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A Trooper Galahad

by Charles King · English · Gutenberg #37688 · 352,964 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: A Trooper Galahad

Author: Charles King


        
Release date: October 10, 2011 [eBook #37688]

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TROOPER GALAHAD ***




Produced by Suzanne Shell, Martin Pettit and the Online
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file was produced from images generously made available
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A TROOPER GALAHAD

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A.

AUTHOR OF "THE COLONEL'S DAUGHTER," "MARION'S FAITH," "CAPTAIN BLAKE,"
"UNDER FIRE," "FROM SCHOOL TO BATTLE-FIELD," ETC.

[Illustration: Logo]

PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1899


COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.

ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED BY
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. PHILADELPHIA, U. S. A.

[Illustration: "Felling him like an ox. Page 107."]

       *       *       *       *       *

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A.


BOOKS FOR BOYS.

TROOPER ROSS, AND SIGNAL BUTTE.
FROM SCHOOL TO BATTLE-FIELD.

_8vo. Cloth, illustrated, $1.50._


NOVELS.

THE COLONEL'S DAUGHTER.
CAPTAIN BLAKE.
FOES IN AMBUSH (_Paper, 50 cents_).
UNDER FIRE.
MARION'S FAITH.
THE GENERAL'S DOUBLE.

_12mo. Cloth, illustrated, $1.25._

TRIALS OF A STAFF OFFICER.
WARING'S PERIL.
A TROOPER GALAHAD.

_12mo. Cloth, $1.00._

KITTY'S CONQUEST.
LARAMIE; OR, THE QUEEN OF BEDLAM.
TWO SOLDIERS, AND DUNRAVEN RANCH.
STARLIGHT RANCH, AND OTHER STORIES.
THE DESERTER, AND FROM THE RANKS.
A SOLDIER'S SECRET, AND AN ARMY PORTIA.
CAPTAIN CLOSE, AND SERGEANT CROESUS.

_12mo. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents._

A TAME SURRENDER. A Story of the Chicago Strike.
RAY'S RECRUIT.

_16mo. Polished buckram, illustrated, 75 cents.
Issued in the Lotos Library._

Editor of THE COLONEL'S CHRISTMAS DINNER, AND OTHER STORIES.

_12mo. Cloth, $1.25; paper, 50 cents._

AN INITIAL EXPERIENCE, AND OTHER STORIES.
CAPTAIN DREAMS, AND OTHER STORIES.

_12mo. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents._

       *       *       *       *       *




A TROOPER GALAHAD




CHAPTER I.


"Life is full of ups and downs," mused the colonel, as he laid on the
littered desk before him an official communication just received from
Department Head-Quarters, "especially army life,--and more especially
army life in Texas."

"Now, what are you philosophizing about?" asked his second in command, a
burly major, glancing over the top of the latest home paper, three weeks
old that day.

"D'ye remember Pigott, that little cad that was court-martialled at San
Antonio in '68 for quintuplicating his pay accounts? He married the
widow of old Alamo Hendrix that winter. He's worth half a million
to-day, is running for Congress, and will probably be on the military
committee next year, while here's Lawrence, who was judge advocate of
the court that tried him, gone all to smash." And the veteran officer
commanding the --th Infantry and the big post at Fort Worth glanced
warily along into the adjoining office, where a clerk was assorting the
papers on the adjutant's desk.

"It's the saddest case I ever heard of," said Major Brooks, tossing
aside the _Toledo Blade_ and tripping up over his own, which he had
thoughtfully propped between his legs as he took his seat and
thoughtlessly ignored as he left it. "Damn that sabre,--and the service
generally!" he growled, as he recovered his balance and tramped to the
window. "I'd almost be willing to quit it as Pigott did if I could see
my way to a moderate competence anywhere out of it. Lawrence was as good
a soldier as we had in the 12th, and, yet, what can you do or say? The
mischief's done." And, beating the devil's tattoo on the window, the
major stood gloomily gazing out over the parade.

"It isn't Lawrence himself I'm so---- Orderly, shut that door!" cried
the chief, whirling around in his chair, "and tell those clerks I want
it kept shut until the adjutant comes; and you stay out on the
porch.--It isn't Lawrence I'm so sorely troubled about, Brooks. He has
ability, and could pick up and do well eventually, but he's utterly
discouraged and swamped. What's to become, though, of that poor child
Ada and his little boy?"

"God knows," said Brooks, sadly. "I've got five of my own to look
after, and you've got four. No use talking of adopting them, even if
Lawrence would listen; and he never would listen to anything or
anybody--they tell me," he added, after a minute's reflection. "I don't
know it myself. It's what Buxton and Canker and some of those fellows
told me on the Republican last summer. I hadn't seen him since
Gettysburg until we met here."

"Buxton and Canker be--exterminated!" said the colonel, hotly. "I never
met Buxton, and never want to. As for Canker, by gad, there's another
absurdity. They put him in the cavalry because consolidation left no
room for him with us. What do you suppose they'll do with him in the
--th?"

"The Lord knows, as I said before. He never rode anything but a hobby in
his life. I don't wonder Lawrence couldn't tolerate preaching from him.
But what I don't understand is, who made the allegation. What's his
offence? Every one knows that he's in debt and trouble, and that he's
had hard lines and nothing else ever since the war, but the court
acquitted him of all blame in that money business----"

"And now to make room for fellows with friends at court," burst in the
colonel, wrathfully, "he and other poor devils with nothing but a
fighting record and a family to provide for are turned loose on a year's
pay, which they're to have after things straighten out as to their
accounts with the government. Now just look at Lawrence! Ordnance and
quartermaster's stores hopelessly boggled----"

"Hush!" interrupted Brooks, starting back from the window. "Here he is
now."

Assembly of the guard details had sounded a few moments before, and all
over the sunshiny parade on its westward side, in front of the various
barracks, little squads of soldiers armed and in full uniform were
standing awaiting the next signal, while the porches of the low wooden
buildings beyond were dotted with groups of comrades, lazily looking on.
Out on the greensward, broad and level, crisscrossed with gravel walks,
the band had taken its station, marshalled by the tall drum-major in his
huge bear-skin shako. From the lofty flag-staff in the centre of the
parade the national colors were fluttering in the mountain breeze that
stole down from the snowy peaks hemming the view to the northwest and
stirred the leaves of the cottonwoods and the drooping branches of the
willows in the bed of the rushing stream sweeping by the southern limits
of the garrison. Within the enclosure, sacred to military use, it was
all the same old familiar picture, the stereotyped fashion of the
frontier fort of the earliest '70s,--dull-hued barracks on one side or
on two, dull-hued, broad-porched cottages--the officers' quarters--on
another, dull-hued offices, storehouses, corral walls, scattered about
the outskirts, a dull-hued, sombre earth on every side; sombre sweeping
prairie beyond, spanned by pallid sky or snow-tipped mountains; a
twisting, winding road or two, entering the post on one front, issuing
at the other, and tapering off in sinuous curves until lost in the
distance; a few scattered ranches in the stream valley; a collection of
sheds, shanties, and hovels surrounding a bustling establishment known
as the store, down by the ford,--the centre of civilization, apparently,
for thither trended every roadway, path, track, or trail visible to the
naked eye. Here in front of the office a solitary cavalry horse was
tethered. Yonder at the sutler's, early as it was in the day, a dozen
quadrupeds, mules, mustangs, or Indian ponies, were blinking in the
sunshine. Dogs innumerable sprawled in the sand. Bipeds lolled lazily
about or squatted on the steps on the edge of the wooden porch, some in
broad sombreros, some in scalp-lock and blanket,--none in the garb of
civil life as seen in the nearest cities, and the nearest was four or
five hundred miles away. Out on the parade were bits of lively color,
the dresses of frolicsome children to the east, the stripes and facings
of the cavalry and artillery at the west; for, by some odd freak of the
fortunes of war, here, away out at Fort Worth, had come a crack light
battery of the old army, which, with Brooks's battalion of the cavalry,
and head-quarters' staff, band, and six companies of the --th Infantry,
made up the garrison,--the biggest then maintained in the Department
immortalized by Sheridan as only second choice to Sheol. It was the
winter of '70 and '71, as black and dreary a time as ever the army knew,
for Congress had telescoped forty-five regiments into half the number
and blasted all hopes of promotion,--about the only thing the soldier
has to live for.

And that wasn't the blackest thing about the business, by any means. The
war had developed the fact that we had thousands of battalion commanders
for whom the nation had no place in peace times, and scores of them, in
the hope and promise of a life employment in an honorable profession,
accepted the tender of lieutenancies in the regular army in '66, the war
having broken up all their vocations at home, and now, having given four
years more to the military service,--taken all those years out of their
lives that might have been given to establishing themselves in
business,--they were bidden to choose between voluntarily quitting the
army with a bonus of a year's pay, and remaining with no hope of
advancement. Most of them, despairing of finding employment in civil
life, concluded to stay: so other methods of getting rid of them were
devised, and, to the amaze of the army and the dismay of the victims, a
big list was published of officers "rendered supernumerary" and
summarily discharged. And this was how it happened that a gallant,
brilliant, and glad-hearted fellow, the favorite staff officer of a
glorious corps commander who fell at the head of his men after three
years of equally glorious service, found himself in far-away Texas this
blackest of black Fridays, suddenly turned loose on the world and
without hope or home.

Cruel was no word for it. Entering the army before the war, one of the
few gifted civilians commissioned because they loved the service and
then had friends to back them, Edgar Lawrence had joined the cavalry in
Texas, where the first thing he did was to fall heels over head in love
with his captain's daughter, and a runaway match resulted. Poor Kitty
Tyrrell! Poor Ned Lawrence! Two more unpractical people never lived. She
was an army girl with aspirations, much sweetness, and little sense. He
was a whole-souled, generous, lavish fellow. Both were extravagant, she
particularly so. They were sorely in debt when the war broke out, and
he, instead of going in for the volunteers, was induced to become
aide-de-camp to his old colonel, who passed him on to another when he
retired; and when the war was half over Lawrence was only a captain of
staff, and captain he came out at the close. Brevets of course he had,
but what are brevets but empty title? What profiteth it a man to be
called colonel if he have only the pay of a sub? Hundreds of men who
eagerly sought his aid or influence during the war "held over him" at
the end of it. Another general took him on his staff as aide-de-camp,
where Lawrence was invaluable. Kitty dearly loved city life, parties,
balls, operas, and theatres; but Lawrence grew lined and gray with care
and worry. The general went the way of all flesh, and Lawrence to Texas,
unable to get another staff billet. They set him at court-martial duty
at San Antonio for several months, for Texas furnished culprits by the
score in the days that followed the war, and many an unpromising army
career was cut short by the tribunal of which Captain and Brevet
Lieutenant-Colonel Lawrence was judge advocate; but all the time he had
a skeleton in his own closet that by and by rattled its way out. Time
was in the war days when many of the men of the head-quarters escort
banked their money with the beloved and popular aide. He had nearly
twelve hundred dollars when the long columns probed the Wilderness in
'64. It was still with him when he was suddenly sent back to Washington
with the body of his beloved chief, but every cent was gone before he
got there, stolen from him on the steamer from Acquia Creek, and never a
trace was found of it thereafter. For years he was paying that off,
making it good in driblets, but while he was serving faithfully in
Texas, commanding a scout that took him miles and miles away over the
Llano Estacado, there were inimical souls who worked the story of his
indebtedness to enlisted men for all it was worth, and, aided by the
complaints of some of their number, to his grievous disadvantage. He
came home from a brilliant dash after the Kiowas to find himself
complimented in orders and confronted by charges in one and the same
breath. The court acquitted him of the charges and "cut" his accusers,
but the shame and humiliation of it all seemed to prey upon his spirits;
and then Kitty Tyrrell died.

"If that had only happened years before," said the colonel, "it would
have been far better for Lawrence, for she conscientiously believed
herself the best wife in the world, and spent every cent of his income
in dressing up to her conception of the character." Once the most
dashing and debonair of captains, poor Ned ran down at the heel and
seemed unable to rally. New commanders came to the department, to his
regiment, and new officials to the War Office,--men "who knew not
Joseph;" and when the drag-net was cast into the whirlpool of army names
and army reputations, it was set for scandal, not for services, and the
old story of those unpaid hundreds was enmeshed and served up seasoned
with the latest spice obtainable from the dealers rebuked of that
original court. And, lo! when the list of victims reached Fort Worth in
the reorganization days, old Frazier, the colonel, burst into a string
of anathemas, and more than one good woman into a passion of tears, for
poor Ned Lawrence, at that moment long days' marches away towards the
Rio Bravo, was declared supernumerary and mustered out of the service of
the United States with one year's pay,--pay which he could not hope to
get until every government account was satisfactorily straightened, and
this, too, at a time when the desertion of one sergeant and the death of
another revealed the fact that his storehouses had been systematically
robbed and that he was hopelessly short in many a costly item charged
against him. That heartless order was a month old when the stricken
soldier reached his post, and then and there for the first time learned
his fate.

Yes, they had tried to break it to him. Letters full of sympathy were
written and sent by couriers far to the north; others took them on the
Concho trail. Brooks and Frazier both wrote to San Antonio messages
thence to be wired to Washington imploring reconsideration; but the deed
was done. Astute advisers of the War Secretary clinched the matter by
the prompt renomination of others to fill the vacancies just created,
and once these were confirmed by the Senate there could be no appeal.
The detachment led by Brevet Lieutenant-Colonel Lawrence, so later said
the Texas papers, had covered itself with glory, but in its pursuit of
the fleeing Indians it had gone far to the northeast and so came home by
a route no man had dreamed of, and Lawrence, spurring eagerly ahead,
rode in at night to fold his motherless little ones to his heart, and
found loving army women aiding their faithful old nurse in ministering
to them, but read disaster in the tearful eyes and faltering words that
welcomed him.

Then he was ill a fortnight, and then he had to go. He could not, would
not believe the order final. He clung to the hope that he would find at
Washington a dozen men who knew his war record, who could remember his
gallant services in a dozen battles, his popularity and prominence in
the Army of the Potomac. Everybody knows the favorite aide-de-camp of a
corps commander when colonels go begging for recognition, and everybody
has a cheery, cordial word for him so long as he and his general live
and serve together. But that proves nothing when the general is gone.
Colonels who eagerly welcomed and shook hands with the aide-de-camp and
talked confidentially with him about other colonels in days when he rode
long hours by his general's side, later passed him by with scant notice,
and "always thought him a much overrated man." Right here at Fort Worth
were fellows who, six or seven years before, would have given a month's
pay to win Ned Lawrence's influence in their behalf,--for, like
"Perfect" Bliss of the Mexican war days, Lawrence was believed to write
his general's despatches and reports,--but who now shrank uneasily out
of his way for fear that he should ask a favor.

Even Brooks, who liked and had spoken for him, drew back from the window
when with slow, heavy steps the sad-faced, haggard man came slowly along
the porch. The orderly sprang up and stood at salute just as adjutant's
call sounded, and the band pealed forth its merry, spirited music. For
a moment the new-comer turned and glanced back over the parade, now
dotted with little details all marching out to the line where stood the
sergeant-major; then he turned, entered the building, and paused with
hopeless eyes and pallid, careworn features at the office doorway. His
old single-breasted captain's frock-coat, with its tarnished silver
leaves at the shoulders, hung loosely about his shrunken form. The
trousers, with their narrow welt of yellow at the seam, looked far too
big for him. His forage-cap, still natty in shape, was old and worn. His
chin and cheeks bristled with a stubbly grayish beard. All the old alert
manner was gone. The once bright eyes were bleary and dull. Neighbors
said that poor Ned had been drinking deep of the contents of a demijohn
a sympathetic soul had sent him, and half an eye could tell that his lip
was tremulous. The colonel arose and held out his hand.

"Come in, Lawrence, old fellow, and tell me what I can do for you." He
spoke kindly, and Brooks, too, turned towards the desolate man.

"You've done--all you could--both of you. God bless you!" was the
faltering answer. "I've come to say I start at once. I'm going right to
Washington to have this straightened out. I want to thank you, colonel,
and you too, Brooks, for all your willing help. I'll try to show my
appreciation of it when I get back."

"But Ada and little Jim, Lawrence; surely they're not ready for that
long journey yet," said Frazier, thinking sorrowfully of what his wife
had told him only the day before,--that they had no decent winter
clothing to their names.

"It's all right. Old Mammy stays right here with them. She has taken
care of them, you know, ever since my poor wife died. I can keep my old
quarters a month, can't I?" he queried, with a quivering smile. "Even if
the order isn't revoked, it would be a month or more before any one
could come to take my place. Mrs. Blythe will look after the children
day and night."

Frazier turned appealingly to Brooks, who shook his head and refused to
speak, and so the colonel had to.

"Lawrence, God knows I hate to say one word of discouragement, but I
fear--I fear you'd better wait till next week's stage and take those
poor little folks with you. I've watched this thing. I know how a dozen
good fellows, confident as yourself, have gone on to Washington and
found it all useless."

"It can't be useless, sir," burst in the captain, impetuously. "Truth is
truth and must prevail. If after all my years of service I can find no
friends in the War Office, then life is a lie and a sham. Senator Hall
writes me that he will leave no stone unturned. No, colonel, I take the
stage at noon to-day. Will you let Winn ride with me as far as Castle
Peak? I've got to run down and see Fuller now."

"Winn can go with you, certainly; but indeed, Lawrence, I shall have to
see you again about this."

"I'll stop on the way back," said Lawrence, nervously. "Fuller promised
to see me before he went out to his ranch." And hastily the captain
turned away.

For a moment the two seniors stood there silently gazing into each
other's eyes. "What can one do or say?" asked the colonel, at last. "I
suppose Fuller is going to let him have money for the trip. He can
afford to, God knows, after all he's made out of this garrison. But the
question is, ought I not to make poor Lawrence understand that it's a
gone case? He is legally out already. His successor is on his way here.
I got the letter this morning."

