by Charles King
CHAPTER IV.
IMPENDING SHADOWS.
When Captain Truscott drove up from the ferry and sprang from thecarriage at his gate, a cheerful light beamed from the open door andwindows of his home, and Grace, all loving greeting, met him on thepiazza. He could not but note the warmth of her embrace and welcome; butJack had been in town since early morning and never before since theirmarriage had they been separated a single day. In the dim twilight onthe piazza he could not see what was apparent as soon as they enteredthe parlor,--that his young wife's face was unusually pale and herlovely eyes showed suspicious trace of tears; but he could only glancean anxious inquiry, there was then no time for more, as Miss Sanfordstood smilingly at the centre-table.
Truscott stepped forward with his old-fashioned courtesy and bowed overher extended hand. A few words of pleasant welcome and greeting wereexchanged, a few inquiries as to whom he had seen in New York and whathad been the result of his various commissions. Then as the dining-roomdoor was opened and the maid announced that tea was served, Truscottlooked inquiringly at the table.
"Any mail, Gracie?"
"Oh, yes, Jack. I put them under Carlyle; two letters."
The captain merely glanced at the superscription of the first letter,but when the second caught his eye, he shot one quick look at his wife,their eyes met, and leaving the first letter upon the table, he stowedthe heavier missive in the breast-pocket of the civilian suit he waswearing, led the way to the dining-room door, and there smilingly bowedthe ladies to the brightly-lighted table, and demanded of Miss Sanfordan immediate and detailed account of the day's conquests.
Not until near midnight could Grace see her husband alone.
It was "band night," and long before they had finished tea rich strainsof music came floating in from the parade, and, as is always the case,visitors began to arrive. Several ladies and officers dropped in duringthe evening; they sat on the piazza enjoying the serenade until theshrill piping of the fifes and rattle of the drums sounding tattoo sentthe musicians off to bed and numerous pairs of white trousers scurryingtowards the cadet barracks. They watched the simultaneous "dousing ofthe glim" in the long facade as the clock struck ten and the three tapsof the drum ordered "lights out." Then they entered the parlor and Gracehad to sing. For the last year she had gloried in singing, her voiceseemed so rich with melody, her heart so rich with joy. To-night all thestrange old feeling came back. It made her think of those wretched daysat Sandy, when with Jack thousands of miles away, perhaps never to seeor speak to her again, she _had_ to sing because her father loved it so.She was a soldier's daughter, a soldier's wife, and she rallied all herstrength and pride and strove to be blithe and animated andentertaining. From her first appearance Mrs. Truscott had been afavorite in that somewhat exacting garrison, perhaps the hardest one inthe army in which to achieve popularity, because of the various cliquesand interests; and now that that very interesting Miss Sanford was withher, their pretty home on the plain was always a rendezvous for thesocially disposed. And so it happened that all the long evening neithershe nor Jack could obtain release from their duties as entertainers.Eleven o'clock came before the last of the ladies departed, and then Mr.Ferris lingered for a _tete-a-tete_ with Miss Sanford, and poor Gracefound herself compelled to sit and talk with Mr. Barnard, who was amusical devotee and afflicted with a conviction that they ought to singduets, and Mrs. Truscott could not be induced to sing duets with anyman, unless Jack would try.
She knew that he had gone to the little library where he kept hisfavorite books and did his writing. She heard the door close after him,and, with unutterable longing, she desired to go and throw herself uponher favorite perch, his knee, and twine her arms around his neck andbury her head upon his broad shoulder. She could think of nothing butthat fateful letter from Hays. She wished that it might be Mr. Waringwho had come in, for he was in the cavalry and would know something ofwhat really was going on out on the frontier. She was feverishly anxiousto learn the truth, and twice directed the talk that way, but Mr.Barnard was obtuse. He only vaguely knew from remarks he had heard atmess that General Crook had called for reinforcements, and that Sheridanwas ordering up cavalry and infantry to his support. He did not knowwhat cavalry,--in fact, he did not care,--he was in the artillery, and,forgetful of Modoc experiences, believed that Indian fighting was anabnormal species of warfare of which men of his advanced education werenot expected to take cognizance. That it ever could call for morescience, skill, and pluck than the so-called civilized wars of which Mr.Barnard was a conscientious student he would probably never haveadmitted, and his comment at mess on the frequently-recurring tales ofunsuccessful attack upon savage foes was the comprehensive remark thatthe affair must have been badly handled; "those fellows of the cavalrydidn't seem to understand the nature of the work they had to tackle." Asthose were the days before a cavalry superintendent went to the Academyand showed an astonished academic board what a cavalryman's idea ofscholarship and discipline really was, it followed that the corps ofinstructors was made up almost entirely from the more scientific arms;only two or three cavalrymen were on the detail of forty officers, andthey were mainly for duty as instructors in tactics and horsemanship. Sowhen Mr. Barnard dreamily blew the smoke of his cigarette through hiselevated nostrils and gave it as his opinion that those cavalry fellowsdidn't seem to understand their work, his audience, consisting mainly ofstaff and artillery officers, gave the acquiescence of silence or thenod of wisdom; and the casual visitor would have left with theimpression that the whole mistake of this Indian business lay in failureto consult the brilliantly-trained intellects of the higher corps. Oddas it may seem, it is the men who have had the least to do with Indiansand Indian fighting who have apparently the most ideas on the subject.This is not a paradox. Those who have spent several years at it probablystarted in with just as many, and exploded them one after another.
