An Apache Princess: A Tale of the Indian Frontier

by Charles King

  CHAPTER II

  SCOT VERSUS SAXON

  Three women were seated at the moment on the front veranda of themajor's quarters--Mrs. Plume, Miss Janet Wren, the captain's sister,and little Mrs. Bridger. The first named had been intently watchingthe officers as, after the dismissal of their companies at thebarracks, they severally joined the post commander, who had beenstanding on the barren level of the parade, well out toward theflagstaff, his adjutant beside him. To her the abrupt announcementcaused no surprise. She had seen that Mr. Blakely was not with histroop. The jeweled hands slightly twitched, but her voice had therequisite and conventional drawl as she turned to Miss Wren: "Chasingsome new butterfly, I suppose, and got lost. A--what time did--Angelareturn?"

  "Hours ago, I fancy. She was dressed when I returned from hospital.Sergeant Leary seems worse to-day."

  "That was nearly six," dreamily persisted Mrs. Plume. "I happened tobe at the side window." In the pursuit of knowledge Mrs. Plume adheredto the main issue and ignored the invalid sergeant, whose slowconvalescence had stirred the sympathies of the captain's sister.

  "Yes, it was nearly that when Angela dismounted," softly said Mrs.Bridger. "I heard Punch galloping away to his stable."

  "Why, Mrs. Bridger, are you sure?" And the spinster of forty-fiveturned sharply on the matron of less than half her years. "She had onher white muslin when she came to the head of the stairs to answerme."

  Mrs. Bridger could not be mistaken. It was Angela's habit when shereturned from her rides to dismount at the rear gateway; give Punchhis _conge_ with a pat or two of the hand; watch him a moment as hetore gleefully away, round to the stables to the westward of the bigquadrangle; then to go to her room and dress for the evening, comingdown an hour later, looking fresh and sweet and dainty as a dewyMermet. As a rule she rode without other escort than the hounds, forher father would not go until the sun was very low and would not lether go with Blakely or Duane, the only bachelor troop officers then atSandy. He had nothing against Duane, but, having set his seal againstthe other, felt it necessary to include them both. As a rule,therefore, she started about four, alone, and was home an hour later.Five young maidens dwelt that year in officers' row, daughters of theregiments,--for it was a mixed command and not a big one,--twocompanies each of infantry and cavalry, after the manner of the early70's. Angela knew all four girls, of course, and had formed anintimacy with one--one who only cared to ride in the cool of thebright evenings when the officers took the hounds jack-rabbit huntingup the valley. Twice a week, when Luna served, they held thesemoonlit meets, and galloping at that hour, though more dangerous tonecks, was less so to complexions. As a rule, too, Angela and Punchcontented themselves with a swift scurry round the reservation, withfrequent fordings of the stream for the joy it gave them both. Theywere rarely out of sight of the sentries and never in any appreciabledanger. No Apache with hostile intent ventured near enough to Sandy torisk reprisals. Miners, prospectors, and ranchmen were few in numbers,but, far and wide they knew the captain's bonny daughter, and, likethe men of her father's troop, would have risked their lives to do hera service. Their aversions as to Sandy were centered in the other sex.

  Aunt Janet, therefore, had some reason for doubting the report of Mrs.Bridger. It was so unlike Angela to be so very late returning,although, now that Mrs. Bridger had mentioned it, she, too, rememberedhearing the rapid thud of Punch's galloping hoofs homeward bound, aswas she, at 5.45. Yet, barely five minutes thereafter, Angela, whousually spent half an hour splashing in her tub, appeared fullpanoplied, apparently, at the head of the stairs upon her aunt'sarrival, and was even now somewhere down the row, hobnobbing with KateSanders. That Lieutenant Blakely should have missed retreat roll-callwas in itself no very serious matter. "Slept through at his quarters,perhaps," said Plume. "He'll turn up in time for dinner." In fine themajor's indifference struck the captain as an evidence of officialweakness, reprehensible in a commander charged with the discipline ofa force on hostile soil. What Wren intended was that Plume should beimpressed by his formal word and manner, and direct the adjutant tolook up the derelict instanter. As no such action was taken, however,he felt it due to himself to speak again. A just man was Wren, andfaithful to the core in his own discharge of duty. What he could notabide was negligence on part of officer or man, on part of superior orinferior, and he sought to "stiffen" Plume forthwith.

  "If he isn't in his quarters, shall I send a party out in search,sir?"

  "Who? Blakely? Dear, no, Wren! What for?" returned the post commander,obviously nettled. "I fancy he'll not thank you for even searching hisquarters. You may stumble over his big museum in the dark and smashthings. No, let him alone. If he isn't here for dinner, I'll 'tend toit myself."

  And so, rebuffed, as it happened, by an officer much his inferior inpoint of experience and somewhat in years, Wren silently and stifflysaluted and turned away. Virtually he had been given to understandthat his suggestion was impertinent. He reached his quarters,therefore, in no pleasant mood, and found his sister waiting for himwith Duty in her clear and shining eyes.