"On his way here? Who is he?" queried the major, in sudden interest.
"They didn't know when Stone came through San Antonio ten days ago."

"Man named Barclay; just got his captaincy in the 30th,--but was
consolidated out of that, of course."

"Barclay--Barclay, you say?" ejaculated the major, in excitement. "Well,
of all the----"

"Of all the what?" demanded the colonel, impatiently. "Nothing wrong
with him, I hope."

"Wrong? No, or they wouldn't have dubbed him Galahad. But, talk about
ups and downs in Texas, this beats all. Does Winn know?"

"I don't know that any one knows but you and me," answered the veteran,
half testily. "What's amiss? What has Winn to do with it?"

"Blood and blue blazes! Why, of course you couldn't know. Three years
ago Barclay believed himself engaged to a girl, and she threw him over
for Winn, and now we'll have all three of them right here at Worth."




CHAPTER II.


In spite of what Colonel Frazier could say, Captain Lawrence had gone
the long and devious journey to Washington. Those were the days when the
lumbering stage-coach once a week, or a rattling ambulance, bore our
army travellers from the far frontier to San Antonio. Another trundled
and bumped them away to the Gulf. A Morgan Line steamer picked them up
and tossed and rolled with them to the mouth of the Mississippi and
unloaded them at New Orleans, whence by dusty railway journey of
forty-eight hours or more they could hope to reach the North. The
parting between Lawrence and his tall slip of a daughter and boisterous
little Jimmy was something women wept over in telling or hearing, for
only two looked on, well-nigh blinded,--Mrs. Blythe, who had been
devoted to their mother, and old "Mammy," who was devoted to them all. A
month had rolled by, and the letters that came from Lawrence from San
Antonio and Indianola and New Orleans had been read by sympathizing
friends to the children. Then all awaited the news from Washington.
Every one knew he would wire to Department Head-Quarters the moment the
case was settled in his favor; but the days went by without other
tidings, and the croakers who had predicted ill success were mournfully
happy. February passed, March was ushered in; orders came transferring
certain portions of Frazier's big command, and certain new officers
began to arrive to fill the three or four vacancies existing, but the
new captain of Troop "D" of the cavalry had not yet appeared. His fame,
however, had preceded him, and all Fort Worth was agog to meet him.
Brooks knew but a modest bit of his story, and what he knew he kept from
every man but Frazier, yet had had to tell his wife. The Winns were
silent on the subject. Winn himself was a man of few intimates,--a young
first lieutenant of cavalry,--and the tie that bound him to Lawrence was
the fact that he and Kitty Tyrrell were first-cousins, their mothers
sisters, and Winn, a tall, athletic, slender fellow, frank, buoyant,
handsome, and connected with some of the best names in the old army, was
one of the swells of his class at the Point and the beau among all the
young officers the summer of his graduation,--the summer that Laura
Waite, engaged to Brevet Captain Galbraith Barclay of the Infantry, came
from the West to visit relatives at that enchanting spot, spent just six
weeks there, and, after writing letters all one month to close her
absent lover's eyes, wound up by writing one that opened them. She was a
beautiful girl then; she was a lovely-looking woman now, but the bloom
was gone. The brilliant eyes were often clouded, for Harry Winn was "his
aunt Kitty all over," said many a man who knew them both. Their name was
impecuniosity. That Mrs. Winn could tell much about the coming captain
letters from other regiments informed more than one bright woman at
Worth; but that the young matron would tell next to nothing, more than
one woman, bright or blundering, discovered on inquiry. Only one officer
now at the post had ever served with Barclay, and that was Brooks, who
became tongue-tied so soon as it was settled beyond peradventure that
Captain Galbraith Barclay from the unassigned list had been gazetted to
the 12th Cavalry, Troop "D," _vice_ Lawrence, honorably discharged. But
Brooks had letters, so had Frazier, from old officers who had served
with the transferred man. Some of these letters referred to him in terms
of admiration, while another spoke of him unhesitatingly as "more kinds
of a damned fool" than the writer had ever met. Verily, various men have
various minds.

Presently, however, there came a man who could tell lots about Barclay,
whether he knew anything or not, and that was one of the new transfers,
Lieutenant Hodge by title and name. Hodge said he had served with the
30th along the Union Pacific, and had met Barclay often. In his original
regiment Mr. Hodge had been regarded as a very monotonous sort of man, a
fellow who bored his hearers to death, and the contrast between his
reception in social circles in the regiment he had left, and that
accorded him here at Worth so soon as it was learned that he knew
Barclay, inspired Mr. Hodge to say that _these_ people were worth
knowing; they had some life and intelligence about them. The gang he had
left in Wyoming were a stupid lot of owls by comparison. For a week
Hodge was invited to dinner by family after family, and people dropped
in to spend the evening where he happened to be, for Hodge held the
floor and talked for hours about Barclay, and what he had to tell was
interesting indeed; so much so, said Brooks, that some of it was
probably a preposterous lie. To begin with, said Hodge, Captain Barclay
was rich, very rich, fabulously rich, perhaps; nobody knew how rich, and
nobody would have known he was rich at all, judging from the simplicity
and strict economy of his life. In fact, it was this simplicity and
strict economy that had given rise to the belief that existed for a
year or two after he joined the 30th that he was hampered either with
debts or with dependent relatives. Relatives they knew he had, because
sisters sent their boys to visit him at Sanders, and he took them
hunting, fishing, etc.; from these ingenuous nephews the ladies learned
of others, nephews, nieces, sisters, cousins, aunts, who wrote long
letters to Uncle Gal, and the mail orderly said he left more letters at
Captain Barclay's quarters than at anybody's else. So Fort Sanders
dropped the theory of debts and adopted that of dependants, and that
held good for the first year of his service with them. He had joined
from the volunteers, where he had risen to the grade of major. He was
"pious," said Hodge,--wouldn't drink, smoke, chew, play cards, or
swear,--thought they ought to have services on Sunday. He left the
roistering bachelors' mess soon after his reaching the post, and had
ever since kept house, his cook and housemaid being one old darky whom
he had "accumulated" in the South during the war,--a darky who had been
well-taught in the household of his old master, and who became
extravagantly attached to the new. Hannibal could cook, wait at table,
and tend door to perfection, but he had to learn the duties of second
girl when his master joined the 30th in far Wyoming, and that was the
only time a breach was threatened. Hannibal's dignity was hurt. He had
been body-servant in the antebellum days, butler, cook, coachman, and
hostler, but had never done such chores as Marse Barclay told him would
fall to his lot when that reticent officer set up his modest
establishment. Hannibal sulked three days, and even talked of leaving.
The lieutenant counted out a goodly sum, all Hannibal's own, and told
him that he would find the balance banked in his name in the distant
East whenever he chose to quit; then Hannibal broke down, and was
speedily broken in. All this had Hodge heard when the dames of Sanders
and those of Steele or Russell were comparing notes and picnicking
together along that then new wonder of the world, the Union Pacific. But
all this was only preliminary to what came later.

Little detachments, horse and foot, were scattered all over the line of
the brand-new railway while it was being built; every now and then the
Indians jumped their camps and working-parties, and in the late fall of
'67 Barclay had a stiff and plucky fight with a band of Sioux; he was
severely wounded, but beat them off, and was sent East to recuperate.
Now came particulars Hodge could not give, but that letters could and
did. It was while Barclay was convalescing at Omaha Barracks that he met
Miss Laura Waite,--a beautiful girl and a garrison belle. She was ten
years his junior. This was her first winter in army society. She had
spent her girl years at school, and now was having "simply a heavenly
time," if her letters could be believed. Her father was a field officer
of cavalry with rather a solemn way of looking at life, and her mother
was said to be the explanation of much of his solemnity,--she being as
volatile as he was staid. She too had been a beauty, and believed that
beauty a permanent fixture. But Laura was fresh and fair, sweet and
winsome, light-hearted and joyous, and the father for a time took more
pride in her than he did in his sons. Major Waite was in command of the
cantonment from which the relief party was sent when the news came that
Barclay and his little detachment were "corralled." Major Waite became
enthusiastic over the details of the cool, courageous, brainy defence
made by the young officer against tremendous odds, covered him with all
manner of thoughtful care and attention when he was brought into the
cantonment, then, when the winter soon set in and the camp broke up, and
Waite went back to Omaha Barracks, he took Barclay with him to his house
instead of the hospital, and the rest followed as the night the day.

Barclay spent a month under the major's roof, won his esteem and
friendship, but left his heart in the daughter's hands. If ever a man
devotedly loved a beautiful, winsome young girl, that man was Galbraith
Barclay; if ever a girl's father approved of a man, that man was
Barclay; and if ever a man had reason to hope that his suit would win
favor in a father's eyes, that man was Barclay; yet it did not. Major
Waite's reply to the modest yet most manful plea of Lieutenant Barclay
to be permitted to pay his addresses to the major's daughter surprised
every one to whom Mrs. Waite confided it, and they were not few. The old
soldier begged of the younger not to think of it, at least just yet. But
when it transpired that the younger had been most seriously thinking of
it and could think of nothing else, then the major changed his tune and
told him what he did not tell his wife; and that only became known
through the father's own intemperate language long months after. He told
Barclay he knew no man to whom he would rather intrust his daughter's
happiness, but he feared, he believed, she was still too young to know
her own mind, too young to see in Barclay what he saw, and he urged that
the young officer should wait. But Barclay knew his own mind. He was
able, he said, to provide for her in comfort either in or out of the
army, which few possible aspirants could say. He would listen to no
demur, and then at last the father said, "Try your fate if you will, but
let there be no thought of marriage before she is twenty,--before she
can have had opportunity of seeing something of the world and of other
men,--not these young whippersnappers just joining us here."

It was a surprise to him that Laura should accept Mr. Barclay. She came
to him, her father, all happy smiles and tears and blushes, and told him
how proud and glad a girl she was, because she thought her lover the
best and noblest man she ever dreamed of except her own dear old dad.
For a time Waite took heart and hoped for the best, and believed her and
her mother, as indeed they believed themselves; and when Barclay went
back to Sanders at the end of January he was a very happy man, and Laura
for a week a very lonely girl. Then youth, health, elasticity, vivacity,
opportunity, all prevailed, and she began to take notice in very joyous
fashion. She did not at all recognize the doctrine preached by certain
mammas and certain other damsels, that she as an engaged girl should
hold aloof now and give the other girls, not so pretty, a chance. The
barracks were gay that winter: Laura danced with the gayest, and when
Barclay got leave in April and came down for a fortnight he found
himself much in the way of two young gentlemen who danced delightfully,
a thing he could not do at all. Yet he had sweet hours with his
sweetheart, and grew even more deeply in love, so beautiful was she
growing, and went back to Sanders a second time thinking himself
happiest of the happy, or bound to be when, in the coming autumn, he
could claim her as his own. But Waite was troubled. He was to take the
field the 1st of May; his troops would be in saddle and on scout away to
the west all summer long; his wife and daughter were to spend those
months at the sea-shore and in shopping for the great event to come in
November. He had a long, earnest talk with Barclay when once more the
devoted fellow came to see the lady of his love on the eve of her
departure for the East, but Barclay looked into her radiant, uplifted
eyes, and could not read the shadow of coming events, of which she was
as ignorant as he. In May he led his men on the march to the Big Horn,
and in June she led with Cadet Lieutenant Winn the german at the
graduation hop at West Point. Then Winn was assigned to duty, as was the
custom of the day, one of two or three young graduates chosen as
assistant instructors during the summer camp. He had an hour to devote
to drill each morning and a dozen to devote to the girls, and Laura
Waite, with her lovely face and form, was the talk of the brilliant
throng of visitors that summer. She and her mother returned to the Point
as guests of some old friends there stationed, a visit which was not on
the original programme at all. Winn took the girl riding day after day,
and to hops week after week. The shopping for the wedding went on
betweentimes, and Winn even escorted them to the city and took part in
the shopping. In fine, when November came, in spite of the furious
opposition of her father, in spite of his refusal to attend the ceremony
or to countenance it in any way, Winn, _vice_ Barclay, honorably
discharged, appeared as groom, and bore his bride away to a round of
joyous festivities among army friends in New Orleans and San Antonio
before their final exile to the far frontier. From that day to this no
line had ever come from the angered and aging man, even when Laura's
baby girl was born. Funds he sent from time to time,--he knew he'd have
to do that, as he told her mother and she told her friends,--and then,
just as more funds were much needed because of pressing claims of
creditors whose bills had not been paid from previous remittances, Winn
being much in the field and Laura becoming disburser general in his
absence, the major suddenly died, leaving a small life insurance for his
disconsolate widow and nothing to speak of for his children. They had
sucked him dry during his busy life.

The Winns did not invite Mr. Hodge to dinner, and were not bidden to
meet him. Laura was still in light mourning for her father, and for days
she really heard very little of Hodge's revelations regarding her
discarded Wyoming lover. It was through the nurse-girl, an old soldier's
daughter, that she first began to glean the chaff of the stories
flitting from house to house, and to hear the exaggeration of Hodge's
romancings about Captain Barclay's wealth, for that, after all, proved
the most vividly interesting of the travellers' tales he told. Barclay
proved to be, said Hodge, an expert mineralogist and geologist, and this
was of value when a craze for dabbling in mining stocks swept over
Sanders. Barclay, who lived so simply in garrison, was discovered
(through a breach of confidence on the part of the officiating
clergyman, that well-nigh led to another breach) to be the principal
subscriber to the mission church being built in Laramie City. It
suddenly became known that Barclay had a balance in the local bank and
reserve funds at the East, whereupon promoters and prospectors by the
dozen called upon him at the fort and strove to induce him to take stock
in their mines. Nine out of ten were sent to the right-about, even
those who called his attention to the fact that Colonel This and Major
That were large shareholders. One or two he gave ear to, and later got
leave of absence and visited their distant claims. He was out
prospecting, said Hodge, half the time in the fall of '68. The ventures
of the other officers seemed to prove prolific sources of assessments.
The Lord only knows how much fun and money the mine-owners of those days
got out of the army. But they failed to impress the puritanical captain,
and by the summer of '69 they ceased to do business in his neighborhood,
for before sending good money after bad, officers had taken to
consulting Barclay, and many an honest fellow's hoarded savings were
spared to his wife and children, all through Barclay's calm and patient
exposition of the fallacy of the "Company's" claims.

Then, said Hodge, when Channing, of the 27th, was killed by Red Cloud's
band back of Laramie Peak, and his heart-broken widow and children were
left penniless, somebody found the money to send them all to their
friends in New England and to see them safely established there. And
when Porter's wife was taken so ill while he was away up north of the
Big Horn, and the doctor said that a trained nurse must be had in the
first place, there came one from far Chicago; and later, after Porter
reached the post, overjoyed to find his beloved one slowly mending and
so skilfully guarded, the doctors told him she must be taken to the
sea-shore or the South, and, though every one at Sanders knew poor
Porter had not a penny, it was all arranged somehow, and Emily Porter
came back the next winter a rosy, blooming, happy wife. No one knew for
certain that all the needed money came from Barclay, but as the Porters
seemed to adore him from that time on, and their baby boy was baptized
Galbraith Barclay, everybody had reason to believe it. If Mrs. Winn ever
wanted to experience the exhilaration of hearing what other people
thought of her, she had only, said Mr. Hodge in confidence, to turn Mrs.
Porter loose on that subject.

Then, too, said Hodge, there was Ordnance Sergeant Murphy and his
family, burned out one winter's night with all their savings, and the
old man dreadfully scorched in trying to rescue his strong box from the
flames. It must have been Barclay who looked after the mother and kids
all the time the old man was moaning in hospital. They moved him into a
newly furnished and comfortable shack inside of a fortnight, and the
Murphys had another saint on their domestic calendar, despite the
non-appearance of his name in the voluminous records of their Church.
All this and more did Hodge tell of Barclay, as in duty bound, he said,
after first telling what other fellows long said of him,--that he was
close and mean, a prig, a namby-pamby (despite the way he fought
Crow-Killer's warlike band), a wet blanket to garrison joys, etc., etc.;
and yet they really couldn't tell why. He subscribed just as much to the
hop fund, though he didn't hop,--to the supper fund, though he didn't
sup,--to the mess fund for the entertainment of visiting officers,
though he didn't drink,--to the dramatic fund, though he couldn't
act,--to the garrison hunt, though they said he couldn't ride. But he
declined to give one cent towards the deficiency bill that resulted when
Sanders entertained Steele at an all-night symposium at the sutler's and
opened case after case of champagne and smoked box after box of cigars.
"It was a senseless, soulless proceeding," said he, with brutal
frankness. "Half the money you drank or smoked up in six hours could
have clothed and fed all the children in Sudstown for six months."

"Lord, but they were mad all through," said Hodge, when describing it.
"There wasn't a name they didn't call him all that winter."

"And yet I hear," said Mrs. Tremaine, a woman Fort Worth loved and
looked up to as the --th did to Mrs. Stannard, "that for a long time
past they have called him Sir Galahad instead of Galbraith."

"Oh," said Hodge, "that's one of old Gleason's jokes. He said they
called him 'Gal I had' when he went to Omaha and 'Gal I hadn't' when he
got back,"--a statement which sent Major Brooks swearing _sotto voce_
from the room.

"I don't know which I'd rather kick," said he, "Hodge or Gleason. I'd
rejoice in Barclay's coming if it weren't--if Lawrence were only here,
if Winn were only away."




CHAPTER III.