Mr. Barnard, therefore, was more intent on humming the tenor part of"See the Pale Moon" than of affording Mrs. Truscott any information asto rumors of the orders sending additional troops to the field, but heranxiety was only slightly appeased by his airy dismissal of the subject.
"Indeed, Mrs. Truscott, I would not feel any concern in the matter; withthe forces now concentrated up there in the Yellowstone country, theresult is a foregone conclusion. The Indians will simply be surroundedand starved into surrender."
At last they went. Mr. Ferris with evident reluctance and not until hehad plainly received intimation from Miss Sanford that it was more thantime. Knowing Mrs. Truscott well, she could see what was imperceptibleto their visitors, that the strain was becoming almost unbearable. Themoment they were gone she turned to her friend.
"I must write a short letter before going to bed, Grace dear. Now go tohim at once;" then impulsively she threw her arms around her. "I shallpray it is not true," she murmured, then turned and ran quickly to herroom.
Mrs. Truscott closed and bolted the front door, turned out the parlorlights, and stepped quickly to the library; then she paused a momentbefore turning the knob: her heart was beating heavily, her handstrembling. She strove hard to control the weakness which had seizedher, and, for support, rested her head upon the casement and took two orthree long breaths; then with a murmured prayer for strength she gentlyopened the door, and the soft swish of her trailing skirts announced herpresence.
His back was towards her as she entered; he was seated in a low-backedlibrary-chair, with both elbows upon the writing-table before him, andresting his head upon the left hand in an attitude that was habitualwith him when seated there thinking. Before him, opened, lay a longletter,--the adjutant's letter from Hays. A pen was in his hand, but nota scratch had he made on the virgin surface of the paper. Truscott neverso much as wrote the date until he had fully made up his mind what theentire letter should be, and he had far from made up his mind what tosay in this.
Without a word Mrs. Truscott stole quietly up behind him. He had beenexpecting her any moment; he knew well she would co
me the instant hervisitors left her free; he was listening, waiting for her step, and hadheard Miss Sanford trip lightly up-stairs. Then came the soft, quickpitapat of her tiny feet along the hall and the _frou-frou_ of theskirts,--never yet could he hear it without a little thrill ofpassionate delight. He half turned in readiness to welcome her, hislove, his wife; then came her pause at the door,--a new, an unknownhesitancy, for from the first he had taught her that she alone couldnever be unwelcome, undesired, no matter what his occupation in thesanctum, and Jack's heart stood still while hers was throbbing heavily.Could she have heard? Could she have suspected? _Must_ he tell herto-night? He turned again to the desk as she entered, and waitedfor--something he loved more than he could ever tell,--her own greeting.
