stayed to takepart in Cranston's impromptu lyceum or took their chatter elsewhere. Thesecond and third winters at old Laramie were some of the loveliest, saidMargaret afterwards, she ever knew, and Mr. Davies had become one ofthemselves. His promotion to "I" Troop and transfer to a different postwas nothing short of a domestic calamity.
But not until that promotion and transfer occurred--though who shall saythere was significance in the fact?--was Mrs. Cranston able to induceMiss Loomis to visit the frontier again. They were together all thesummer of '81, at the sea-shore with the boys, while Captain Cranstonand Davies and others were scorching on the plains, and Miss Loomisevidently needed rest and salt air and water. The next winter she gaveup her duties at the seminary and
joined the Cranstons on a trip downthe Mississippi, eventually returning with her cousin to Wyoming, forher health seemed to have suffered from the long confinement at theschool. Bob Gray, with "I" Troop, was away up at Fort McKinney then, butan important court met at the old station down on the Platte, and, asluck would have it, Lieutenant Davies was sent in as judge-advocate.
Just why Mrs. Cranston should have made no mention to Miss Loomis of hiscoming is a matter only a woman can explain, but she kept the matter toherself until the evening of his arrival. It was their first meeting infour years. The court was in session a month, and three evenings out offour Davies spent as of old at Cranston's fireside. Sanders suggestedthat the Parson seemed to be "taking notice" again. But Davies went backto his station and Miss Loomis went on about her daily avocations,reading aloud while Margaret's busy needle flew, or playing sweet oldmelodies at the piano. The young officers were rather afraid of her. Shewas "a somewhat superior old maid," said a youngster whom she had foundit expedient to repress. Some women declared her a trifleunapproachable, unsympathetic perhaps, but even that did not seem todisconcert her. Something happened ere long that did, however, for a fewmonths after adjournment of the court Davies reappeared at Laramie. Hehad actually taken a leave of absence, and now he was at Cranston's sixevenings out of seven, and garrison gossip began in good earnest. Wasthe Parson seeking solace where poor Mira always said he would? If so,he had little to build on by way of encouragement. The Cranstons missedhim sorely when he went back to Gray, and Miss Loomis frankly referredto him as "most instructive" and much broadened and improved. She missedhim as any one must miss so well-informed a companion. Four years beforeshe used to exasperate Margaret by standing up for him no matter what hedid; now she vexed her by refusing to see anything remarkable in himwhatever. Davies wrote with increasing frequency from Fort McKinney toMrs. Cranston, and Margaret always wanted to read the letters aloud,which was bad generalship in a would-be match-maker.
Then one day came the tidings that head-quarters and six troops were tobe stationed together, "C" and "I" among them, and Miss Loomis returnedto Chicago. "I'll never forgive you as long as I live," said Margaret."I know just why you won't stay, and you needn't have worriedyourself,--he's far too proud to importune a woman who won't listento--to reason."
But Mrs. Cranston meant love, not reason, and the two are miles oroceans apart. Mr. Davies might be too proud to worry a woman whocouldn't appreciate reason, but a woman worth the winning was worth thewooing, and not a little of it. Business called him to Urbana severaldays the following winter, and something kept him several weeks. Heresumed duty in the spring, steadfast as ever, but even less disposedto take part in garrison affairs. Mrs. Cranston wrote fiercely andfrequently to Agatha, and, for aught I know, called her opprobriousthings. For another year she refused to return to them. Then came awinter indeed of discontent, and the Eleventh was ordered to far away,burning, blistering Arizona, all but Cranston's troop, excepted at thelast moment and detailed for service at the School of Application.Agatha again came to stay with them, and here at last Margaret Cranstonlearned the momentous fact that, after all these years, something hadhappened: they were actually corresponding.
She learned more within the fortnight that followed. One exquisite Mayevening just as the sunset gun had fired and all the bordering walks andpiazzas were thronged with gayly-dressed groups, women and childrenmainly, watching the scene on the parade, there was some stir among theclerks and orderlies and a gentle movement over on the porch of thecolonel commanding. The long line of officers dispersed as usual atdismissal of parade, and Cranston came strolling over homeward chattingwith his friend and next-door neighbor, Captain Blake, of the --th.Blake's lovely wife was even then on Cranston's veranda, for she andMiss Loomis seemed to have taken a fancy to each other from the momentof their meeting. Margaret, as usual, met her hero at the steps, just asa young officer came excitedly and hurriedly down the brick walk fromthe colonel's. It was Blake who heard him calling some tidings to otherhouseholds and who hailed him as he neared them and was bustling by.