An unhappy man was Major Brooks that gloomy month of March. The news
from Washington _via_ Department Head-Quarters was most discouraging as
to Lawrence. He was both looking and doing ill. It seemed to "break him
all up," said a letter from a friend in the Adjutant-General's office,
that so few could be found to urge the Secretary to do something for
him. What could they do? was the answer. Admitting that Lawrence had
been grievously wronged, "whose fault was it?" said the Secretary; "not
mine." He had only acted on the information and recommendation of
officers to whom this work had been intrusted. If they had erred, he
should have been informed of it before. "How could you be informed,"
said the Senator who had championed the poor fellow's cause, "when you
resorted to a system that would have shamed a Spaniard in the days of
the Inquisition, or the Bourbons with their _lettres de cachet_ and the
Bastile?" No one dreamed that Lawrence was in danger until he was done
to death, and so, out of money, out of clothes, out of hope, health,
and courage, poor Ned was fretting his heart out, while tender women
and loyal friends were keeping guard over his shabby army home and
caring for his two motherless lambs away out on the far frontier,
awaiting the day when he should be restored to them.

It did not come, nor did Lawrence. An old comrade of the Sixth Corps, a
gallant volunteer brigade commander, then in prosperous circumstances at
Washington, had given him the shelter of his home, only too gladly
keeping him in rations and cigars, as he would have done in clothes and
pocket-money, but he shook his head at whiskey. "For God's sake, Ned,
and for your babies' sake, leave that alone. It can't help you. You
never were a drinking man before. Don't drink now, or your nerve will
give out utterly." This and more he urged and pleaded, but Lawrence's
pride seemed crushed and his heart broken. Legal advisers told his
friends at last that restoration was impossible: his place was filled.
He had only one course left if he would listen to nothing but
restoration to the army, and that was to accept a second lieutenancy and
begin over again at the bottom of the list. They broached it to him, and
he broke out into wild, derisive laughter. "Good God! do you mean that a
man who has served fifteen years in the army, fought all through the
war and served as I have served, must step down from the squadron
captaincy to ride behind the boys just out of the Point? be ranked out
of quarters by my own son-in-law the next thing I know! I'll see the
army in hell first," was his furious reply.

"No, Ned, not hell, but Texas. Take it; go back to the line, and once
you're back in the army in any grade we'll legislate you up to the
majority you deserve: see if we don't."

But Lawrence had lost all faith in promises, or in Congressional action.
He turned in contempt from the proposition, and in early April came the
tidings to San Antonio that he was desperately ill.

Meanwhile Mr. Hodge had lost the _prestige_ of his first appearance at
Worth, and fell into the customary rut of the subaltern. People found
him as monotonous as did the martyrs of the Upper Platte, and, from
having been the most sought-after of second lieutenants, he dropped back
to the plane of semi-obscurity. This was galling. Hodge's stock in trade
had been the facts or fables in his possession concerning the absent
Captain Barclay, whose present whereabouts and plans were shrouded in
mystery. A rumor came that he had decided not to join at all; that he
was in Washington striving to arrange a transfer; that his assignment
to the regiment and to the post where he must meet the woman who had
jilted him for a cavalry subaltern was something unforeseen and not to
be tolerated. The muster roll couldn't account for him other than as
permitted to delay three months by Special Orders No. So-and-so, War
Department, A.G.O., January 25, 1871. This gave Hodge unlooked-for
reinforcements. A fortnight passed in March without a bid to dinner
anywhere, without a request for further particulars as to Sir Galahad.
So long as that interesting personage was expected any day to appear and
answer for himself, it behooved Hodge to be measurably guarded in his
statements, to keep within the limits of his authorities; but one day
there came a letter from a lady at Department Head-Quarters to Mrs.
Brooks, and before Brooks himself was made aware of the contents, he
being at the club-room playing "pitch" and therefore beyond the pale of
feminine consideration, the news was going the rounds of the garrison.

Mrs. Pelham, who was spending the winter in Washington, had written to
an old and devoted friend of Major Waite's some very interesting news
about Captain Barclay. The captain was in Washington a whole week, but
had not called on Mrs. Pelham, though she had done everything she could
think of for him when he was wounded. (The Pelhams were then at
McPherson and near old Waite's summer camp, but no one ever heard of her
ladyship's ever taking the faintest interest in Barclay until after he
developed into a mine-owner and had been jilted by Laura Waite.) But let
Mrs. Pelham talk for herself, as she usually did, as well as for every
one else. "He spent the first week in February here, leaving just before
poor Captain Lawrence came. No wonder he didn't wish to meet him! And
Mrs. Waite was there, buttonholing everybody to get her pension
increased, and wearing the costliest crape you ever saw, my dear,
and--think of it!--solitaire diamond ear-rings with it! She had a room
in a house where several prominent Congressmen boarded, and was known as
'the fascinating widow.' She sent to Barclay,--would you believe
it?--and begged him to come to see her, and he _actually did_; and Mrs.
Cutts, who lives in the same house, told me that you ought to have seen
her that day,--no solitaire ear-rings or handsome crape, mind you, but
tears and bombazine; and Mrs. Cutts vows that he gave her money. That
woman is angling for another husband, and has been ever since poor
Waite's death, and if anything were to happen to Mr. Winn it's just what
Laura would be doing too. It runs in the blood, my dear. You know, and
I know, that all the time she was at Omaha Barracks and the major in the
field, she--a woman with a grown son and a graduating daughter--was
dancing with the boys at the hops and riding--yes, and
buggy-riding--with bachelors like those wretches Gates and Hagadorn."
Buggy-riding was the unpardonable sin in Mrs. Pelham's eyes, she being
"too massive to sit in anything short of the side seat of an ambulance,"
as said a regimental wit; and Mrs. Pelham looked with eyes of disfavor
on women who managed to "keep their waists" as Mrs. Waite did.

"But let me tell you about Captain Barclay," continued the letter.
"General Corliss called to see me two evenings ago and said he heard
that Barclay was actually a millionaire,--that he had large interests in
Nevada mines that were proving fabulously rich. You can understand that
I wasn't at all surprised to hear that the general had intimated to Mr.
Ray, of his staff, that it would be much better for him to go and serve
with his regiment awhile. Ray wouldn't be an acceptable son-in-law; he
has no money and too many fascinations, and there are both the Corliss
girls, you know, to be provided for, and Miranda is already _passe_, and
Ray has resigned the place, and the place is vacant, for--would you
believe it?--they say the general tendered it to Barclay, and Barclay
declined. Why, when we were all at McPherson there wasn't anything
satirical the Corlisses didn't say about Barclay, and now that he has
money they bow down to and worship him." ("Something Mrs. Pelham
wouldn't do for the world," said Mrs. Brooks to herself, with an odd
smile.) "And when the general was asked about it yesterday he couldn't
deny having made the offer, but said the reason Captain Barclay declined
was that he would very probably resign in a few weeks, his business
interests being such as to render it necessary for him to leave the
army. So, my dear, you won't have the millionaire in Texas, after all,
and I fancy how deeply Laura Winn will be disappointed. No matter how
much she cares for her husband, she wouldn't be her mother's daughter if
she didn't try to fascinate him over again."

Fancy the comfort of having such a letter as that to read to an
appreciative audience! Mrs. Brooks fled with it to Mrs. Frazier, who
thought it ought not to be read,--it was too like Dorothy Pelham for
anything. But Mrs. Brooks took and read it to neighbors who were
chatting and sewing together and had no such scruples. And that night it
was dribbling about the post that Barclay had decided to resign, had
refused a detail on the staff of General Corliss: somebody else would
get Ned Lawrence's troop. Brooks heaved a sigh and said to himself he
was glad of it, and the women heaved a sigh and wished he might have
come, if only for a little while, just to make things interesting: "it
would be such a novelty to have a millionaire mine-owner in garrison and
actually doing duty as a captain of cavalry." Finally they began to
wonder what Mrs. Winn would say now, she having had nothing at all to
say.

That very evening it chanced to occur to Mr. Hodge that he had not
returned Lieutenant Winn's call (by card,--the cavalryman having dropped
in when he knew the new arrival to have dropped out), and when Hodge
presented himself at the Winns' (he had spoken of his intention at mess
in the presence and hearing of the negro attendant, who had mentioned it
without delay to the Winns' colored combination of cook and
serving-maid, who had come over to borrow a cup of cooking sherry, it
being too far to the sutler's, and that damsel had duly notified her
mistress of the intended honor), he was shown into the dimly lighted
army sitting-room, where, toasting her feet before the fire, sat
dreaming the young mistress of the establishment, who started up in
apparent surprise. She had heard neither the step nor the ring. Very
possibly she was dozing, she admitted, for baby was sleeping aloft and
her husband was gone. She was attired in a silken gown that Hodge
described somewhat later at the major's as "puffickly stunning,"--a
garment that revealed the rich curves of her beautiful throat and neck
and arms; women who heard wondered why she should be wearing that most
becoming evening robe when there was not even a hop. She looked
handsomer than the gown, said Hodge, as she rose and greeted him, her
cheeks flushed, her eyes languorous and smouldering at first, then
growing slowly brilliant. She apologized for the absence of Mr. Winn. He
was spending much time at the office just now. "He is regimental
commissary, you know, or at least he has been," she explained. Hodge
knew all about that, and he also knew that if what he heard about the
post was true it would have been better had Winn spent more time at the
office before. Then Mrs. Winn was moved to be gracious. She had heard so
many, many pleasant things of Mr. Hodge since his arrival. She was so
honored that he should call when he must be having so many claims on his
time, so many dinner-calls to pay. She and Mr. Winn were so sorry they
had been unable to entertain Mr. Hodge, but, until the cook they were
expecting from San Antonio came, they were positively starving, and
could invite no one to share their scraps. "That cook has been expected
a whole year," said other women, but Mrs. Winn paraded him as the cause
of her social short-comings as confidently as ever. Then Mrs. Winn went
on to speak of how much she had heard of Hodge at Omaha,--dear Omaha.
"What lovely times we had along the Platte in the good old days!" Hodge
blushed with joy, and preened and twittered and thought how blessed a
thing it was to be welcomed to the fireside of such a belle and beauty
and to be remembered by her as one of the gay young bachelors at Sidney.
"Such wicked stories as we heard of you scapegraces from time to time,"
said she, whereat Hodge looked as though he might, indeed, have been
shockingly wicked, as perhaps he had. Indeed, she feared they, the young
officers, were "a sad lot, a sad lot," and looked up at him from under
the drooping lashes in a way that prompted him to an inspiration that
was almost electric in its effect on him. Hodge fairly seemed to
sparkle, to scintillate. "Sad! We were in despair," said he, "but that
was when we heard of your engagement--oh, ah, the second one, I mean,"
he stumbled on, for it would never do, thought he, to mention the first.

But he need have had no hesitation. Laura Winn had heard from other and
obscurer sources something of the rumors floating over the post that
very day. She had planned to drop in at the colonel's, where the
Fraziers entertained at dinner and music that very evening, in hopes of
hearing accidentally something definite, for Winn was one of those
useless husbands who never hear anything of current gossip. But women
might not talk if they thought she wished to hear, and fate had provided
her a better means. She saw here and now the opportunity and the man. It
was Hodge who had told so much that was of vivid interest to her. It was
Hodge she had been longing to meet for days, but Winn had held him
aloof, and now here she had this ingenuous repository of Barclayisms all
to herself until Winn should return; the chance was not to be lost.

"I love to live over those dear old days when I was a girl," she said.
"Friends seemed so real then, men so true, life so buoyant. Sometimes I
find myself wishing there were more of the old friends, the old set,
here. We seem--so much more to each other, don't you know, Mr. Hodge?"
And Hodge felt sure "we" did, and hitched his chair a foot nearer the
fire.

"Of course I was younger then, and knew so little of the world, and yet,
knowing it as I do now--I can say this to you, you know, Mr. Hodge,--I
couldn't to another soul here, for you were _of_ us, you served with
father's column" (Hodge's service was limited to playing poker with
"those wretches Gates and Hagadorn" and others of Waite's command on one
or two memorable occasions, and the resultant hole in his purse was
neither as broad as a church nor deep as a well, but 'twould serve).
"I've often felt here as though I would give anything to see some of the
dear old crowd; not that people are not very lovely here, but, you know,
we army friends cling so to the old associations." And now the beautiful
eyes seemed almost suffused, and Hodge waxed eloquent.

"I am thrice fortunate," said he, recalling the lines of his Maltravers,
"in that I am numbered among them." And now, like Laura, he looked upon
Worth as cold and dormant as compared with the kindling friendships of
the distant Platte.

"Indeed you are!" said she. "You bring back the sweetest days of my
life, and some of the saddest. I have no one to speak to me, you
know,--of course--until you did a moment ago. Tell me, is--is his life
so changed as--as they say it is?"

"I never saw a man so broke up," he responded. "He never smiled after
you--after--after it was broken off, you know." Barclay's smile was as
rare as a straight flush anyhow, he admitted to himself, but the
assertion sounded well.

"And--of late--what have you heard of him?" she asked. And Hodge poured
forth his latest news, and added more. He, too, he said, had had a
letter from an intimate friend. Captain Barclay had declared that the
assignment to the Twelfth Cavalry was impossible, Texas was impossible.
His business interests would necessitate his declining if, indeed, there
were no other reasons. General Corliss had tendered him the position of
aide-de-camp and made Billy Ray of the --th resign to make way for him,
and the moment Barclay found that out he went to Ray and told him the
whole business was without his (Barclay's) knowledge, and sooner than
displace him he would refuse. "Yes," said Hodge, "that's the way my
friend heard it from Ray himself. Now, if Barclay could only get a
detail on McDowell's staff in California it would have suited him to a
tee; then he could have looked after his Nevada interests and his
Wyoming pensioners too."

Did Mr. Hodge know surely about Mr. Barclay's wealth? Was it all true?
he was asked.

Oh, yes, there wasn't a doubt of it, said Hodge. It was just another of
those cases where a man had money in abundance, and yet would have
given it all, he added, sentimentally, but here she uplifted rebukingly
her white, slim hand,--or was it warningly? for there came a quick
footfall on the porch without. The hall door opened sharply, letting in
a gust of cold night wind, and, throwing off his cavalry cape with its
faded yellow lining, Lieutenant Winn strode through the hallway into his
little den at the rear.

"You will come and see me again," she murmured low, while yet the
footsteps resounded, "it has been so--good to see you,--so like old
times. We'll have to talk of other things now. Mr. Winn doesn't like old
times too well."

But Mr. Winn never so much as looked in the parlor door until she called
to him. Then, as she saw his face, the young wife arose with anxiety in
her own.

"What is it? Where are you going--with your revolver, too? Mr. Hodge,
dear."

"Oh-h! Beg pardon, Mr. Hodge. Glad to see you," was Winn's distraught
acknowledgment of the presence of the visitor, as he extended a
reluctant hand. "My sergeant can't be found," he went on, hurriedly.
"They say he's gone to Fuller's ranch, and it may be all right, but the
colonel has ordered out a patrol to fetch him back. Don't worry, Laurie;
I may have to ride out with it."

And hurriedly he kissed her and bounded down the steps.

For a moment she stood in the doorway, the light from the hall lamp
shining on her dusky hair and proud, beautiful face, forgetful of the
man who stood gazing at her. Then with a shiver she suddenly turned.

"It's the second time that Sergeant Marsden has been missed in just this
way, when he was most needed, and--it's so imprudent, so--and my husband
is so imprudent, so unsuspicious. Mr. Hodge," she cried, impulsively,
"if you've heard anything, or if you do hear anything, about him or Mr.
Winn, be a friend to me and tell me, won't you?" And there was nothing
Hodge would not have promised, nothing he would not have told, but the
door of the adjoining quarters slammed, an officer came striding along
the porch common to the double set, and the clank of a sabre was heard
as he neared them.

"Winn gone?" he asked. "Don't worry, Mrs. Winn. We'll overhaul that
scoundrel before he can reach the settlements, unless----"

"But what is wrong? What has happened, Mr. Brayton?" she asked, her face
white with dread, her heart fluttering.

"My Lord, Mrs. Winn, I beg your pardon! I supposed of course he had told
you. Marsden's bolted. Colonel Riggs, the inspector-general, got here
to-night with Captain Barclay, instead of coming by regular stage
Saturday, and Marsden lit out the moment he heard of their arrival. Of
course we hope Winn isn't badly bitten."

But her thoughts were of another matter now. "Captain Barclay," she
faltered, "here? Why, I--I heard----"

"Yes," shouted the young officer, as he went clattering down the steps.
"'Scuse me--I've got to mount at once," as an orderly came running up at
the moment with his horse. "Riggs has come, post-haste, only Barclay and
one man with him besides the driver. It's lucky that Friday gang never
got wind of it."




CHAPTER IV.