Often when he was reading or writing during the day, and she, onhousehold cares intent, was tripping lightly about the house, singingsweetly, softly as she passed the library, and bursting into carollingmelody when at undisturbing distance away, it was odd to note the manylittle items that required her frequent incursions on the sanctumitself,--books to be straightened and dusted, scraps of writing-paper tobe tidied up, maps to be rolled and tied. Mollie, the housemaid, couldsweep or tend the fires in that domestic centre, the captain's den, butnone but the young housewife herself presumed to touch a pen or dust atome. Jack's mornings were mainly taken up at the barracks, riding-hall,or in mounted drill far out on the cavalry plain, whence his ringingbaritone voice could reach her admiring ears and--for it was onlyhoneymoon with her still--set her to wondering if it really werepossible that that splendid fellow were her own, her very own; and timeand again Mrs. Grace would find herself stopping short in her avocationand going to the front windows and gazing with all her lovely brown eyesover to the whirling dust-cloud on the eastern plain and revelling inthe power and ring of Jack's commanding voice, and going off intoday-dreams. _Was_ it possible that there had been a great, a fearfulwar, in which the whole country was threatened with ruin, and hundredsof men had made wonderful names for themselves, and Jack not one ofthem,--Jack, her hero, her soldier beyond compare? _Could_ it be thatthe war was fought and won without him? But then, who could be braverin action, wiser in council, than he? Did not the --th worship him to aman? Was not Indian fighting the most trying, hazardous, terrible of allwarfares, and was not Jack pre-eminent as an Indian-fighter? Was therenot a deep scar on his breast that would have been deeper and redder butfor her little filmy handkerchief that stopped the cruel arrow just intime? Was any one so gallant, so noble, so gentle, so tender, true,faithful,--um-m-m,--sweet? was the way Mrs. Grace's intensified thoughtswould have found expression, had she dared, even to herself, to givethem utterance? And he loved her! he loved her! and--heavens and earth!but _this_ isn't practising, or housework either; and pretty, happy,blushing Mrs. Truscott would shake herself together, so to speak, andtry to get back to the programme of daily duty she had soconscientiously mapped out for herself. Perhaps it was because sheaccomplished so little in the mornings that, when Jack betook himself tohis study for his two hours of reading or writing in the afternoon, hiswitching wife would find such frequent need of entering. At first shehad been accustomed to trip in on tiptoe after a timid little knock andthe query, "Do I disturb you, Jack dear?"--a query which he answeredwith quite superfluous assurance to the contrary. Later, even aftertheir wise conclusion that they must be rational, she had beenaccustomed to put the question, not at all as a purely perfunctorymarital civility, but, as she shyly admitted to herself, because it wasso sweet to hear Jack's negation and see the love-light in the eyes thatsoon brought her, fascinated and fluttering, to be folded in his arms amoment. Later still, so confident had she become in her dominion, bothknock and query were abandoned, and, unless only five minutes or so hadelapsed since the previous visit, she had a pretty little way ofgreeting him that, though very gradually acquired despite surgingimpulse, was at last quite a settled fact, and he loved it,--well, hewould have been an unappreciative, undeserving brute had he not. Shewould steal behind him, lean over the back of the chair (Jack refused toexchange it for the high-backed one suggested by Mrs. Pelham on theoccasion of a brief visit paid them in March), and, twining her armsaround his neck, would draw back his head till it rested on her bosom,then sink her soft, sweet lips upon his forehead. It was this he waitedfor to-night, and not in vain.
Another minute and he had drawn her around and seated her on his knee,folding her closely in his arms. But soon she gently released herself,slipped to the little ottoman that stood always ready by his chair, and,clasping her hands upon his knee, looked bravely up in his face. No needto speak one word,--no need to break it to her; he saw she well divinedthat news, and hard news, had come from the frontier,--news which meantmore to her than to any woman at West Point.
"Shall I read it, Gracie?" he presently asked, gently stroking theshining, shimmering wealth of her hair,--her glory and his. She bowedlower her head and clasped tightly her hands.
"One word first, Jack. Does the --th go?"
"Yes, darling."
She shivered as though a sudden chill had seized her, but spoke no word.Truscott bent and strove to draw her again to his breast, but sheroused herself with gallant effort,--threw back her head and againlooked bravely up in his eyes.
"No; I'll bear it best here, Jack. I won't----Read it, dear."
"My brave girlie!" was all he said, as his eyes moistened suspiciouslyand his hand lingered in its caress upon her soft cheek.
"It's from Billings, you know."
"Yes, Jack; go on."
And then he read to her:
"FORT HAYS, KANSAS, June 6, '76.
"DEAR TRUSCOTT,--Stannard showed me your letter and bade me answer it. There was no time for him to do it, and I myself am writing 'on the jump.' You sized up the situation about as comprehensively as Crook himself could have done it, and your predictions have come true. Eight troops of the regiment left night before last by rail for Cheyenne _via_ Denver, and by this time headquarters and most of the --th are tenting somewhere near Fort Russell, where we are all to take station and wait further developments. The band follows as fast as we can pack up plunder and be off. It means, of course, a permanent transfer of the regiment to the Department of the Platte, and from the mere fact that the colonel and eight companies were hurried ahead, there can be no question but that we are destined to take part in the campaign against Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, etc., and for myself, I'm glad of it.