  A woman of many a noble trait was Janet Wren,--a woman who had done aworld of good to those in sickness, sorrow, or other adversity, awoman of boundless faith in herself and her opinions, but not too muchhope or charity for others. The blood of the Scotch Covenanters wasin her veins, for her mother had been born and bred in the shadow ofthe kirk and lived and died in the shadow of the cross. A woman with amission was Janet, and one who went at it unflinchingly. She had lovedher brother always, yet disapproved his marriage to so young andunformed a woman as was his wife. Later, she had deprecated from thestart the soldier spirit, fierce in his Highland blood, that tore himfrom the teachings of their gentle mother and her beloved meenister,took him from his fair young wife when most she needed him and senthim straightway into the ranks of the one Highland regiment in theUnion Army at the outbreak of the Civil War. His gallant colonel fellat First Bull Run, and Sergeant Wren fought over his body to thefervent admiration of the Southerners who captured both. The first WarSecretary, mourning a beloved brother and grateful to his defender,commissioned the latter in the regulars at once and, on his returnfrom Libby, Wren joined the army as a first lieutenant. With genuineScottish thrift, his slender pay had been hoarded for him, and his nowmotherless little one, by that devoted sister, and when, a captain atthe close of the war, he came to clasp his daughter to his heart, hefound himself possessed of a few hundreds more than fell to the lot ofmost of his associates. It was then that Janet, motherless herself,had stepped into the management of her brother's army home, and soughtto dominate in that as she had in everything else from early girlhood.Wren loved her fondly, but he, too, had a will. They had many aclash. It was this, indeed, that led to Angela's going so early to anEastern school. We are all paragons of wisdom in the management ofother people's children. It is in dealing with our own our limitationsare so obvious. Fond as she had become of Angela's sweet young mother,it must be owned that whom Janet loved in this way she oftenchastened. Neighbors swore it was not grief, nor illness, half so muchas sister-in-law, that wore the gentle spirit to the snapping-point.The great strong heart of the soldier was well-nigh broken at hisloss, and Janet, who had never seen him shed a tear since earlyboyhood, stood for once, at least, in awe and trembling at sight ofhis awful grief. Time and nature played their part and brought him,gradually, resignation, but never genuine solace. He turned to littleAngela with almost passionate love and tenderness. He would, mayhap,have spoiled her had not frontier service kept him so much afield thatit was Janet who really reared her,--but not according to the strictletter of her law. Wren knew well what that was and forbade.

  Misfortunes came to Janet Wren while yet a comely woman ofthirty-five. She could have married, and married well, a comradecaptain in her brother's regiment; but him, at least, she held to beher own, and, loving him with genuine fervor and devotion, she soughtto turn him in all things to her serious views of life, its manifoldduties and responsibilities. Sh
e had her ideal of what a man shouldbe--a monarch among other men, but one knowing no God but her God, nocreed but her creed, no master but Duty, no mistress but herself, andno weakness whatsoever. A braver, simpler, kinder soul than hercaptain there dwelt not in the service of his country, but he lovedhis pipe, his song, his dogs, his horses, his troop, and certainsoldier ways that, during his convalescence from wounds, she had nothad opportunity to observe. She had nursed him back to life and loveand, unwittingly, to his former harmless habits. These all she wouldhave had him forswear, not for her sake so much, she said, but becausethey were in themselves sinful and beneath him. She sought to trainhim down too fine for the rugged metal of the veteran soldier, and thefabric snapped in her hands. She had sent him forth sore-hearted overher ceaseless importunity. She had told him he must not only give upall his ways, but, if he would make her happy, he must put the wordsof Ruth into his mouth, and that ended it. He transferred into anothercorps when she broke with him; carried his sore heart to the Southernplains, and fell in savage battle within another month.

  Not long thereafter her little fortune, invested according to theviews of a spiritual rather than a temporal adviser,--and much againsther brother's wishes,--went the way of riches that have wings, andnow, dependent solely upon him, welcomed to his home and fireside, shenevertheless strove to dominate as of yore. He had had to tell herAngela could not and should not be subjected to such restraints as thesister would have prescribed, but so long as he was the sole victimhe whimsically bore it without vehement protest. "Convert me all youcan, Janet, dear," he said, "but don't try to reform the wholeregiment. It's past praying for."

  Now, when other women whispered to her that while Mrs. Plume had beena belle in St. Louis and Mr. Blakely a young society beau, themagnitude of their flirtation had well-nigh stopped her marriage, MissWren saw opportunity for her good offices and, so far from avoiding,she sought the society of the major's brooding wife. She even felt atwinge of disappointment when the young officer appeared, and afterthe initial thirty-six hours under the commander's roof, rarely wentthither at all. She knew her brother disapproved of him, and thoughtit to be because of moral, not military, obliquity. She saw withinstant apprehension his quick interest in Angela and the child'salmost unconscious response. With the solemn conviction of the maidenwho, until past the meridian, had never loved, she looked on Angela asfar too young and immature to think of marrying, yet too shallow, vainand frivolous, too corrupted, in fact, by that pernicious societyschool--not to shrink from flirtations that might mean nothing to theman but would be damnation to the girl. Even the name of this big,blue-eyed, fair-skinned young votary of science had much about it thatmade her fairly bristle, for she had once been described as an"austere vestal" by Lieutenant Blake, of the regiment preceding themat Sandy, the ----th Cavalry--and a mutual friend had told her allabout it--another handicap for Blakely. She had grown, it must beadmitted, somewhat gaunt and forbidding in these later years, a thingthat had stirred certain callow wits to differentiate between theMisses Wren as Angela and Angular, which, hearing, some few womenreproved but all repeated. Miss Wren, the sister, was in fine a womanwidely honored but little sought. It was Angela that all Camp Sandywould have met with open arms.