For forty-eight hours Fort Worth was in turmoil. To begin with, the
sudden, unheralded advent of a department inspector in those days meant
something ominous, and from Frazier down to the drum-boys the garrison
scented mischief the moment that familiar old black-hooded, dust-covered
spring wagon, drawn by the famous six-mule team, came spinning in across
the _mesa_ just after retreat, no escort whatever being in sight.
Cavalrymen had trotted alongside, said Riggs, from two of the camps on
the way, but they had made that long day's drive from Crockett Springs
all alone, trusting to luck that the Friday gang, so called, would not
get wind of it. Just who and how many constituted that array of outlaws
no man, including its own membership, could accurately say. Two
paymasters, two wagon-trains, and no end of mail-stages had been
"jumped" by those enterprising road agents in the course of the five
years that followed the war, and not once had a conviction occurred.
Arrests had been made by marshals, sheriffs, and officers in command of
detachments, but a more innocent lot of victims, according to the
testimony of friends and fellow-citizens, never dwelt in Dixie. Three
only of their number had been killed and left for recognition in the
course of those three years. One only of these was known, and the
so-called Friday gang managed to surround its haunts, its movements, and
its membership with a mystery that defied civil officials and baffled
the military. Escorts the size of a cavalry platoon had been needed
every time a disbursing officer went to and fro, and a sizable squad
accompanied the stage whenever it carried even a moderate amount of
treasure. At three points along the road from the old Mexican capital to
the outlying posts, strong detachments of cavalry had been placed in
camp, so that relays of escorts might be on hand when needed. At three
different times within the past two years, strong _posses_ had gone with
the civil officials far into the foot-hills in search of the haunts of
the band, but no occupied haunt was ever found, no band of any size or
consequence ever encountered; yet depredations were incessant. The
mail-stage came and went with guarded deliberation. The quartermaster's
trains were accompanied by at least a company of infantry. The sutler's
wagons travelled with the quartermaster's train, and the sutler's money
went to San Antonio only when the quartermaster and commissary sent
theirs, and then a whole squadron had been known to ride in charge.
Anything from a wagon-train down to a buckboard was game for the gang,
and soldiers, ranchmen, and prospectors told stories of having been
halted, overhauled, and searched by its masked members at various times,
and, whether found plethoric or poor, having been hospitably entertained
as soon as robbed of all they possessed. Only four days before Riggs
made his venturesome dash, three discharged soldiers, filled with
impatience and whiskey, had sought to run the gauntlet to the camp at
Crockett's, and came back, in the robbers' cast-off clothing, to "take
on" for another term, having parted with their uniforms and the savings
of several years at the solicitation of courteous strangers they met
along the route. Nothing but an emergency could have brought Riggs, full
tilt, for he was getting along in years and loved the comforts of his
army home.

Emergency it was, as he explained to Frazier instantly on his arrival.
The general had indubitable information that ranches to the south had
long been buying government stores, bacon, feed, flour, coffee, etc. The
source of their supply could only be the warehouses at Worth, and
Marsden was a "swell" sergeant, whose airs and affluence had made him
the object of suspicion. Those were the days when cavalry regiments had
a commissary, but Congress did away with the office, and Winn, whom an
indulgent colonel had detailed to that supposedly "soft snap" when
regimental head-quarters were stationed at Worth, had been left there
with his bulky array of boxes and barrels when the colonel and staff
were transferred to a more southern post, the understanding being that
he was to turn over everything to Frazier's new quartermaster as soon as
that official should arrive. Frazier's appointee, however, was a
lieutenant from a distant station. The War Department had not improved
the appointment when made. Correspondence had been going on, and only
within the week was notification received that the choice was finally
confirmed and that Lieutenant Trott would soon arrive. Meantime Winn
remained, but the stores were going. Somebody had money enough to bribe
the sentries nightly posted at the storehouse at the northern corner of
the big rectangle, and wagon-load after wagon-load must have been driven
away. Outwardly, as developed by the count made early on the morning
following Riggs's coming, all was right, but a veteran cavalry sergeant
scoffingly knocked in the heads of cask, box, and barrel, and showed how
bacon by the cord had been replaced by rags and boulders, sugar, coffee,
and flour by bushels of sand, molasses and vinegar by branch water, and
tea and tobacco by trash. "Two to three thousand dollars' worth of
rations gone," said Riggs, at noon, "and the devil to pay if Winn
cannot." Vain the night ride to Fuller's ranch in search of Marsden.
That worthy had long since feathered his portable nest, and on one of
the quartermaster's best horses had left the post within the half-hour
of Riggs's coming, no man knew for what point after once he crossed the
ford. Hoof-tracks by the hundred criss-crossed and zigzagged over the
southward _mesa_. Thick darkness had settled down. Fuller's people swore
no signs of him had been seen, and, though patrols kept on all night,
poor Winn came back despairing an hour before the dawn to face his fate;
even at noon he had hardly begun to realize the extent of his
overwhelming loss.

"Go home and try to sleep," said the colonel, sadly, to the dumb and
stricken man. "You can do no good here. I'll send the doctor to you."

But Winn started up and shook the old fellow's kindly hand. "I cannot
go. My God! I must know the whole business," he cried. "I cannot sleep
or eat a morsel."

"Whatever you do, don't drink," said Riggs, in not unkindly warning. "Go
and see your wife, anyhow, for an hour or so. She has sent three
times." But words were useless. Sympathetic comrades came and strove
with him and said empty words of hope or cheer,--empty, because they
knew poor Winn had not a soul in the world to whom to look for help. Kin
to half a dozen old army names, it helped him not a whit, for no one of
them was blessed with means beyond the monthly pay, and some had not
even that unmortgaged. Twenty-five hundred dollars' shortage already, to
say nothing of the cash for recent sales, and more, no doubt, to come.
The very thought was ruin. Refusing comfort, the hapless man sat down at
his littered desk, stared again at the crowded, dusty pigeon-holes, and
saw nothing, nothing but misery, if not despair.

Brayton went over at luncheon-time and begged a word with Mrs. Winn. She
peered over the balustrade from the second story, with big, black-rimmed
eyes, but could not come down, could not leave baby, who was fretful,
she said. Oh, why didn't Mr. Winn come home? What good did it do to stay
over there and worry? When would they get through? Brayton couldn't say,
but Winn couldn't come,--felt he must stay at the office; but if Mrs.
Winn would have some tea and a bite of luncheon prepared, he, Brayton,
would gladly take it over. Yet even this friendly office seemed to bring
no solace. Winn barely sipped the tea or tasted the savory broth.
Frazier and Riggs went out to luncheon, leaving him still seated at his
desk; and their faces were black with gloom when they reached the
colonel's door. Winn's distressing plight, following so shortly after
the dire misfortune that had happened to Lawrence, would have saddened
the whole garrison and tinged all table-talk with melancholy but for the
blessed antidote afforded in Captain Barclay's sudden and most
unlooked-for coming.

And what a surprise it was! All one afternoon and part of one evening
had Fort Worth been telling that Captain Barclay had refused the
assignment to a regiment and post where he must meet Laura Winn; that he
had resigned rather than encounter once more the woman who had played
him false; that he was too wealthy to care to bury himself in this
out-of-the-way hole in Texas anyhow; and even while they were talking,
all unheralded, here he was. The major's hospitable doors opened to
receive him within ten minutes of his dust-covered advent, and only by
hearsay all that night could the garrison know of his presence. One
small sole-leather trunk, with the travelling-bag, rifle, field-glasses,
canteen, and lunch-box, constituted all the personal luggage of the new
arrival. It could not even be said that any one outside of Brooks's had
even seen him, so coated with dust were the contents of that old spring
wagon when unloaded at the colonel's steps; and many a woman hastened to
her door on the following morning, attracted thither by the announcement
that Captain Barclay was on the major's porch.

There, with his host, he stood for quite a while, the major pointing out
the landmarks along the westward range, and indicating, apparently,
other features in the landscape. One or two officers, hastening by,
raised their caps or ran up the steps and shook hands with the
new-comer, but he was presently summoned in to breakfast, and neighbors
could only say he was not very tall, not very stout, not very slight,
not very anything. Captain De Lancy, who had had three minutes'
conversation, said he "seemed pleasant," but that was all. Mrs. De Lancy
was confirmed in her preconceived opinion that men were owls, because
her husband was unable to add to the military descriptive list of brown
eyes, brown hair, brown beard and clothes, any of the particulars she
sought. He couldn't tell whether Barclay had fine teeth or good
complexion, what his mouth was like, whether he had nice hands and
voice. Indeed, he couldn't see why Mrs. De Lancy should be so anxious to
know. Not until towards noon was any reliable particular concerning
Captain Barclay passed along the line. Then the domestic bulletin dealt
out the fact that the millionaire mine-owner wore a flannel shirt and a
silver watch, which information was distinctly disheartening.

But that evening, while the colonel and other officers began calling at
Brooks's to welcome formally the unexpected addition to the commissioned
force, Mrs. Brooks was able to slip out and over to her crony, Mrs. De
Lancy, and in ten minutes she had an audience, married and single, that
gladdened her heart. She could and did talk almost uninterruptedly for
over an hour. Arriving dames or damsels were signalled not to interrupt,
and, joining the circle, patiently withheld their questions until she
paused for breath; and then what every one seemed to want to know was,
had he said anything or asked anything about Mrs. Winn? He had. He
expressed the utmost sympathy with poor Mr. Winn. He told Major Brooks
of a similar experience that occurred in the --d Cavalry only the year
previous, and how it would probably take the defrauded officer years to
square the account. He most delicately inquired as to the general health
and well-being of Mrs. Winn, whom he had had the pleasure, he said, of
meeting several years before; but more particularly he had asked about
Lawrence, and Lawrence's children, and who was in charge of them; it
was evident that he was deeply concerned about them and most anxious to
meet Captain and Mrs. Blythe.

"Well, that's one thing at least in his favor," was the verdict; for
throughout Brooks's battalion, as it was then called, or squadron, as we
should call it to-day, there existed an indefinable feeling of
antagonism towards this stranger within their gates, thus coming to
usurp the place Ned Lawrence held in their hearts and homes, if no
longer on their rolls. Some one slipped out and brought in Mrs. Blythe,
for whose benefit Mrs. Brooks not unwillingly went over all she had told
about Captain Barclay's queries as to the children and their
benefactors; and that sweet, tender-hearted, motherly woman ought to
have softened to him, but didn't. "He could have heard it all at San
Antonio for the asking," she declared. "But he didn't stop two days at
San Antonio," explained Mrs. Brooks. "The moment he heard that Colonel
Riggs was going on by special ambulance he begged to be allowed to go
with him, and Riggs couldn't see a way to say no, and later confessed he
was very glad he had said yes."

"Brooks, you were all growling at the idea of having any outsider, much
less a doughboy, take Lawrence's place," were the bluff old veteran's
exact words; "but you mark what I say. I was rather prejudiced against
this young fellow myself, and it has just taken this jolt together from
San Antonio to satisfy me he is grit to the backbone, and you are in big
luck to get him."

At least a dozen men called at the major's that evening to pay their
respects to the new comrade. It was long after taps when the last one
left, but, almost to a man, they gathered at the club-room later to
compare notes. Hodge, of course, had called among the first, his claim
of intimate or at least old acquaintance rendering it necessary.
Barclay's brown eyes certainly lighted at the sight of the face he had
known in the far northwest; he chatted for a moment with the
infantryman, and expressed his pleasure at meeting him again. Then
Blythe entered, with his grave, massive face and courteous yet reserved
manner; and Brooks spoke of the fact that Barclay seemed to shake hands
more earnestly with him than with any of the others, and to look at him
oftener, though striving to slight no one. They sat there, as men will
at such times, somewhat awkwardly, only one speaking at once, and
generally the same one. Hodge, for instance, had much to say and many
questions to ask about fellows he had known in Wyoming, and when he left
and others came in, three or four went at the same time, having sat
stolid listeners, calmly studying Barclay with their eyes and finally
saying good-night, and "hope to see you when you get settled," etc.

They were talking of him at the store, and wondering when and where he
would settle, and whether he would take Lawrence's quarters, and what
would then become of Ada and little Jim, who with old Mammy still
occupied their rooms there and had all the furniture as poor daddy left
it, but who went over to the Blythes' three times a day to take their
rations with their army chums and playmates, the little Blythes. "What a
godsend it would be if he would buy poor Ned's books and furniture!"
said De Lancy. "It would yield enough to send those poor babies home."

"Home," said Blythe, sadly: "what home has a child whose kith and kin
are all of the army? They have neither home nor mother."

But no man made the faintest comment on facts the women remarked
instanter, that Barclay's watch was only silver and his guard an
inexpensive little cord or braid of fine leather, worn about his neck;
that his travelling suit was of rough gray mixture, and his shirt a
flannel _neglige_. But then, as Mrs. De Lancy explained in extenuation
of their blindness, he had donned his uniform by the time they called
that second evening, and it became him very well.




CHAPTER V.


A week went rapidly by. Captain Barclay had gone on duty, and Mr.
Brayton, his sub, had not yet "sized him up." Lieutenant Trott, the new
regimental quartermaster, had arrived by the Saturday's stage, and was
ready to receipt to Lieutenant Winn for all property he had to turn
over; but Winn had broken down under his weight of woe and taken to his
bed. From Washington came tidings, telegraphed as far as San Antonio,
that Lawrence was slowly mending and would soon be sitting up. Mrs.
Winn, absorbed in the care of her suffering husband, had accepted no
invitations, but the many sympathetic women who called to ask if there
were not some way in which they could be of aid reported her as looking
feverish and far from well. Some of them had ventured to speak of the
new arrival, and, though her ears were evidently open, her lips were
closed. That she was willing, if not eager, to hear anything they had to
say or tell about Captain Barclay was all very well as far as it went,
but what some of her visitors most desired was to hear what she had to
say about him; as she would say nothing, one or two had resorted to a
little delicate questioning in the hope of drawing her out. Mrs.
Faulkner, a young matron of her own age and previous social standing, an
army girl like herself, and for some time her one intimate friend at
Worth, went so far as to ask, "You used to know him very well, did you
not?" and was checkmated by the answer, "Not well enough to talk about,"
which answer Mrs. Faulkner pondered over and considered deliberately and
inexcusably rude. With the kindest feeling for her in the world, as all
the women avowed, and no animosity whatever towards Barclay over and
beyond that feeling on poor Colonel Lawrence's account, there was the
liveliest interest at Worth as regarded Mrs. Winn and Captain Barclay in
seeing what they would do; and, to the disappointment of all Fort Worth,
they had done nothing.

Barclay promptly returned the calls of the officers who had called upon
him, and had done all proper homage to the wives of those who were
possessed of such blessings, but there were still certain quarters where
his face or his card had not been seen: at Captain Cram's, for instance,
because that warrior was on scout and couldn't call, ditto his
lieutenant; at one or two of the new and unpolished pillars of the
temple, because they had not known enough or had been too shy to call;
and at Winn's, because that officer was ill of a fever and could not
call. There was another set of quarters in which he had not yet set
foot,--Ned Lawrence's; and that was the house most people expected him
to visit first.

Nor did he remain at Brooks's. The major's house was big, but so was his
household. "You have a vacant room here, Mr. Brayton," he said, the
third day after his arrival, as he dropped in at his subaltern's. "It
may be a month before I get shaken down into place. I dislike to disturb
women and children, and so have decided to ask you to let me move my cot
and trunk in here awhile and to propose my name at the mess." And
Brayton, blushing at the realization of the fact that the furniture in
the room referred to consisted solely of some chairs, a square pine
table covered with a cavalry blanket, with a cigar-box half full of
smoking-tobacco, another half full of white beans, and a pack of cards
for its sole ornaments, nevertheless bravely ushered his new captain
into the bower, and Barclay looked neither surprised nor satirical at
the sight. "We sometimes play a mild game of draw here, sir," said
downright Brayton, "which accounts for the appearance of things; but my
striker can clean it up in ten minutes, and you are most welcome."

"It won't put you out in any way?" asked Barclay, without the comment
of an uplifted eyebrow on the evidence adduced.

"Not so much as poker, if it does at all," said Brayton, promptly. He
was determined his captain should know the extent of his frailties at
the start.

Barclay smiled quietly and turned to the boy with liking in his eye.
"I'm hardly ten years your senior, Brayton," said he, "and so shall not
preach, but I believe we can put that room to a little better use."

The next day he took his seat at the bachelors' mess, where a dozen
officers were congregated, all of them but two his juniors in rank. The
sideboard was lavishly decked with the indispensables of that benighted
day. The old-timers and the new took their anteprandial cocktail or
toddy, and hospitably invited Barclay to join. Barclay smiled
gratefully, but said he had "never yet got in the way of it, somehow,"
nor did he more than sip at the Bordeaux which the presiding officer
ordered served in honor of the occasion. The mess was rather silent.
Most men seemed desirous of listening to Barclay when he spoke at all.
They knew every twist and turn of each other's mode of speech by that
time, and could repeat verbatim every story in the combination. Barclay
might have something new; but if he did he had no chance. Captain
Follansbee took and kept the floor from first to last. He was airing his
views on the subject of consolidation, reorganization, and purification
as practised at the War Department, a topic which the others considered
inexcusable, not so much from the fact that it must be most unpalatable
to Captain Barclay, a beneficiary of the business, as it turned out, as
because Follansbee had worn them all out with it weeks before.

And, to everybody's surprise, so far from seeming annoyed or embarrassed
or bored, Barclay led him on from point to point, and, even after coffee
was served, sat an apparently absorbed listener, for by that time
Follansbee had absorbed most of the claret and was dilating on the
matter with especial reference to the case of Colonel Lawrence. Later
that evening Barclay spent an hour at the Blythes', and two days after
he and Brayton dined there.

It was a seven-o'clock dinner. The doctor and his wife, Major and Mrs.
Brooks, Miss Frazier and Miss Amanda Frazier, were the other guests.
Those were the days when officers of all grades wore epaulets when in
full uniform, but, except in one or two swell messes, full dress was not
considered requisite for either dinner or hops. The men wore the
uniform frock-coat with shoulder-straps; some few privileged characters
even dared to appear in a sack-coat with white tie. Such a thing as the
evening dress of civil life was unknown at a military post, and unowned
in the fighting force of the army, outside, perhaps, of the artillery.
The doctor was a privileged character, a man who said what he thought
and did what he thought right; and when Mrs. Blythe, glancing out of her
parlor window, saw their favored friend and medical adviser coming along
the walk, his hands deep in his trousers-pockets and himself in a fit of
abstraction and a new sack-coat, while the partner of his joys and
sorrows chatted briskly with the Frazier girls, Mrs. Blythe called
up-stairs to her massive liege lord, "Wear your blouse, dear; the doctor
has on his"; whereupon Blythe slipped out of the uniform coat of formal
cut and into the easy sack, and came trotting down the creaking stair in
time to welcome his guests. Brooks, Barclay, and Brayton, who came
later, were in the prescribed regulation dress, whereat Dr. Collabone
exclaimed, "Hullo! Now that's what I ought to have done, if I'd had as
much regard for conventionality as I have for health. Gentlemen, do you
know you simply invite an apoplectic seizure by sitting down to dinner
in a tightly buttoned uniform coat? It is barbarous. There ought to be
a regulation against it."

