by Charles King
CHAPTER IX
A CARPET KNIGHT, INDEED
The flag at Camp Sandy drooped from the peak. Except by order it neverhung halfway. The flag at the agency fluttered no higher than thecross-trees, telling that Death had loved some shining mark and hadnot sued in vain. Under this symbol of mourning, far up the valley,the interpreter was telling to a circle of dark, sullen, andunresponsive faces a fact that every Apache knew before. Under thefull-masted flag at the post, a civilian servant of the nation laygarbed for burial. Poor Daly had passed away with hardly a chance totell his tale, with only a loving, weeping woman or two to mourn him.Over the camp the shadow of death tempered the dazzling sunshine, forall Sandy felt the strain and spoke only with sorrow. He meant well,did Daly, that was accorded him now. He only lacked "savvy" said theywho had dwelt long in the land of Apache.
Over at the hospital two poor women wept, and twice their numberstrove to soothe. Janet Wren and Mrs. Graham were there, as ever, whensorrow and trouble came. Mrs. Sanders and Mrs. Cutler, too, werehovering about the mourners, doing what they could, and the hospitalmatron, busy day and night of late, had never left her patient untilhe needed her no more, and then had turned to minister to those heleft behind--the widow and the fatherless. Over on the shaded verandasother women met and murmured in the soft, sympathetic drawlappropriate to funereal occasion, and men nodded silently to eachother. Death was something these latter saw so frequently it broughtbut little of terror. Other things were happening of far greatermoment that they could not fathom at all.
Captain Wren, after four days of close arrest, had been released bythe order of Major Plume himself, who, pending action on hisapplication for leave of absence, had gone on sick report and secludedhimself within his quarters. It was rumored that Mrs. Plume wasseriously ill, so ill, indeed, she had to be denied to every one ofthe sympathizing women who called, even to Janet, sister of theirsoldier next-door neighbor, but recently a military prisoner, yet now,by law and custom, commander of the post.
Several things had conspired to bring about this condition of affairs.Byrne, to begin with, had been closely questioning Shannon, and hadreached certain conclusions with regard to the stabbing of Mullinsthat were laid before Plume, already stunned by the knowledge that,sleeping as his friendly advisers declared, or waking, as his innerconsciousness would have it, Clarice, his young and still beautifulwife, had left her pillow and gone by night toward the northern limitof the line of quarters. If Wren were tried, or even accused, thatfact would be the first urged in his defense. Plume's sternaccusation of Elise had evoked from her nothing but a voluble storm ofprotest. Madame was ill, sleepless, nervous--had gone forth to walkaway her nervousness. She, Elise, had gone in search and brought herhome. Downs, the wretch, when as stoutly questioned, declared he hadbeen blind drunk; saw nobody, knew nothing, and must have taken thelieutenant's whisky. Plume shrank from asking Norah questions. Hecould not bring himself to talking of his wife to the girl of thelaundresses' quarters, but he knew now that he must drop that much ofthe case against Wren.
Then came the final blow. Byrne had gone to the agency, making everyeffort through runners, with promises of immunity, to coax back therenegades to the reservation, and so avert another Apache war. Plume,in sore perplexity, was praying for the complete restoration ofMullins--the only thing that could avert investigation--when, as heentered his office the morning of this eventful day, Doty's young facewas eloquent with news.
One of the first things done by Lieutenant Blakely when permitted byDr. Graham to sit and speak, was to dictate a letter to the postadjutant, the original of which, together with the archives of CampSandy, was long since buried among the hidden treasures of the WarDepartment. The following is a copy of the paper placed by Mr. Doty inthe major's hands even before he could reach his desk:
CAMP SANDY, A. T.,
October --, 187--
LIEUTENANT J. J. DOTY,
8th U. S. Infantry,
Post Adjutant.
_Sir_: I have the honor to submit for the consideration of the post commander, the following:
Shortly after retreat on the --th inst. I was suddenly accosted in my quarters by Captain Robert Wren, ----th Cavalry, and accused of an act of treachery to him;--an accusation which called forth instant and indignant denial. He had, as I now have cause to know, most excellent reason for believing his charge to be true, and the single blow he dealt me was the result of intense and natural wrath. That the consequences were so serious he could not have foreseen.
As the man most injured in the affair, I earnestly ask that no charges be preferred. Were we in civil life I should refuse to prosecute, and, if the case be brought before a court-martial it will probably fail--for lack of evidence.
Very Respectfully,
Your Obedient Servant,
NEIL D. BLAKELY,
1st Lieut., ----th Cavalry.
Now, Doty had been known to hold his tongue when a harmful story mightbe spread, but he could no more suppress his rejoicing over this thanhe could the impulse to put it in slang. "Say, aint this just acorker?" said this ingenuous youth, as he spread it on his desk forGraham's grimly gleaming eyes. Plume had read it in dull, apathetic,unseeing fashion. It was the morning after the Apache _emeute_. Plumehad stared hard at his adjutant a moment, then, whipping up the sunhat that he had dropped on his desk, and merely saying, "I'llreturn--shortly," had sped to his darkened quarters and not for anhour had he reappeared. Then the first thing he asked for was thatletter of Mr. Blakely's, which, this time, he read with lipscompressed and twitching a bit at the corners. Then he called for atelegraph blank and sent a wire to intercept Byrne at the agency. "Ishall turn over command to Wren at noon. I'm too ill for furtherduty," was all he said. Byrne read the rest between the lines.