  "R-r-robert," began Miss Wren, as the captain unclasped his saber beltand turned it over to Mickel, his German "striker." She would haveproceeded further, but he held up a warning hand. He had come homewardangering and ill at ease. Disliking Blakely from the first, a"ballroom soldier," as he called him, and alienated from him later, hehad heard still further whisperings of the devotions of a chieftain'sdaughter at the agency, above all, of the strange infatuation of themajor's wife, and these had warranted, in his opinion, warning wordsto his senior subaltern in refusing that gentleman's request to ridewith Angela. "I object to any such attentions--to any meetingswhatsoever," said he, but sooner than give the real reason, addedlamely, "My daughter is too young." Now he thought he saw impendingduty in his sister's somber eyes and poise. He knew it when she beganby rolling her r's--it was so like their childhood's spiritual guideand mentor, MacTaggart, erstwhile of the "Auld Licht" persuasion, anda power.

  "Wait a bit, Janet," said he. "Mickel, get my horse and tell SergeantStrang to send me a mounted orderly." Then, as Mickel dropped thesaber in the open doorway and departed, he turned upon her.

  "Where's Angela?" said he, "and what was she doing out after recall?The stable sergeant says 'twas six when Punch came home."

  "R-r-robert, it is of that I wish to speak to you, and before shecomes to dinner. Hush! She's coming now."

  Down the row of shaded wooden porticos, at the major's next door, atDr. Graham's, the Scotch surgeon and Wren's especial friend and crony,at the Lynns' and Sanders's beyond, little groups of women andchildren in cool evening garb, and officers in white, were gathered inmerry, laughing chat. Nowhere, save in the eyes of one woman at thecommanding officer's, and here at Wren's, seemed there anythingominous in the absence of this officer so lately come to join them.The voice of Angela, glad and ringing, fell upon the father's ears insudden joy. Who could associate shame or subterfuge with tones socharged with merriment? The face of Angela, coming suddenly round thecorner from the side veranda, beamed instantly upon him, sweet,trusting and welcoming, then slowly shadowed at sight of the setexpression about his mouth, and the rigid, uncompromising, determinedsorrow in the features of her aunt.

  Before she could utter a word, the father questioned:

  "Angela, my child, have you seen Mr. Blakely this afternoon?"

  One moment her big eyes clouded, but unflinchingly they met his gaze.Then, something in the stern scrutiny of her aunt's regard stirred allthat was mutinous within her; yet there was an irrepressible twitchingabout the corners of the rosy mouth, a twinkle about the big browneyes that should have given them pause, even as she demurely answered:

  "Yes."

  "When?" demanded the soldier, his muscular hand clutching ominously atthe wooden rail; his jaw setting squarely. "When--and where?"

  But now the merriment with which she had begun changed slowly at sightof the repressed fury in his rugged Gaelic face. She, too, wastrembling as she answered:

  "Just after recall--down at the pool."

  For an instant he stood glaring, incredulous. "At the pool! You! Mybairnie!" Then, with sudden outburst of passionate wrath, "Go to yourroom!" said he.

  "But listen--father, dear," she began, imploringly. For answer heseized her slender arm in almost brutal grasp and fairly hurled herwithin the doorway. "Not a word!" he ground between his clinchedteeth. "Go instantly!" Then, slamming the door upon her, he whirledabout as though to seek his sister's face, and saw beyond her,rounding the corner of the northwest set of quarters, coming in fromthe _mesa_ roadway at the back, the tall, white figure of the missingman.

  Another moment and Lieutenant Blakely, in the front room of hisquarters, looking pale and strange, was being pounced upon with eagerquestioning by Duane, his junior, when the wooden steps and verandacreaked under a quick, heavy, ominous tread, and, with livid face andclinching hands, the troop commander came striding in.

  "Mr. Blakely," said he, his voice deep with wrath and tremulous withpassion, "I told you three days ago my daughter and you must not meet,and--you know why! To-day you lured her to a rendezvous outside thepost--"

  "Captain Wren!"

  "Don't lie! I say you lured her, for my lass would never have metyou--"

  "You shall _un_say it, sir," was Blakely's instant rejoinder. "Are youmad--or what? I never set eyes on your daughter to-day--until a momentago."

  And then the voice of young Duane was uplifted, shouting for help.With a crash, distinctly heard out on the parade, Wren had struck hisjunior down.