It was observed that while the doctor included all three of the
cavalrymen in his remarks he looked at and apparently addressed only
one, Captain Barclay, whose uniform coat was brand-new, very handsomely
cut, its buttons and shoulder-straps of the finest make and finish,
whereas the doctor's were tarnished, if not actually shabby. Brooks
frowned, and Brayton looked embarrassed lest Barclay should take it
amiss; but that officer remained smilingly interested, and in nowise
troubled. The Frazier girls giggled, and Miss Amanda was prompt to
assert that for her part she loved to see the officers wear the proper
uniform, and she wasn't alarmed about apoplexy; whereupon Collabone
smiled benignly and said, "What did I tell you about the danger of tight
lacing?" Amanda couldn't bear the doctor. Her elder and primmer sister
only half liked him. Many of the women thought him brusque and rude, but
officers and men and mothers of families swore by him, and children
adored him. A childless man himself, he seemed to keep open house for
the offspring of his comrades. They swarmed about his quarters at all
hours of the day. They invaded his parlor, overflowed his dining-room,
and ruled his kitchen.

A kindly and placid soul was Mrs. Collabone, a woman who had few cares
or perplexities, and these she promptly turned over to her broad-minded,
broad-shouldered liege for final disposition, as serenely confident of
their speedy dissipation as she was of the prompt conquest of any and
all the manifold ills to which childish flesh is heir by that
practitioner's infallible remedies. Children ran loose in those days in
Texas; and so they ought to, said Collabone. "Savage races are the only
scientific rearers," he maintained. "Boys or girls, they should be
burdened with but a single garment, or less, from the time they're born
until they're eight or ten, and meantime they should be made to eat,
sleep, and live outdoors." He preached for children regularity in
matters of diet, prescribed four light meals a day, practised
heterodoxy, and distributed bread and milk, bread and syrup, bread and
jam, cookies, corn dodgers, and molasses candy, morning, noon, and
night. Aunt Purlina, the fat and jocund goddess of the Collabones'
kitchen, had standing orders on such subjects, and many a time had the
post surgeon to wait for his own refreshments because "the kids" had
possession of the premises. There was never a worry along officers' row
when children strayed from home. "Oh, they're over at the doctor's," was
the soothing response to all queries. The doctor's big yard was the
garrison play-ground; for, when a soulless, heartless, childless,
wifeless post commander, Frazier's predecessor, had dared to prohibit
the use of the parade-ground for croquet, hop-scotch, marbles, or "Tom,
Tom Pull-away," it was Collabone who rigged up swings and giant strides
at his own expense and without the aid of the post quartermaster, and
sent away to New Orleans for croquet sets for the exclusive use of the
youngsters. It nettled inexpressibly the field officer commanding. He
took it as a rebuke from his junior, and took it out in a course of
nagging and persecution at the doctor's expense, that roused the
energies of the entire post. Frazier was sent from Concho to supersede
the objectionable lieutenant-colonel, who thereupon declared his
intention of moving the doctor out and taking his quarters; but a
courier galloped all the way from Worth to the camp at San Patricio,
whither the department commander had gone a-hunting, and another got
back in the nick of time with orders for the devastating officer to move
to the cantonment on the Pecos, the worst hole in all Texas, as reported
by the department inspector. The children had won the day.

At the very moment when the party took their seats at Blythe's, the
children of that establishment and their friends the Lawrences were
holding high carnival at the doctor's, Aunt Purlina and the colored maid
vying with each other in efforts to stuff them to repletion. Over this
uproarious feast presided the tall slip of a damsel with whom poor Ned
had parted so mournfully when he went away in February. Ada's was the
only face in all the merry party that seemed to have known a trace of
sorrow. Her big, dark, mournful eyes and shaggy hair, her sallow face
and shabby frock, twice let down and still "skimpy," told a pathetic
story. Thirteen years of age, the child had already seen much of anxiety
and trouble,--much, indeed, beyond the ken of many an elder; and the
week going by brought hour after hour of nervous wear and tear, the
cause of which only one woman knew, and strove in vain to banish. Ada
shrank with actual dread and repulsion from the thought of having to
meet the man who had come to take her loved father's place.

Thrice had Barclay spoken to Mrs. Blythe of a desire to see the children
of Colonel Lawrence; now he felt confident that he knew the cause of her
evasion, and pressed no more. But all through dinner, even while
speaking in the low, somewhat measured tones habitual to him, he lost no
talk in which the children were mentioned; and at Blythe's they were
never forgotten. It was not long before he discovered that the Blythes
and Lawrences--the young people--were at the doctor's, Ada presiding.
Indeed, with much gusto, almost as soon as soup was served, Collabone
began telling of her matronly, motherly ways. Half an hour later a
messenger came to the door and asked if Dr. Collabone would please step
over and see Mrs. De Lancy a moment. "Tell her I'll be there in just one
hour," said the doctor, looking at his watch. Then he added, for the
benefit of the party present, "There's nothing in the world the matter
with Mrs. De Lancy, and by that time she'll have forgotten she sent for
me." Ten minutes later came another call. It was the Collabones'
domestic this time. "Little Jimmy's cut his hand, and Miss Ada can't
stop the bleeding." "Say I'll come instantly," said he, springing from
the table and making his excuses to the lady of the house.

Barclay's face shone with instant sympathy and interest. Dessert was
nearly over. He turned to the motherly woman whose own gentle face
betrayed her anxiety.

"Will you think me very rude?" he said. "You know I do not smoke, and I
do want so much to meet those children. I feel that Ada purposely shuns
me, and this is an opportunity not to be lost. May I be excused? I will
soon return." Mrs. Blythe's eyes were eloquent as she bade him go.

Three minutes later he softly entered the doctor's sitting-room. There
in a big easy-chair sat a tall, sallow-faced, tumbled-haired girl,
holding in her arms a burly little fellow whose frightened sobbings she
had at last controlled, and who, with only an occasional whimper, was
now submitting to the doctor's examination and deriving much comfort
from his professional and reassuring manner.

"Why, this is no cut at all, Jimmy, my boy. The reason you bled so much
is that you are so uncommonly healthy and full of blood. This won't keep
you out of mischief six hours. Hold the basin steady, Purlina. Kick all
you want to, Jimmy. Don't you dare to laugh, Kittie Blythe. Well, if
here isn't Captain Barclay, too, come in to see you! Here is the little
wounded soldier, captain. You had your arm in a sling six long months,
didn't you? The Sioux did that for him, Jimmy, and you've only got to be
done up in a bandage till to-morrow night. Let Captain Barclay hold you?
Indeed I won't. He doesn't know how to hold little boys--like Ada. He's
got no little boys, nor big Ada either. Bet your boots he wishes he had,
Jimmy." Thus the doctor chatted as he bathed and bandaged the pudgy
little fist, while Jimmy lay, half relieved at the rapid termination to
his woes, half resentful they should be declared so trifling, and, with
eyes much swollen with weeping, critically studied the new captain's
appearance and gave token of modified approval. But Ada's white lids and
long dark lashes were never once uplifted.

Presently Collabone pronounced everything doing finely, and said he'd go
and see Mrs. De Lancy. "You tell them there's nothing much the matter,
will you?" he said to Barclay.

"I will--when I get there," was the smiling reply; "but I'm going to
tell this little fellow a story first about a Sioux baby boy I knew in
Wyoming, and his playmate, a baby bear." And, with wondering, wide-open
eyes upon him, Barclay seated himself close to Ada's chair, while the
doctor stole silently away.

Half an hour later, when he returned, a circle of absorbed listeners was
gazing into Barclay's face. Ada only sat apart, and little Jimmy's curly
head was pillowed on the story-teller's breast.




CHAPTER VI.


Ten days passed. Barclay had become an institution at Fort Worth, yet
opinions were as divided and talk of him as constant as before he came.
First and foremost, he had met Mrs. Winn, and his demeanor on that
presumably trying occasion had proved a distinct disappointment. Winn
was recovering health, if not spirits. A stage-load of officers and
ladies had come from the cantonment to spend forty-eight hours, and a
big dance was prescribed for their benefit. Mrs. Winn danced divinely,
and never looked so well as when with a suitable partner on a suitable
floor. Those were the days when we raved over the "Mabel," the "Guards,"
the "Maude," and the "Hilda" waltzes, Godfrey's melodious
creations,--when the galop and _trois temps_ were going out, and we
"Boston dipped" to every tune from Pat Malloy to Five O'Clock in the
Morning, and the Worth orchestra was a good one when the first violin
wasn't drunk, a condition which had to be provided against with
assiduous care. The party arrived during one of his lucid intervals,
and the adjutant promptly placed the artist under bonds to shun the cup
until after the guests had gone; then he could fill up to his heart's
content and no fear of a fine. Winn couldn't attend, but Laura was
looking wan and sallow. She needed air and exercise, and her husband
urged her to accept Mr. Brayton's escort and go; so did Collabone; so
did her own inclination. Superbly gowned and coiffed and otherwise
decorated, she went, and her entrance was the sensation of the evening.
It was long after ten when she appeared. The hop was in full blast; the
big room, gayly decorated, was throbbing with the rhythmic movement of
the closing figure of the Lancers. Almost everybody was on the floor,
for energetic were our dancers in those bygone days. Just as the music
came to full stop, and with joyous laughter and merry words of parting
the sets broke up, the women and girls, middle-aged or young (they never
grow old in the army), clinging to their partners' arms, fanning,
possibly, their flushed faces, were escorted to their seats, and the
floor like magic was cleared for the coming waltz. The group at the
flag-draped entrance parted right and left, making way for a young
officer in cavalry uniform at whom nobody so much as glanced, because of
the tall and radiant woman at his side, on whom all eyes were centred.
"Look at Laura Winn," was the whisper that flew from womanly lip to lip.
"Isn't she simply superb?" "Look at Mrs. Winn," muttered many a man, his
eyes lighting at the sight. "Isn't she just stunning?"

And then people began to hunt for Barclay.

He was standing at the moment talking quietly with Mrs. Frazier, who was
making much of the young captain now, and was accused of having hopes of
him on account of her eldest darling, who had dined by his side three
different times at three different houses during the week, and was
therefore said to be "receiving considerable attention." But the hush of
laughter and miscellaneous chatter almost instantly attracted the
matron's attention. She glanced at the door, gasped involuntarily, and
then as suddenly turned and narrowly watched him, for he too noted the
lull in conversation, and, slowly facing the doorway, saw before him not
ten paces away the woman who was to have been his wife, gazing straight
at him as though challenging him to look and be blinded, as blinded by
her beauty he had been before. She was only a young, immature, untaught
girl then, ignorant of her powers. Now the soft bloom was gone, but in
its place there lurked among the tiny threads of lines or wrinkles just
forming at the corners of her brilliant eyes, and in the witching
curves about her mobile, sensitive, exquisite lips, a charm beside which
her virgin graces were cold and formal. She had been what all men called
a wonderfully pretty girl. She was now what many women termed a
dangerously beautiful woman, and she knew it well. When we had no one
especially selected to "receive" in those days, it was a sort of
garrison custom for everybody to present himself or herself to the wife
of the commanding officer, in case that official was so provided. Mrs.
Frazier was seated in plain view of the queenly creature who, having
advanced a few steps beyond the portals and the loiterers there
assembled, now halted, and like some finished actress swept the room
with her radiant eyes, as though compelling all men, all women, to yield
to her their attention and regard, and then, smiling brightly, beamingly
(dutiful Brayton guided by the pressure of her daintily gloved hand),
moved with almost royal grace and deliberation to where Mrs. Frazier sat
in state; and the first lady of the garrison rose to greet her.

Unsuitable as is the full uniform for cavalry purposes to-day, it was
worse in 1870, when our shoulders were decked with wabbly epaulets and
our waists were draped with a silken sash that few men wore properly.
But whatever might be said of Sir Galahad's shortcomings as a boon
companion, or of his severely simple and economical mode of life, there
was no manifestation of parsimony in his attire. No man in the room was
so well uniformed, or wore the garb of his profession with better grace.
He who came in a flannel shirt and a rough gray suit, with a silver
watch and leather watch-chain, appeared this night in uniform of
faultless cut and fit, with brand-new glittering captain's epaulets,
while his sash was of the costliest silk net, of a brighter red than
generally worn,--most officers appearing in a stringy affair that age
and weather had turned to dingy purple. On his left breast Barclay wore
the badge in gold and enamel of a famous fighting division in a gallant
corps; and such badges were rare in the days whereof I write. Moreover,
though neither a tall man nor a stalwart, Captain Barclay was erect,
wiry, and well proportioned, and his head and face were well worth the
second look every one had been giving this night. "The Twelfth have been
swearing like pirates at having another doughboy saddled on 'em,"
chuckled Captain Perkins, himself a doughboy. "Begad, the Twelfth has no
better picture of the officer and the gentleman than this importation
from the Foot." But no one spoke with the thought of being heard as
Laura Winn finished her greeting to Mrs. Frazier. Every man and woman
was intent only on what was coming next, although many strove to speak,
or to appear to listen, to their neighbors. Charlotte Frazier actually
rose from her seat and stepped out into the room that she might have a
better view.

And Barclay would not have been the observant man he had already shown
himself to be had he not known it. His color was a bit high for one
whose face was ordinarily so pale, but he stood calmly erect, with an
expression of pleased contemplation in his fine eyes, waiting for Mrs.
Winn to finish the somewhat hurried yet lavish words that she addressed
to Mrs. Frazier; then she turned effusively upon him.

"Captain Barclay!" she exclaimed. "How very good to see you here! and
how glad we all are to welcome you to the Twelfth! Mr. Winn and I have
been in despair because his illness has kept him a prisoner. Indeed, I
doubt if I should have left him at all to-night but for his positive
orders--and the doctor's; then, of course, I much wanted to see
you--too."

She had begun confidently, even masterfully. She looked him with
determined effort straight in the face at the start, but her confidence
flitted before a dozen words were said. Her voice faltered before she
had half finished, for Barclay's eyes frankly, even smilingly, met hers,
and with ease and dignity and courteous interest all commingled he had
bowed slightly over her hand, lowered it after a brief, by no means
lingering, pressure, and stood, merely mentioning her name, "Mrs. Winn,"
and, as was rather a way of his, letting the other party do all the
talking. It was a godsend to Laura Winn that the waltz music began at
the next instant, for his nonchalance was something utterly unexpected.
Oh, how dared he look so calmly, indifferently, forgetfully, almost
unrecognizingly, into her eyes, and stand there so placidly, when her
heart was fluttering wildly with nervous excitement, her words coming in
gasps!

"Oh, Mr. Brayton, how heavenly!" she exclaimed. "Don't let us lose an
instant of that waltz." Over his glittering shoulder she beamed in
parting a bewitching smile, levelled all at Barclay, and glided away, a
floating cloud of filmy drapery, a vision of flashing eyes, of flushing
cheeks, of dazzling white teeth gleaming between the parted rose-leaves
of her mouth, of snowy shoulders and shapely arms, of peeping, pointed,
satin-shod feet, the handsomest creature in all that crowded room, and
the most dismally unhappy. She had met him in the witnessing presence of
all Fort Worth, and all the garrison saw that she had sustained a
crushing defeat. She who was to have been his wife and had duped him,
she who had looked to subjugate him once more, was duped in turn, the
victim of her own vanity.

"And to think," said Mrs. De Lancy, "she only changed her half-mourning
a month ago, and now--in full ball costume!"

Fort Worth didn't stop talking of that episode for all of another week,
and that, too, in the face of other interesting matter.

To begin with, Sergeant Marsden had disappeared as though from the face
of the earth. Whither he had fled no man could say. No settlement worth
the name had not been searched, no ranch remained unvisited. Fuller's
people would not shield the fugitive, for Fuller, as the post sutler,
suffered equally with Uncle Sam from the sergeant's depredations.
Settlers and ranch people who bought of the latter cut into the business
of the former, and Fuller would most gladly have had him "rounded up"
long weeks ago; but Marsden and his few confederates in the garrison had
admirably covered their tracks, and the indications of declining trade
that had roused the sutler's suspicions led to no arousal of vigilance
within the sentry line: wherefore Fuller's heart was hardened against
the post commander and the erstwhile commissary, and this, too, at a
time when the latter stood in sorest need of financial help. The extent
of poor Winn's losses and responsibility was now known: so far as his
commissary accounts were concerned, not a cent less than three thousand
dollars would cover them. The quartermaster was out a horse and
equipments, and several confiding enlisted men and laundresses were
defrauded of money loaned the dashing sergeant. Uncle Sam, be it known,
has summary methods as a bill-collector. He simply stops his servant's
pay until the amount due is fully met. Winn's total pay and emoluments
as computed in '70 and '71 would barely serve in two years to square
himself with his exacting Uncle. Meantime, what were wife and baby and
other claimants to do? What was he to live on, and so insure payment of
which his death would destroy all possibility? Crushed as Winn was,
there were men and women who roundly scored his wife for appearing
superbly dressed at the first ball graced by the presence of her
discarded lover. Yet had she stayed away, their disappointment would
have exceeded this disapprobation. Collabone said his patient suffered
from a low fever, which the unprofessional found difficult to
understand, in view of Mrs. Winn's diagnosis, which declared it
alarmingly high. Certain it is that he kept his room until four days
after the evening of the ball; then he had to turn out and face the
music, for orders came from "San Antone."