But Graham went straightway to the quarters of Captain Wren, a roughpencil copy of that most unusual paper in his hand. "R-robert Wren,"said he, as he entered, unknocking and unannounced, "will ye listen tothis? Nay, Angela, lass, don't go." When strongly moved, as we haveseen, our doctor dropped to the borderland of dialect.
In the dim light from the shaded windows he had not at first seen thegirl. She was seated on a footstool, her hands on her father's knee,her fond face gazing up into his, and that strong, bony hand of hisresting on her head and toying with the ribbon, the "snood," as heloved to call it, with which she bound her abundant tresses. At soundof the doctor's voice, Janet, ever apprehensive of ill, had come forthfrom the dining room, silver brush and towel in hand, and stood at thedoorway, gazing austerely. She could not yet forgive her brother'sfriend his condemnation of her methods as concerned her brother'schild. Angela, rising to her full height, stood with one hand on theback of her father's chair, the other began softly stroking thegrizzled crop from his furrowed forehead.
No one spoke a word as Graham began and slowly, to the uttermostline, read his draft of Blakely's missive. No one spoke for a momentafter he had finished. Angela, with parted lips and dilated eyes, hadstood at first drinking in each syllable, then, with heaving bosom,she slowly turned, her left hand falling by her side. Wren sat insilence, his deep-set eyes glowering on the grim reader, a dazed lookon his rugged face. Then he reached up and drew the slim, tremuloushand from his forehead and snuggled it against his stubbly cheek, andstill he could not speak. Janet slowly backed away into the darknessof the dining room. The situation had softening tendencies and Janet'snature revolted at sentiment. It was Graham's voice that again brokethe silence.
"For a vain carpet knight, 'whose best boast was to wear a braid ofhis fair lady's hair,' it strikes me our butterfly chaser has somepoints of a gentleman," said he, slowly folding his paper. "I mightsay more," he continued presently, retiring toward th
e hall. Then,pausing at the doorway, "but I won't," he concluded, and abruptlyvanished.
An hour later, when Janet in person went to answer a knock at thedoor, she glanced in at the parlor as she passed, and that peeprevealed Angela again seated on her footstool, with her bonny headpillowed on her father's knee, his hand again toying with the glossytresses, and both father and child looked up, expectant. Yes, therestood the young adjutant, officially equipped with belt and sword andspotless gloves. "Can I see the captain?" he asked, lifting his natty_kepi_, and the captain arose and strode to the door.
"Major Plume presents his compliments--and this letter, sir,"stammered the youth, blushing, too, at sight of Angela, beaming on himfrom the parlor door. "And--you're in command, sir. The major has goneon sick report."
That evening a solemn _cortege_ filed away down the winding road tothe northward flats and took the route to the little cemetery, almostall the garrison following to the grave all that was mortal of thehapless agent. Byrne, returned from the agency, was there to representthe general commanding the department. Wren stalked solemnly besidehim as commander of the post. Even the women followed, trippingdaintily through the sand. Graham watched them from the porch of thepost hospital. He could not long leave Mullins, tossing in fever anddelirium. He had but recently left Lieutenant Blakely, sitting up andplacidly busying himself in patching butterfly wings, and Blakely hadeven come to the front door to look at the distant gathering ofdecorous mourners. But the bandaged head was withdrawn as two tall,feminine forms came gravely up the row, one so prim and almostantique, the other so lithe and lissome. He retreated to the frontroom, and with the one available eye at the veiled window, followedher, the latter, until the white flowing skirt was swept from thefield of his vision. He had stood but a few hours previous on the spotwhere he had received that furious blow five nights before, and thistime, with cordial grasp, had taken the huge hand that dealt itbetween his white and slender palms. "Forgive us our trespasses as weforgive those," Wren had murmured, as he read the deeply regretfulwords of his late accuser and commander, for had not he in his turn,and without delay, also to eat humble pie? There was something almostpathetic in the attitude of the big soldier as he came to the darkenedroom and stood before his junior and subordinate, but the latter hadstilled the broken, clumsy, faltering words with which this strong,masterful man was striving to make amend for bitter wrong. "I won'tlisten to more, Captain Wren," he said. "You had reasons I neverdreamed of--then. Our eyes have been opened" (one of his was stillclosed). "You have said more than enough. Let us start afreshnow--with better understanding."
"It--it is generous in you, Blakely. I misjudgedeverything--everybody, and now,--well, you know there are stillHotspurs in the service. I'm thinking some man may be ass enough tosay you got a blow without resenting--"
Blakely smiled, a contorted and disunited smile, perhaps, and one muchtrammeled by adhesive plaster. Yet there was placid unconcern in thevisible lines of his pale face. "I think I shall know how to answer,"said he. And so for the day, and without mention of the name uppermostin the thoughts of each, the two had parted--for the first time asfriends.
But the night was yet to come.