"What's the row, Tommy?"
"Big fight in Arizona," was the startling answer. "Captain Hastings andParson Davies killed."
And Nannie Blake saw in amaze the light go out of her companion's eyesand every vestige of color from her face. Her arms were about her in aninstant, and none too soon. Oh, the blessing of those clinging,clustering vines! No one else saw how they had to fairly carry herwithin doors, but Agatha's secret was revealed.
There was little exaggeration in the first story of that savage battlein the canon. Many a gallant fellow lay stripped and bloated when therelief party reached the scene a few days later, but Davies, thoughpierced through and through, still lived, and was moved and borne awayweeks later to bracing mountain air, and found many a reason for wantingto live for many a year. Two men had gone to him fast as trains couldspeed, Cranston and our old friend the chaplain. It was the former whowithin the week that followed that engagement announced another. It wasthe latter who within the fortnight joined her hand in his, white,feeble as it was, and poured out his very heart and soul in the ferventprayer for blessing on this man and this woman now at last made one.
* * * * *
That seems a long time ago. The regiment is famous now for its troopcommanders,--stalwart fellows in the prime of life who have brought thetraining of men and mounts to a point of excellence such enthusiasts asCranston only dreamed of in the old campaigning days, when there waslittle opportunity for experiment or practice in any other branch ofthe trooper's art than that developed on the trail of savage foe.Already the men who were stripling soldiers in '76 are wearingpatriarchal--long since they assumed patronizing--airs towards those whocame too late to learn campaigning when the Indian was not hemmed in byrailways, but ruled the Plains, proud monarch of all he surveyed.Already silver threads are streaking the beards and temples of even suchrollicking spirits as Sanders, while Boynton is gray as the chargers ofthe troop he commands. Cranston's squadron was cheered to the skies whenit marched away from Chicago after its month of riot duty, and on theplains of Evanston during the manoeuvres the visitors thronged to seethe feats in horsemanship displayed by the men of Davies's troop. Evenin the Eleventh he was held to be the most brilliant instructor as wellas the most judicious and successful troop commander. Old-time dragoonssimply couldn't understand it. Here was a man who would neither drink,swear, nor flare up and boil over when things went wrong on drill, butpreserved a calm, even-tempered, dignified bearing at all times. True,he had native gifts which were not shared by all his kind,--a deep,resonant voice, a ringing word of command, a fine physique, an admirableseat, and an easy, practised hand, all of which were combined with aconsummate knowledge of his art. He was equally at home in saddle orsquad-room, and at all times was friend and almost father to his men."A" Troop, once the worst-drilled in the Eleventh, and universally knownas the "Differentials," is now called "the Parson's Flock," but there isno irreverence in the term, for soldiers honor men like him whose faithis backed by courage long tried on many a field. There isn't a man inCranston's squadron who would not resent an affront to their pet troopcommander, as they would were the major himself the object of aspersion,and as for Agatha, his wife,--Florence Nightingale was not more beloved.
They were talking of it all the other evening, seated among the tents onthe broad, level prairie just before the separation for the winterstations was announced. The old chaplain was there to say farewell tohis own stalwart son, now wearing his first shoulder-straps in theregiment his father had known so long and well. "Sometimes," said thedominie, "I look back almost wistfully on those old days with all theirdanger and privation, and while the life our fellows lead to-day knowslittle of the temptation and trial encountered twenty years ago, itseems to lack its vim and vigor. Sometimes I almost wish my boy couldhave begun--with you."
Davies was silent a moment. "It was a hard experience," said he,finally. "It seems odd t
o think that to some of us there was more peaceon the war-path than at home, more rest in the field than in the fort.Perhaps the reason why one's sterner qualities were so constantly calledinto play was that not only in action but in all the surroundings of ourdaily life we seemed forever 'under fire.'"
THE END.
WORKS OF
Captain Charles King, U.S.A.
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