Then, too, came another invoice of interesting matter to Fort Worth, and
it must be remembered that, in the narrow and restricted life of the far
frontier, interest existed in matters that seem too trivial for mention
in the broader spheres of the metropolis. The invoice was an actual and
material fact, and consisted of a big wagon-load of household goods
consigned to Captain Barclay, accompanied by a dignified Ethiopian and
two very knowing-looking horses that had many of the points of
thoroughbreds. The quartermaster's train under proper escort had made
the long pull from Department Head-Quarters, and all unannounced came
these chattels to the new troop leader. The very next morning, which was
a Sunday, when Brooks's four troops formed line for inspection in the
old-fashioned full dress of the cavalry, the men in shell jackets and
plumed felt hats, the officers in long-skirted, clerical-looking
frock-coats, black ostrich plumes, gold epaulets, and crimson sashes,
there rode at the head of Lawrence's old troop a new captain, whose
horse and equipments became the centre of critical and admiring eyes the
moment it was possible for his comrades to leave their commands and
gather about him. Very few officers in those days possessed anything
better than the regulation troop bridle and raw-hide McClellan saddle,
which with their folded blankets satisfied all the modest requirements
of the frontier. The light-batterymen indulged in a little more style
and had picturesque red blankets to help out, but even they were put in
the shade, and came trotting over during the rest after Brooks had made
the formal ride round to look at the general appearance of his command.
All hands seemed to gather in approbation about Barclay's charger. The
horse himself was a bright, blooded bay, with jet-black, waving mane,
tail, and forelock, superb head, shoulders and haunches, and nimble
legs, all handsomely set off by a glistening bridle with double rein,
martingale, glossy breast-strap and polished bits, curb-chain, bosses,
rings, and heart, with the regimental number in silver on the bosses and
at the corner of the handsome shabraque of dark blue cloth, patent
leather, and the yellow edging and trimming of the cavalry. "The only
outfit of the kind at Worth," said Brooks, emphatically. "And yet,
gentlemen," he continued, seeing latent criticism in the eyes of certain
of the circle, "it's all strictly in accordance with regulations, and
just as we used to have it in the old days before the war. I wish we all
had the same now. I haven't seen a Grimsley outfit since '61."

"Grimsley it is," said the veteran captain of the light battery. "Mine
went to Richmond in '61 with what we didn't save of our battery at First
Bull Run."

"Grimsley it is," said his junior subaltern. "If Sam Waring could only
see that, he'd turn green with envy to-day and borrow it to-morrow."
Whereat there went up a laugh, for Waring was a man of mark in the queer
old days of the army.

Then of course every one wanted to know, as the cavalcade rode from the
drill-ground up to the post, where Barclay had bought his horses, and
some inquired how much they cost; and to all queries of the kind Barclay
answered, with perfect good humor, that he had ordered the equipments of
the old firm of Grimsley, still doing business in St. Louis, as it did
in the days when Jefferson Barracks and Leavenworth and Riley were
famous cavalry stations in the '50s; the horses he had bought of a
family connection in Kentucky, and had given seven hundred dollars for
the pair.

"See here, Hodge," growled the old stagers as they clustered about the
club-room, sipping cooling drinks after the warm morning exercise,
"what's all this you've been telling us about Barclay's inexpensive,
economical, and skimpy ways? He's got the outfit of a British
field-marshal, by gad!"

But Hodge was too much concerned and confounded to speak. "It's more'n I
can explain," he said. "Why, he wouldn't spend ten cents in Wyoming."

And yet, had Hodge only known it, Barclay's infantry outfit was of just
as fine finish and material, as far as it went, as these much more
costly and elaborate appointments of the mounted service. Everything
connected with the dress or equipments of his profession Barclay, who
would spend nothing for frivolities, ordered of the best furnishers, and
no man ever appeared on duty in uniform more precise or equipments of
better make.

Of course the club-room was not the only place where Barclay's really
bewildering appearance was discussed. Among the officers there were many
who growled and criticised. It was all right to have handsome horses, if
he could afford it: any cavalryman would try to do that, was the
verdict. "But all these other jimcracks, they're simply moonshine!" And
yet, as pointed out by Major Brooks, it was all strictly according to
regulation. "Damn the regulations!" said Captain Follansbee; "they're
too expensive for me." And, take it all in all, the feeling of the mess
was rather against than with Barclay; he had no business wearing better
clothes or using better horse-furniture than did his fellows. Follansbee
went so far as to tackle Blythe on the subject and invoke his sympathy,
but that massive old dragoon disappointed him. "Barclay's right," said
he; "and if the rules were enforced we'd all have to get them."

"But they cost so much," said Follansbee.

"Not half what you spend in whiskey in half the time it would take to
get them here," was the unfeeling rejoinder.

Mrs. Frazier and Mrs. De Lancy, however, wished the captain had brought
an easy open carriage with driving horses instead of saddlers. It would
have been far more useful, said those level-headed women. And so it
might have been--to them.

But in the midst of all the talk and discussion came tidings that amazed
Fort Worth. Ned Lawrence was actually on his way back to Texas,--would
be with his precious babies within the fortnight,--would reoccupy his
old quarters for a while at least as the guest of the usurper, for they
had been formally chosen by Captain Barclay, to the frantic wrath of Ada
when first she heard the news,--wrath that sobbed itself out in the lap
of her loving friend Mrs. Blythe, as the motherless girl listened with
astonished ears to the explanation.

"So far from raging at him, Ada, you should be thankful that your dear
father and you and Jimmy have found so thoughtful and generous a friend
as Captain Barclay. If he had not chosen your house, Captain Bronson
would have done so, and you would have had to go. As it is, nothing of
yours or your father's will be disturbed."

And sorely tempted was the enthusiastic, tender-hearted woman to tell
much more that, but for his prohibition, she would have told; and yet
she did not begin to know all.




CHAPTER VII.


Within the fortnight came poor Ned Lawrence back to Worth, and men who
rode far out on the Crockett trail to meet the stage marvelled at the
change three months had made in him. He had grown ten years older, and
was wrinkled and gray. Winn was of the party, and Winn, who a month gone
by was looking haggard, nervous, miserable, now rode buoyantly, with
almost hopeful eyes and certainly better color than he had had for
months, despite the fact that he had lost both flesh and color during
his illness. Something had happened to lighten his load of dread and
care. Something must have happened to enable Lawrence to take that long,
long journey back to Texas. Fort Worth indulged in all manner of
theories as to where the money was coming from, and Barclay, of course,
was suspected, even interrogated. The frankest man in some respects that
ever lived, Captain Galbraith Barclay was reticent as a clam when he saw
fit to keep silent, and men found it useless to question or women to
hint. As for Winn, he had but one classmate at the post, Brayton, who
had never been one of his intimates at the Point, and, being rather, as
was said, of the "high and mighty," reserved and distant sort with the
subalterns he found at Worth on joining three winters before, Winn had
never been popular. Lawrence was his one intimate, despite the disparity
in years. And so no man ventured to ask by what means he expected to
meet the demands thus made upon him. The board of survey ordered to
determine the amount of the loss and fix the responsibility had no
alternative. Winn and his few friends made a hard fight, setting forth
the facts that the count had been made every month as required by orders
and regulations, and that except by bursting open every bale, box, and
barrel, and sifting over the contents, it would have been impossible to
detect Marsden's methods. On some things the board was disposed to dare
regulations and raps on the knuckles, and to let Winn off on several
others; but what was the use? "the proceedings would only be sent back
for reconsideration," said their president; and as it transpired that
Winn had not exercised due vigilance, but had trusted almost entirely to
his sergeant, they decided to cut the Gordian knot by saddling the young
officer with the entire responsibility, which meant, sooner or later, a
stoppage of nearly three thousand dollars of his pay.

It is a sad yet time-honored commentary at the expense of human nature
that the contemplation of the misfortunes of our fellow-men is not
always a source of unalloyed sorrow. There was genuine and general
sympathy for Lawrence, because he had been poor and pinched and humbled
for years, had worn shabby clothes, and had sought all possible field
duty, where "deeds, not duds," as a garrison wit expressed it, seemed to
make the man. He had frankly spoken of his straits and worries to such
as spoke to him in friendship, and this, with his deep and tender love
for his children, and his capital record as a scout leader, had won over
to him all the men who at one time were envious and jealous and had
cherished the linesman's prejudice against the fellow whose duties for
years had kept him on the staff. The women were all with him, and that
meant far more than may seem possible outside the army. There was many a
gentle dame in the old days of adobe barracks who could be an Artemisia
in the cause of a friend.

No one knew just what object Ned Lawrence had in coming back to Dixie.
Every one knew he had indignantly refused the second lieutenancy,
despite the fact that one or two men with war service and rank almost
equal to his own had meekly accepted the grudgingly tendered
commission, and others were said to be about to follow suit,--all,
presumably, with the hope that their friends and representatives in
Congress assembled would speedily legislate them back where they thought
they belonged. No one knew where Ned Lawrence had made a raise of money,
but raise he certainly had made, for, to Blythe's indignation, there
came a draft of one hundred dollars to cover the expenses, he said, of
his children and old Mammy and to pay the latter some of her wages. The
balance he would settle, he wrote, when he arrived. Blythe would far
rather he had waited until his accounts were adjusted; then, if Lawrence
were in funds, Blythe could have found no fault with this insistence on
at least partially defraying the expenses incurred in providing for the
little household. Lawrence hoped to have his accounts adjusted, his
letter said, and he had reason to believe, from what friends in
Washington told him, that he would find his successor willing to receipt
to him for missing items, trusting to luck and the flotsam and jetsam of
the frontier to replace them in course of time. Lawrence, indeed, was
curious now to meet and know Captain Barclay, for he had been told many
things that had gone far to remove the feeling of unreasoning antagonism
he had felt at first.

Only one thing did he say to Blythe that threw light on his future
plans. "I am dreadfully sorry," he wrote, "to hear such ill tidings
about Harry Winn. I was always fearful there was something wrong about
that fellow Marsden, and sometimes strove to caution him,--I, who could
not see the beam in my own eye,--I, with two scoundrels in my
orderly-room, trying to warn him against the one in his! Winn is a
proud, sensitive, self-centred sort of fellow, whom wealth perhaps might
have made popular. He is no better manager than I. He has a wife who
could never help him to live within his means, as poor Kitty certainly
tried to do with me." (Oh, the blessed touch of Time! Oh, the sweet
absolution of Death! Kitty was an angel now, and her ways and means were
buried with all that was mortal of her.) "And, worse than all, poor Hal
has no one, I fear, to help him now, as--I write it with blinded eyes,
dear Blythe--it has pleased God I should find in many friends in the
days of my sore adversity,--you and your blessed wife, and the colonel,
and Brooks,--even rough old Follansbee and our dilettante De Lancy, and
that inimitable Collabone. My heart overflows, and my eyes, too, at
thought of all you and they have done and said and written for me and
mine. And here, too, where in my bitterness I thought I was deserted of
all, here is gallant old Front de Boeuf (you remember how we swore by
him in the Valley after Davy Russell was killed). He has housed and fed
and nursed and cared for me like a brother, and Senator Howe and even
old Catnip--God bless him!--have worked hard for me; and, though my
soldier days seem over for the time at least, my stubborn spirit has had
to surrender to such counsellors and friends as they have been to me.
They all say Congress will surely put me back next winter, and meantime
'Buffstick' says I'm to have a salaried position in a big company with
which he is associated, and to begin work as soon as my health is
re-established and my accounts straightened out."

"Who is Buffstick?" queried Mrs. Blythe, at this juncture.

"Buffstick? Oh, that was our pet name for Colonel Dalton, of the --th
Massachusetts, Lawrence's friend and host in Washington; a magnificent
fellow, dear, with a head and chest that made some lover of Scott liken
him to Front de Boeuf,--out of 'Ivanhoe,' you know. But he was a
stickler for neatness in dress and equipments, and his regiment called
him Buffstick, and grew to love him all the same. He commanded a brigade
after Cedar Creek, and now,--just think of it!--he's a capitalist."

"Does he know Captain Barclay, do you think?" she asked, after a
reflective pause.

"I'm sure I don't know. Probably not," was the answer. "They never
served in the same part of the army. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I was wishing--I couldn't help thinking--how much Mr. Winn needed
some good friend, too."

"Winn and Lawrence are very different men," said Blythe, gravely.
"Lawrence has made friends, while poor Winn has only enemies, I fear,
and, really, none worse than himself."

Mrs. Blythe sighed as she turned away. It was much as her husband said.
The Winns had come to the regiment after a round of receptions, dinners,
and dances in their honor all the way from Washington to Worth, and had
"started with a splurge," as the chroniclers declared. Laura's gowns and
airs and graces won her no end of prominence, but very few friends.
Winn's "high and mighty" ways, so they were termed by all the garrison,
in which at that time only two or three West Pointers could be found,
had alienated all the subs, most of the seniors, and many of the women.
Their extravagance during the first year of service, the explanations
and excuses tendered by Laura in the next, and Harry's increasing
moodiness and distraction, served only to widen the breach. Men and
women both, who began by envying, turned to openly decrying. Cutting
things were said to Laura, whose mendacities provoked them. Sneering or
at least suggestive things were often said in presence of Winn, if not
exactly to him; for there was one quality about the swell the garrison
had to respect,--his cheerful and entire readiness to fight on very
small provocation, and those were the days when the tenets of the "code"
were not totally forgotten, and there still remained in the army a
sentiment in favor of the doctrine of personal responsibility for
disparaging words. There would be fewer courts-martial to-day were there
more of it left. But when women heard the stories about the big bill at
the sutler's and others that came by mail, and made little icy comments
about some people being able to afford much more than _they_ could,
Laura laughed off the allusions to their superior style of living by
stories of an indulgent papa, until papa's death left her without
further resource from that quarter. Then she set afloat a fabrication
about a doting aunt of Harry's who had no children of her own,--an
amiable old widow who was to leave him all her money. He did have an
aunt of that description, but she didn't have the money, and there were
men who were malicious enough to refer in Winn's presence to their wish
that they had wealthy fathers-in-law or doting dowager aunts, thereby
giving some other fellow a chance to say, "And so does Fuller, no
doubt."

Indeed, so practically friendless were the Winns that among nine out of
ten families along officers' row there was a feeling of lively curiosity
to note the effect of this supposably crushing blow on the unhappy pair,
and a consequent sentiment, only partially veiled in many cases, of keen
disappointment when the news flew around the garrison that Mr. Winn had
announced his readiness to meet the demand in full.

"Why, it can't be true," said many a woman. "I'll believe it when I see
the money," said many a man. "Do you suppose--he could have accepted it
from--Captain Barclay?" asked, in strictest confidence, Mrs. De Lancy of
Laura's erstwhile intimate, Mrs. Faulkner.

"Not _Harry_ Winn, probably," answered Mrs. Faulkner, in confidence
equally inviolable, "but----" and the pause that followed was
suggestive. Follansbee and Bellows bolted down to the sutler's with the
surprising news, wondering if Fuller could have been ass enough to
advance the money. There was a time when he would have done so, perhaps,
for he was one of the first to be enthralled by young Mrs. Winn's grace
and beauty, and lavished presents upon her--and upon Winn, of
course--for a month, until Winn put a stop to the presents and Mrs.
Fuller came post-haste back from San Antonio and put a stop to other
manifestations. But Fuller had long since become estranged from the
Winns,--the presentation of his bill at inopportune times having later
widened the apparent breach. His jaw fell and his mouth opened wide when
he heard the news, for Fuller had begun to believe that he would never
get his money, and resented it that Uncle Sam should be luckier.

"Send up another 'bill rendered' by Ikey to Mr. Winn this afternoon," he
bade his clerk, as the investigators departed to follow other clues.
Fuller had gone down into his pockets, unbeknown to the post, and had
actually pressed on Lawrence a loan of three hundred dollars, and bade
him come for more when that was gone, but not a cent would he put up for
Harry Winn,--not he; "the damned supercilious snob," was what Fuller now
called him, not so much because he thought him a snob or supercilious or
even deserving of damnation, as because he had allowed himself to be
robbed of three thousand dollars' worth of goods that might otherwise
have been purchased of him, Fuller, for double or treble the money. No,
plainly, Fuller was not the angel that had come to the rescue of Winn,
nor could Follansbee or Bellows or the rest of the fellows find out who
had. The mystery of Gilgal was outdone. Even Frazier and Brooks did not
know, and when some one, possibly Mrs. Frazier, suggested to the colonel
that as the commanding officer he really ought to know, the colonel did
send for his new quartermaster and say to him, "Mr. Trott, as you are to
receipt to Mr. Winn for the money value of his shortage, it would be
well to be very circumspect. He probably cannot have that much in
currency here. How does he propose to pay it?"

"I don't know, sir," said the man of business, promptly. "He says he
will be ready to cover the entire amount on or before the 20th of May. I
didn't like to ask him where it was to come from."

Neither did Frazier, despite no little prodding at home. Only one man
ventured to speak of it to Winn, and, the resultant conversation having
been variously and exaggeratively reported, the truth should here be
told. It was at the club-room, which, for the first time in weeks, Mr.
Winn entered. He asked for Major Brooks, and, finding him absent, turned
to go out with no more than a nod to the party at the poker-table. That
party was made up mainly of the class that was numerous in the army in
those days and is as rare as an Indian fight now. The least responsible
among them at the moment was Lieutenant Bralligan, ex-corporal of
dragoons, who could no more have passed the examination exacted of
candidates to-day than a cat could squeeze through a carbine. "Hwat d'ye
warrnt of the meejor, Winn?" he shouted. "Sure ye've got permission to
ride out wid us to meet Lawrence."