"But I'm glad you weren't here, Jack. There was weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth among the women-folks, and some two or three Benedicts looked bluer than brimstone. You know they had counted on a peaceful summer and a good time, and it's particularly rough on those who had fitted up their quarters so handsomely and had young ladies to visit them, like the Raymonds and others. Most of them have to break up and go East, but as six troops are to take permanent station at Russell, yours among them, those who are ordered there will simply move from Hays to Russell with us, as the officers can choose quarters on the way up; for up we are going, and I'll bet a farm we water our horses in the Yellowstone before we see Russell a second time. As soon as packed I shall move all baggage to Russell, public and personal, escort the ladies thither and see them comfortably settled in their new quarters. Mrs. Stannard, Mrs. Turner, and Mrs. Wilkins (of course) go to Russell with us. Old Whaling of the Infantry is to remain in command there until the campaign is over, as it will be the main supply depot. His wife is an enlivening Christian, a sort of Mrs. Gummidge and Mrs. Malaprop rolled into one, but, barring a sensational tendency and a love for theatricals in every-day life, there is nothing dangerous about her. I'm glad my own wife will be able to remain with the home people, for Mrs. Whaling would scare the life out of her with her tales of fearful adventure in the Indian country, and I don't quite like the idea of our ladies being s
ubjected to her ministrations during the separation. However, Mrs. Stannard will be there, and she's a balance-wheel. Bless that woman! What would we do without her?
"Now, Jack, a word from Stannard himself. He said to write you fully, that nothing might be concealed. Stryker's letter is straight to the point. It is going to be the biggest Indian war the country has ever seen, and one in which there must be hard fighting. Armed, equipped, and supplied and mounted as those Sioux and Cheyennes are, it will take our best to thrash them. Stannard says that you must be influenced in your action by no misrepresentation one way or other. No man in the regiment can say in his presence or mine that you have not done your full share of Indian work, and no gentleman in the regiment will blame you should you see fit to stick to the Point and let the rest of us tackle Mr. Lo. You are the only newly-married man in the crowd. On the other hand, your troop is commanded in your absence by Gleason, whom--well, you know him better than I; and in his absence by young Wells, who is to take his first lesson in campaigning this summer. Just as luck would have it, Gleason and Ray were ordered to Leavenworth on a horse board, and were not here to go with the command. Ray heard of the move and telegraphed, begging Stannard to get him relieved and sent at once to the regiment, but the board was ordered at division headquarters and 'twas no use. Ray will have to stay until the horses are all bought; and I'm bound to say he did his best to get back. For some reason, which I could better explain if I didn't have to write, Ray and I don't seem to 'gee.' He has been offish to me ever since our first meeting here, and was one of the men whose failure to congratulate me on the adjutancy I felt. Then I heard of some unjustifiable though, perhaps, natural things he said. However, let that slide. I wish you were adjutant again, that's all. Very probably the others do too. The colonel telegraphed to all officers on leave, and every blessed one responded inside of twenty-four hours, 'Coming first train, you bet,' or words to that effect. It makes one proud of the old --th. Gleason hasn't chirped, but then he is somewhere in central Iowa buying. They say Ray's brother-in-law is one of the largest horse-dealers, and Stannard clamps his mug and looks ugly when it is spoken of. He knows something about him, and was a good deal stampeded when he heard Ray was being wined and dined by him at Kansas City. But, be it understood, I don't think Ray has any suspicion of Stannard's objection to the man. And now, Jack, I'll wind up this rigmarole. It is long after taps, and the men are still at work packing. I've been interrupted time and again, and this is all incoherency. If you decide to join, let it not be said for an instant that the faintest urging came from us. Address your next to Russell. The colonel forbade my telegraphing you lest it might sound like a hint. My compliments to Mrs. Truscott, and tell her I saw her old friend Ranger off for the wars two nights ago; likewise that young imp of the devil,--the Kid. Tanner's old troop isn't what it was in his day.
"Yours always faithfully, "BILLINGS."
Long before he had finished reading she had bowed her head upon herhands, but there came no sound. At last he laid the letter down, andthen bent over her.
"Grace,--darling!"
Slowly she lifted her eyes and looked up in his face. All the light, allthe joy and gladness had fled. Her lips moved as though to question, buta hard, dry lump seemed to have formed in her throat; she could notspeak. His strong hands trembled as they gently raised her from thelowly attitude in which she had been crouching at his knee. He wouldhave drawn her to his breast again, but she put her little hands uponhis shoulder and held herself back. Twice she essayed to speak beforethe words came,--
"Jack, God knows I have tried to be ready for this. But is there _no_way? I never thought to stand between you and your duty--your honor. Iwould not--I would not now if I were--all. Oh, Jack,--my husband,there--there is another reason."