Winn vouchsafed no answer. Bralligan and he were things apart, a
reproach to each other's eyes, and the evil blood in the Irishman,
inflamed already by whiskey, boiled over at the slight. "It's Barclay
ye're looking for, not Brooks!" he shouted, in tempestuous wrath.
"Faith, if ye want anything out o' the Quaker, let yer wife do the----"

Instantly a brawny hand, that of Captain Follansbee, was sprawled over
the broad, leering mouth. Instantly there was a crash of chair-legs
hastily moved, of grinding boot-heels as men sprang to their feet, of
poker-chips flying to the floor,--a sound of oaths and furious
struggles, for two of the party, with the attendant, had hurled
themselves on the half-drunken lieutenant and were throttling him to
silence, while Captains Bronson and Fellows sprang to head off Winn, who
with blazing eyes and clinched fists came bounding back into the room.

"What did that blackguard say?" he demanded. "I did not catch the
words."

"Nothing, nothing, Winn, that you should notice," implored Bronson.
"He's drunk. He doesn't know what he is saying. He's crazed. No, sir,"
insisted Bronson, sternly, as Winn strove to pass him. "If you do not
instantly withdraw I shall place you under arrest. Be sure that this
poor devil shall make all reparation when he's sober enough to realize
what has happened. Go at once.--You go with him, Fellows."

And so between them they got Winn away, and others soused Bralligan with
_acequia_ water and locked him up in his room and had him solemnly sober
by afternoon stables, while, vastly to their relief, Winn with two or
three cavaliers rode away at three o'clock to meet Ned Lawrence
somewhere afar out on the Crockett trail. Greatly did Follansbee and
Fellows congratulate Bronson, and Bronson them, on the fact that they
had happened to be looking on at the game when Winn happened in and
Bralligan broke out; for thereby they had stopped what might have been a
most tremendous row. "All of which mustn't be known to a soul," said
they.

But Bralligan's voice was big and deep. It was one of the causes of his
unhallowed preferment in the days when second lieutenancies were
showered on the rank and file the first year of the war. Bralligan's
taunting words, only partially audible to Winn as he issued from the
front of the building, were distinctly heard by domestics lying in wait
for a chance to borrow of the steward and pick up gossip at the back. By
stables that evening the story was being told high and low all over the
post; even the children heard with eager yet uncomprehending ears; and
so it happened that just as the drums of the infantry were sounding
first call for retreat parade, and the women-folk were beginning to
muster on the porches, and the warriors of the Foot along the opposite
side at the barracks, and as Captain Barclay, a light rattan stick in
his hand, came strolling back from stables, Lieutenant Brayton at his
side, little Jim Lawrence made a dash from a group of children, and, in
the full hearing of several officers and half a dozen women, a shrill,
eager, childish voice piped out the fatal words,--

"Uncle Gal--Uncle Gal--what did Mr. Bwalligan mean by telling Mr. Winn
to send his wife to you for money?"

Laura Winn herself was on the nearest piazza at the moment, stunningly
handsome, and posing for a bow from her next-door neighbors as they came
by. She and every other woman there distinctly heard the words and
marked the effect.

Sir Galahad's face flushed crimson. He caught his little friend up in
his arms and held him close to his burning cheek. "Hush, Jimmy boy. He
meant nothing, and soldiers never repeat such nonsense. Run to sister
Ada and help her get everything ready for papa's coming. Think, Jimmy,
he'll be here by tattoo." And with a parting hug he set the youngster
down at his doorstep and started him on his way. Then, courteously
raising his cap to the gathering on the nearest porch, and noting, as
did they, that Mrs. Winn had disappeared within her hall, Barclay
quickly entered his own portal, and nabbed Brayton as he was making a
palpable "sneak" for the rear door. The youngster found escape
impossible. Will he, nill he, the boy told the story as it had been told
to him, Barclay standing looking straight into his eyes, as though
reading his very soul, yet never saying a word beyond the original, "You
heard what Jimmy said. It is another instance of 'out of the mouths of
babes and sucklings,' Brayton. Now, tell me exactly what you know."

It was a warm May evening. A hot south-wester had been blowing from the
broad valley of the Rio Bravo, and the few men in the club-room at nine
o'clock were demanding cooling drinks. Bralligan was there, looking
somewhat solemn and sheepish. He knew that nothing but the presence of
senior officers had prevented a serious fracas as the result of his
asinine bray that morning, but, now that Winn was out of the way and the
matter in the hands of his captain, he had no dread of the thrashing he
deserved, and was disposed to an exhibition of bravado. A drink or two
added to his truculence, as well as to his desire to resume the game
interrupted that morning. There were always in those days a few reliable
gamblers at the big frontier posts, and presently Bralligan, in his
shirt-sleeves, was contemplating a sizable pile of chips and bantering a
burly captain to "see his raise," when suddenly he became aware of a
distracted look in the eyes of the group about the table, and, glancing
towards the door, his own blood-shot orbs lighted upon the trim figure
of Captain Barclay, standing calmly surveying the party,--Barclay, who
never smoked, drank, or played cards, and who was reported to have
started a movement for prayer-meetings among the enlisted men. His very
presence in that atmosphere was ominous, especially as the gaze of his
usually soft brown eyes was fixed on Bralligan. One or two men said,
"Good-evening, captain," in an embarrassed way, but the Irish subaltern
only stared, the half-grin on his freckled face giving place to an
uneasy leer. On a bench to the left of the entrance stood a huge
water-cooler, with gourds and glasses by its side. Underneath the spigot
was a big wooden pail, two-thirds full of drippings and rinsings.
Without a word, the new-comer stepped quietly within the room, picked up
the bucket, and, striding straight to the table before Bralligan could
spring to his feet, deftly inverted the vessel over the Irishman's
astonished head, deluging him with discarded water and smashing the rim
well down on his unprotected shoulders. An instant more, and Bralligan
sent the bucket whirling at his assailant's head, which it missed by a
yard, then, all dripping as he was, followed it in a furious charge. Sir
Galahad "side-clipped" with the ease and nonchalance of long but
unsuspected practice, and let fly a white fist which found lodgement
with stunning crash straight under the Irishman's ear, felling him like
an ox.




CHAPTER VIII.


And so Ned Lawrence got back to Worth to find it far livelier than when
he left it. The stage with its joyous escort had come trundling in just
before tattoo, and first and foremost the returning wanderer was driven
to his own doorway and left for half an hour with Ada and Jimmy--the one
sobbing with joy, the other laughing with delight--on the father's
knees. Then Mrs. Blythe stole in to bid them to the waiting supper, and,
pending Lawrence's reappearance somewhere along the line, the officers
gathered in low-voiced groups discussing the startling event of the
evening. Bralligan, raging for the blood of the double-dashed,
triple-adjectived hound who had assaulted him, had been lugged home by
two or three of his kind, consoled by Captain Mullane with the assurance
that he'd see that the preacher gave him full satisfaction in the
morning, for, with native love of a ruction, Mullane stood ready to bear
the subaltern's challenge, even though his better nature told him the
ducking was richly deserved: with Irish honor in question, Mullane was
for fight. Frazier and Brooks, of course, said the seniors present,
must not be allowed official knowledge of what had taken place, though
in those benighted days of magnificent distances from the centre of
civilization and the exploring grounds of reporters of the press, many a
stirring row was settled without its ever being heard of beyond the
limits of the garrison in which it occurred. Captain Barclay, contenting
himself with the one blow, despite an unchristian impulse to follow it
up with a kick at the sprawling figure, had stood calmly by when
Bralligan's associates lifted him, half stunned, to his feet, then,
addressing himself to Mullane, with just the least tremor in his voice
and twitching to his muscles, remarked, "Of course you know what led to
this, sir. If your lieutenant desires to follow it up, you can find me
at my quarters." Then, looking very deliberately around upon the little
circle of flushed or pallid faces,--there were only five officers
present,--he slowly turned, walked away, and shut himself in his room.

A light was still burning there when Brayton tiptoed in at half-past
ten. He, with several other cavalrymen, had been sitting in the major's
parlor, listening to Lawrence's tale of His experiences in Washington.
Winn had rejoined the party late, and one glance at his face was enough
to tell Brayton that somewhere he had heard of the fracas at the
club-room. Brayton's boyish heart was bubbling over with pride and
delight in this new and unlooked-for side to his captain. Every day of
his service with that officer only served to strengthen the regard and
admiration Brayton felt for him. Barclay had made no pretence of being a
cavalryman on the strength of his assignment to that arm. He started
with the assertion that he had everything to learn, and then surprised
his subaltern by an extensive knowledge of what we then called "the
tactics." He was certainly not as much at home in saddle as on foot, and
did not pretend to be, but he was by no means a poor or ungraceful
rider. He had a light, gentle hand, at least,--a thing much harder for
most men to acquire than a good seat. He was very cool, just, and
level-headed with the members of the troop, not a few of whom thought to
"run it" on the "doughboy" captain; but all such projects had flattened
out within the fortnight after his coming. Barclay might not know
horses, but he did know men, and the first sergeant was the first to
find it out,--the new captain calmly and almost confidentially pointing
out to him, after ten days of apparently casual glancings over the
mess-room and kitchen, that the men were not getting their proper
allowance of coffee, and that the savings made on the rations did not
all go where they belonged.

"Boy an' man, sorr," began Sergeant Sullivan, oratorically and with fine
indignation, "I've sarved in the dragoons or cavalry the best fifteen
years of me life, and this is the furrst time me honor's been called
into account. I shall tindher me resignation at wanst."

"I have had its acceptance in contemplation for some days, sergeant,"
was the calm response. "But first we'll overhaul the accounts."

"Currnel Larns's, sorr, would niver have treated an ould soldier in this
way."

"That, I fear, is true," was the imperturbable response, "and as a
consequence the colonel appears to have been robbed right and
left,--your own name being brought into question. That will answer for
the present, sergeant."

And when the troop heard that Denny Sullivan had been "broke" and was to
be tried by court-martial for thieving, great was the comment excited,
and the men began to wonder what manner of doughboy was this, after all,
that had come to them,--the doughboy that ould Denny had so confidently
counted on running to suit himself. But this didn't begin to be all. A
very acute trailer was Galahad. Those were days in which only a
subaltern, and not always even a subaltern, was expected to appear at
morning stables; but the new captain liked to rise early, he said. He
was up with the sun or earlier, and hoof- or wheel-tracks about the
stables before the herd was led forth to water never escaped his
attention, yet apparently never excited remark. Within the third week,
however, another non-commissioned officer was suddenly nabbed, and so
was a wagon-load of forage, going off to a neighboring ranch at four
o'clock in the morning. Meantime the men noted that their coffee and
rations were better and more bountiful, and soldiers are quick to
receive impressions that come by way of the stomach. "The new captain is
knocking out the old abuses," said they, and it was wonderful how soon
the ex-doughboy made his way into their good graces. There had been some
disposition on the part of the wits in other companies to refer to
Barclay's men as "The Parson's Own" when it was announced that the
captain had attended the chaplain's evening service, but even that was
beginning to die out, when all of a sudden it was noised abroad this
evening that the redoubtable Bralligan had been felled by a single blow
of that Quaker fist.

Brayton was fairly quivering with excitement this night of nights, and
could not sleep. He longed to see his captain and hear his version of
the affair, but the door was tightly closed instead of being invitingly
open, and he dared not intrude. Not one word had been said about the
matter at the major's, but Brayton knew it would soon be known even to
the officer in command. So long, however, as it was not reported to him
officially, Frazier would probably let the affair take its course.
Bralligan deserved the knock-down, and doubtless would be glad enough to
let the matter end there. But, thought Brayton, if he should demand
satisfaction, and Barclay's religious or conscientious scruples were to
prevent his acceptance, "_then_ comes my chance," for the youngster
himself proposed to take it up. He had no scruples. He had been longing
for a chance to kick that cad Bralligan for over a year, and after all
it was Barclay that got it.

Eleven o'clock, and Barclay's light still burned. Eleven-thirty, and
still, reading or writing, the captain seemed occupied in the old poker
room, and the door remained closed. Once or twice Brayton heard him
moving about, and in his own excitement and interest the boy found it
impossible to think of anything else. Twelve o'clock came. He was
beginning to undress and prepare for bed, still uneasily watching the
light shining through the crack of the door, when his straining ears
caught the sound of a footfall underneath his window. It opened on the
yard, and the sill was only five feet or so above the ground. A hand was
uplifted without and tapped gently on the sash, and as Brayton drew
aside the curtain Harry Winn's face was revealed in the moonlight.

"Come to the porch in front," he muttered low. "I must speak with you."

Brayton was out on the dark piazza in half a minute. He found Winn
nervously pacing the boards.

"I told my wife I had to come out and think quietly awhile," he said, as
he extended a hand to his silent classmate. "She heard of this--this
damnable business almost as quick as it happened. That girl of ours
hears everything and tells anything. There's no doubt about it, I
suppose. You were there? You heard it at once, didn't you? What
does--_he_ say?" And Winn's nod indicated that he meant Barclay.

"Nothing," said Brayton, briefly. "I haven't seen him----"

"But he's up. The light's in his window. He's writing--or something.
Look here, Brayton, you know what's got to come of this. That damned
Irishman must challenge him, or be cut and kicked about by all his kind
in the cavalry. It isn't Barclay's fight; it's mine. The more I think of
it the more I know that, contemptible a blackguard as Bralligan is, he
is still an officer of the regiment. He has been knocked down, and has
the right to demand the only satisfaction there is for a blow. You know
it as well as I do. What I've got to do right here and now is to take
that fight off Barclay's hands, and you've got to help me."

"S'pose he don't want it taken off his hands," said Brayton, sturdily.
"He told him plain enough he was ready to meet any demand----"

Winn reddened even in the pallid moonlight. "I say no man in this
garrison fights on my wife's account except me--or with me. They're up
with Bralligan now, two or three of them, and I want you to go there
with me at once as my witness. I mean to cowhide him to-night. Then if
he wants a meeting in the morning, I'm his man." And as he spoke Winn
thrashed nervously at the railing with the stout whip he carried in his
hand.

"That won't fix it," answered Brayton, "and you ought to have sense
enough to know it. Barclay has the precedence. The Mick couldn't
challenge you until he'd fought him--or been refused a fight. You go to
bed, Winn," and Brayton spoke even lower. "Your wife must have heard you
just now, and first thing you know Barclay will hear you, and"--with
almost comical irrelevance--"you don't want to meet him this way, when
you haven't even called on him."

Winn reddened again. There was a tinge of bitterness in his tone as he
answered,--

"Don't trouble yourself about Mrs. Winn's hearing. She's placidly
asleep--long ago. As for my not calling, you know I've only been out of
my bed three days or so, and Captain Barclay must understand that a man
burdened as I have been is in no mood for social observances. This is
all begging the question. You're the only man I can ask to be my second.
Finish your dressing now and come."

"Winn, I won't do it," said Brayton, with flatfooted decision. "This is
my captain's affair, and, from what I've seen of him since he joined,
I'm bound to say what's his is mine. Besides, you've got no business
mixing up in the matter. You've got your wife to think of, and you've
got that commissary business to straighten out. Barclay and I have no
encumbrances of either kind." At the moment, I fear me, the young
gentleman could have added, "Thank God!" for, with all his appreciation
of the physical perfections of his classmate's wife, Mr. Brayton was
keenly aware of her many extravagances.

"Of course I've a wife," answered Winn, hotly. "It's because of her I
feel bound to take this up. As for that commissary money, every cent
will be here to square the shortage, whether I am or not. I'll tell you
what others---- No! I can't even tell you, Brayton. But an old friend of
my father's has offered his help. Now, once more, will you come or not?"

"No, Winn. You know well enough I'd see you through if---- Hush! There's
Mullane and some one else coming out of his quarters now."

"Then, by God! I'll go alone," exclaimed Winn, "and it's got to be done
before they get away." And he would have gone springing down the steps,
but Brayton seized and held him.

"For God's sake, Harry, be quiet to-night. Don't go near him. Quiet,
man! Can't you see? Those fellows are coming this way now!"

True enough, Mullane and his companion, who had issued from the fourth
set of quarters down to the left, turned northward the moment they
reached the walk, the moonlight gleaming on the buttons of their uniform
frock-coats, but the sight and faint sound of scuffling on Winn's porch
seemed to attract their attention. They stopped as though to
reconnoitre, and just then the front door of Brayton's hall opened wide,
and, with the broad light at his back, Captain Barclay stepped quietly
forth.

"Brayton," he said, "you left the door ajar, and it was impossible not
to hear the latter part of this conference.--Mr. Winn, I presume," he
continued, with calm, courteous bow, as the two young men, unclasping,
turned and faced him. "I infer that you purpose going to Mr. Bralligan's
quarters--now. Let me urge that you do nothing of the kind. Brayton is
right. I see that, late as it is, some of their party are moving this
way. Pray remember that as yet this is entirely my affair."

There was no time for other answer than a bow, a mumbled word or two, an
embarrassed acceptance of the hand extended by the captain. Just as he
said, Mullane and his friend were coming rapidly up the walk. They
passed the Winns' gate, entered that of Brayton, and then it appeared
that Mullane's friend was the ubiquitous Hodge, that Mullane was
manifestly in his glory, and that both were perceptibly in liquor.

"Gintlemen," said the doughty captain, halting at the foot of the steps
and raising his forage-cap with magnificent sweep, "gintlemen, I am the
beerer of a missige from me frind Mr. Bralligan. Have I the honor of
addhressin' Captain Barclay?" Fondly did Mullane imagine that he
impressed his hearers as did Sir Lucius O'Trigger; and much did he
remind one of them, at least, of Captain Costigan of blessed memory.

"This is Captain Barclay," that gentleman answered, in low tones, with
a smile of amusement at Mullane's grandiloquent prelude, yet stepping
quickly forward to meet the envoys. Winn could not but note that the
captain's movement accomplished at once two objects. It left him and
Brayton in the shade; it kept Mullane and Hodge in the moonlight and off
the steps. "Pardon my suggesting that a lady sleeps in the front room
aloft there, and that you speak low, so as not to disturb her. Where is
your message?"

This was trying. Mullane loved his chest tones as he did his whiskey.
His low voice was apt to be thick and husky and unimpressive, and
to-night he was over-weighted with the sense of the gravity and
importance of his mission, if with nothing else.

"Sorr," he said, with another flourish of the cap, "in accordince with
the practice of gintlemen in the old arrumy, I am the bearer of a
verrbal missige----"

The Quaker captain had already amazed the old dragoon sergeants by the
intricacy and extent of his knowledge of their manners and customs. Now
came a surprise for the officers.

"Pardon my interrupting," he said. "I do not assume to instruct in such
matters, but there is manifestly only one kind of message 'according to
the customs of the old army,'" and here he smiled quietly, "that should
come from Mr. Bralligan now, and it must come in writing. I decline to
recognize any other." Here Brayton nudged Winn approvingly, but the
subalterns maintained a decorous silence.

"I've niver hurr'd of a challenge being refused on that account," said
Mullane, majestically, "and if me wurreds are not sufficient, here's me
frind Mr. Hodge----"

"Your words are not brought into question, Captain Mullane, but the
manner of your message is. Let your friend put it in writing, and it
will be received. Good-night to you, sir."

And, to Mullane's utter amaze and confusion, quickly followed by an
explosion of wrath, Captain Barclay coolly turned and walked
within-doors.

"Hould on dthere!" cried Mullane, as he started to spring up the steps,
but Brayton stepped in front of him, and Hodge nervously grabbed his
arm. Neither knew much of the "code" of the old days, but each had
learned that Barclay rarely made a mistake. Winn, too, tall and strong,
stepped in front of the angry Irishman as he broke out into expletives.
"No more of that here, captain," he cried, forgetful of any
consideration of rank. "This noise will wake the post. Rest assured
your principal will get all the fight he wants;" and then, with growing
wrath, for Mullane was struggling to come to the steps, "so will you, by
God, if you advance another foot."

"Winn--Winn, for heaven's sake, I say!" cried Brayton, seizing the
uplifted arm. "Go home, Mullane. Damn it, you're in no shape to handle
such a matter to-night. Go home, or I swear I'll call the officer of the
day. He's coming now!" he exclaimed; and it was true, for the sound of
excited voices had reached the adjoining quarters, and out from the
doorway, sashed and belted, came the massive form of Captain Blythe, his
sabre clanking on the door-sill. Out, too, from Winn's hallway shot a
broad beam of light, and hastening along the porch came a tall, graceful
form in some clinging rose-tinted wrapper, all beribboned and fluffy and
feminine. The men fell away and Mullane drew back as Mrs. Winn scurried
to her husband's side and laid her white hand on his arm. Forth again on
the other side of Winn came Barclay, and his deep tones broke the sudden
silence.

"Captain Mullane, leave this spot instantly," he ordered, stern and low.
"I'll answer to you in the morning."

"Come out of this, Mullane," demanded Blythe, striding in at the gate.
"Delay one second, and I'll order you under arrest."

Up slowly went Mullane's cap with the same incomparable sweep. "In the
prisince of leedies," said he, "I'm disarrumed. Captain Barclay, I'll
see ye in the marrnin'."

But when the marrnin' came both Mullane and his principal, beside
bewildering headaches, had graver matters to deal with than even a very
pretty quarrel.




CHAPTER IX.


From the night of her brilliant appearance at the garrison ball, not
once had Mrs. Winn an opportunity to exchange a dozen words with Captain
Barclay. Her husband, as has been said, had failed to call on his new
next-door neighbor, although Winn had been well enough to be about for
several days, and until he did call it was impossible for Barclay to
enter their doors, and expedient that he should avoid Mrs. Winn wherever
it was possible to do so. This might not have been difficult, even
though the same roof covered both households,--that of the Winns on the
south and that of the Barclay-Brayton combination on the north
side,--but for Laura Winn herself, who seemed to be out on the porch
every afternoon as the captain came walking back from stables; and the
women who were apt to gather at Mrs. Blythe's at that time declared that
there was something actually inviting, if not imploring, in the way Mrs.
Winn would watch for him, and bow, and seem to hover where he could
hardly avoid speaking to her. Three times at least since that memorable
party had she been there "on watch," as Mrs. Faulkner expressed it, and
though his bow was courtesy itself, and his "Good-evening, Mrs. Winn,"
most respectful, and even kindly, if one could judge by the tone of his
voice, not another word did he speak. He passed on to his own gateway,
Brayton generally at his side, and his stable dress was changed for
parade uniform or dinner before he again made his appearance.

After the manner of the day, most of the cavalry contingent stopped in
at the club-room on the way back from evening stables. Brayton used to
do so, but, though no one could say his captain had preached to him on
the subject, some influence either of word or of example had taken
effect, and the young bachelor seemed entirely content to cut the club
and the social tipple, and to trudge along by his new companion's side.
They had been getting "mighty thick" for captain and second lieutenant,
said some of the other officers; but, serenely indifferent to what
others thought or said, the two kept on their way.

"Thought you were goin' to wear mournin' for Lawrence the rest of your
natural life, Brayton; and here you are tyin' to Barclay as if Lawrence
had never lived," said Mr. Bralligan, only a day or two before
Lawrence's return, and Brayton started almost as though stung. What
Bralligan said was not half as ill grounded as most of his statements,
and Brayton was conscious of something akin to guilt and self-reproach.
In common with most of the regiment, he had felt very sore over
Lawrence's going. He had been much attached to that gallant and
soldierly captain, but now that another had taken his place, and he
could compare or contrast the two, the youngster began to realize with
something like a pang of distress--as though it were disloyal to think
so--that in many ways Barclay was "head and shoulders" the superior man.
Lawrence never rose till eight o'clock except when in the field.
Lawrence rarely read anything but the papers and interminable
controversies over the war. Lawrence, despite the claims of Ada and
little Jimmy, often spent an evening at the club, and always stopped
there on his way from stables. Lawrence never studied, and off the
drill-ground never taught. Indeed, almost all the drills the troop had
known for months and months Brayton himself had conducted. No wonder the
boy had wasted hours of valuable time. No wonder there was a little game
going on among the youngsters in Brayton's "back parlor" many a day. He
had simply been started all wrong.

But even before Barclay's books were unpacked the new captain had found
means to interest the young fellow in professional topics that Lawrence
had never seemed to mention. Barclay had evidently been taking counsel
with progressive soldiers before joining his new regiment, had been
reading books of their choosing, and among others was a valuable
treatise on the proper method of bitting horses, and he found that here
was a matter that Lawrence and Brayton had never thought of and that
Brayton said was never taught them at the Point,--which was strictly
true. To the amaze and unspeakable indignation of Denny Sullivan, who
was soon to be overhauled on graver points, the doughboy had taken his
lieutenant from horse to horse in the troop as they stood at rest during
drill, and shown him at least twenty bits out of the forty-five in line
that were no fit at all. He showed him some that were too broad from bar
to bar and that slid to and fro in the tortured creature's mouth; others
that hung too low, almost "fell through;" others whose curb-chain or
strap, instead of fitting in the groove, bore savagely on the delicate
bones above it and tormented the luckless charger every time his rider
drew rein. Barclay gave the boy his own carefully studied hand-book; not
another cavalry officer then at Worth had read it, though several had
heard of it. The youngster was set to work fitting new bits by
measurement to the mouth of every horse in the troop.

Then Barclay drew him into the discussion of the cavalry system of
saddling as then prescribed,--the heavy tree set away forward close to
the withers,--and Brayton could only say that "that was tactics and the
way they'd always done it." But Galahad pointed out that the tactics
then in use were written of a foreign dragoon saddle with a long flat
bearing surface. It was all very well for that to be set as far forward
as it would go, because even then the centre of gravity of the rider
would be well back on the horse. "But," said he, "you take this short
McClellan tree, place that away forward, and then set a man in it; his
centre of gravity will rest in front of the centre of motion of the
horse,--will throw the weight on the forehand and use up his knees and
shoulders in no time." This, too, set Brayton to studying and thinking,
while Mullane and Fellows declared Sir Galahad a crank, and even Brooks
and Blythe, wedded to tradition, thought him visionary. Then when the
books came, Galahad unpacked, and just where the poker-table used to
stand it stood now, but it was covered with beautiful maps of Alsace and
Lorraine, and Galahad's desk with pamphlets sent him from abroad, the
earliest histories of the memorable campaign about Metz and Sedan. The
next thing Brayton knew he was as deeply interested as his captain, and,
lo, other men came to look and wonder and go off shaking their
heads,--those of them who were of the Mullane persuasion sneering at
those "book-generals," while others, like Blythe, pulled up a chair as
invited and followed the junior captain through his modest explanation
with appreciative eyes. Those were days when there was all too little
time for study and improvement, thanks to the almost incessant Indian
scouting required; but here was Worth, a big post, and here was a
four-troop battalion with a gentleman and not a bad soldier at its head,
and it had not occurred to him to teach them anything or to require of
them anything beyond the usual attention to stables, troop-drill, and an
occasional parade. If his men were reasonably ready to take the field in
pursuit of Kiowa, Comanche, or horse-thief, and to furnish escort for
ambulance and train when the disbursing officers went to and fro, that
was all that could be expected of him or them in those halcyon days. And
now "this blasted doughboy substitute" had come down here and was
proposing to stir them all up, make them all out "so many ignoramuses,"
said Mullane. "Bedad, the thing is revolutionary!" And that was enough
to damn it, for revolution is a thing no Irishman will tolerate, when
he doesn't happen to be in it himself.

Still another thing had occurred to make Barclay something apart from
the bachelors. No sooner had his modest kit of household goods arrived
than the unused kitchen of Brayton's quarters was fitted up; Hannibal
was ensconced therein; a neat little dining-room was made of what had
been designed for a small bedchamber on the ground-floor, and Barclay
amazed the mess by setting forth champagne the last evening he dined
there as a member, and then retired to the privacy of his own
establishment, as he had at Sanders. The Winns' house-maid had of course
dropped in to see how Hannibal was getting along, and dropped out to
tell her discoveries, which were few. Then Brayton found the mess saying
things about Barclay he could not agree with, and he, too, resigned and
became a messmate of his captain,--a change for the better that speedily
manifested itself in the healthy white of his clear eyes and a
complexion that bore no trace of fiery stimulants such as were indulged
in elsewhere. Then there was talk of others leaving the "Follansbee
family" and asking to join at Brayton's, and this gave umbrage to Erin
as represented in the bachelors' mess. And so an anti-Barclay feeling
had sprung up at the post, among the unlettered at least, and these
were days in which the unlettered were numerous. "Sorry for you,
Brayton, me boy," grinned the senior sub of Fellows's troop. "It must be
tough to come down to this after Lawrence." And he was amazed at
Brayton's reply.

"Tough? Yes, for it shows me how much time I've wasted."

"Wait till we get Galahad out on the trail wid his new-fangled bits and
seats," sneered Mullane but a day or two before. "That'll take the
damned nonsense out of him. Faith, whin he goes I hope I may go along
too to see the fun."

And, sooner than he thought for, the Irish captain had his wish.

One o'clock had just been called off by the sentries, and the moon was
well over to the west, when the door of the major's quarters was opened
and he with his lingering guests came forth upon the broad piazza, the
red sparks of their cigars gleaming anew as they felt the fan of the
rising breeze. Clear and summer-like as was the sky, there was a
reminder of the snow-peaks in the wings of the wind, and Lawrence
huddled his old cavalry cape about his shoulders as he faced it. He was
talking eagerly, perhaps a little bombastically, of this great new
mining company in which Buffstick was prominent as a director. He was
full of hope and anticipation and disposed to patronize a trifle his
friends who, wedded to the humdrum of the army, were debarred from so
fine an opportunity of making money in abundance. So many of the number
were going to do so much in the same way when first they left us for the
broader paths of civil life.

"I tell you, Brooks," he said, enthusiastically, "I wouldn't take ten
thousand dollars cash this night for my chance of making twice that sum
within the year. Buffstick turns everything he touches into gold."

"Wonder if Barclay knows these mines," said De Lancy, reflectively,
flipping the ashes from the end of his cigar. "He has never opened his
head about his mines to a soul. We don't know where they are."

"I don't know," said Lawrence, briefly. Even yet the mention of Barclay
chafed him a bit. "I know this, though, that that company wouldn't offer
me any such salary as twenty-five hundred dollars a year just to boss
their men, unless there was big money in it somewhere. It's the first
time I ever knew what it was to be indifferent to the coming of the
paymaster. By the way, he ought to be here day after to-morrow, or
to-morrow night in fact; it's long after twelve now. The escorts were
warned as we came along."

"I think it a mistake," said Brooks, gravely, "to let any one know
beforehand when the paymaster is to start. That Friday gang probably
musters a hundred by this time. It's where all our thieves and deserters
go. I haven't a doubt your old sergeant has joined them by this time,
Lawrence. I believe that's where Marsden's gone, and that we'll hear
from them in force again before we're a month older. They've kept
reasonably quiet all winter, but June isn't far off. I'm blessed if I
would want to make that trip from San Antonio with forty thousand
dollars in greenbacks with less than a big troop of cavalry to guard
it."

"He's got more money than that this time," said Lawrence. "Most of these
men have four months' pay due them; so have the cavalry along the route.
He has two other posts to pay. Hallo!" he cried, breaking suddenly off,
"what's all the light about down at the sutler's? Here comes the
sergeant of the guard."

Running diagonally across the parade, the moonlight glinting on his
buttons and accoutrements, an infantry non-commissioned officer was
speeding towards the quarters of Captain Blythe, near the upper end of
the row; but, catching sight of the group at the major's, he suddenly
swerved and came straight towards them, springing over the gurgling
_acequia_ and the dusty roadway and halting at the gate.

"What is it, sergeant?" asked two or three voices at once.

"I was looking for the officer of the day, sir. Is he here?"

"Over at his quarters, probably. What's amiss?"

"There's two of Fuller's men in, sir, from Crockett,--just about played
out. They swear that not an hour after sunset the whole Friday gang--it
couldn't have been anything else--came a-riding out from the foot-hills
over towards the Wild Rose and kept on to the southeast. They saw the
dust against the sky and hid in the rocks away off to the east of the
trail, and they swear there must have been fifty of 'em at least."

He had hardly time to finish the words when the sutler himself came
galloping over the parade, "hot foot," on his wiry mustang, and drew up
in front of the gate. "Has the sergeant told you?" he asked,
breathlessly. "It's Reed and his partner,--two of the best men on my
ranch,--and they can't be mistaken. You know what it must mean,
gentlemen. The gang is after the paymaster, and I think Colonel Frazier
should know at once." No wonder Fuller was breathless, bareheaded, and
only half dressed. Anywhere from thirty to forty thousand dollars might
be diverted from its proper and legitimate use if that Friday gang
should overpower the guard and get away with it. His coffers were filled
with sutler checks redeemable in currency at the pay-table, as was the
wonted way of the old army. It was a case of feast or famine with
Fuller, and he poured his tale into sympathetic ears. Brooks himself
went over to the colonel's, and found that weasel of a chief already
awake. Mrs. Frazier didn't allow galloping over her parade in the dead
of the night without an attempt to detect the perpetrator. That vigilant
dame had more than once brought graceless skylarkers to terms, and the
_quadrupedante putrem sonitu_ of Fuller's mustang represented to her
incensed and virtuous ears only the mad lark of some scapegrace
subaltern, who perchance had not been as attentive to 'Manda as he
should have been, and she was out of dreamland and over at the window
before Fuller fairly drew rein.

"What is it, Brooks, me boy?" asked Frazier from his casement, as did
gallant O'Dowd of his loyal Dobbin. "I'll be down in a minute." By the
time he reached the door Fuller had hurried up his stiff and wearied
scouts, and in the presence of a little party of officers the story was
told again, and told without break or variation. There was only one
opinion. The scattered outlaws had easily got wind of the coming of the
paymaster with his unusual amount of treasure, and, quickly assembling,
they were heading away to meet him far to the southeast of the big post,
very possibly planning to ambuscade the party in the winding defiles of
the San Saba Hills. Not a moment was to be lost. For the first time the
full weight of his divorce from all that was once his profession and his
pride fell on Ned Lawrence, as for an instant the colonel's eyes turned
to him as of old,--the dashing and successful leader of the best scouts
sent from Worth in the last two years. Then, as though suddenly
realizing that he had no longer that arm to lean on, old Frazier spoke:

"Why, Brooks, you'll have to go. I can't trust such a command to
Mullane, and it'll take two companies at least."

And twenty minutes later, answering the sharp summons of their veteran
sergeants, the men of Mullane's and Barclay's troops were tumbling out
of their bunks and into their boots, "hell-bent for a rousin' ride," and
the old captain of Troop "D" was saying to the new, "Captain Barclay,
may I ask you for a mount? I've been longing for two years past for a
whack at this very gang, and now that the chance has come I cannot stay
here and let my old troop go."

And all men present marked the moment of hesitation, the manner of
reluctance, before Barclay gravely answered, "There is nothing at my
disposal to which you are not most welcome, Colonel Lawrence; and
yet--do you think--you ought to go?"

"I could not stay here, sir, and see my old troop go without me," was
the answer.

Few were the families at Fort Worth that were not up and out on the
piazzas or at the windows to see Brooks's detachment as it marched away
in the light of the setting moon just as the stars were paling in the
eastern sky; but the merciful angel of sleep spread her hushing wings
over the white bed where two children lay dreaming, and never until the
troopers were miles beyond the vision of the keen-eyed sentries did Ada
know that the loved father, restored to her but a few hours before, was
once more riding the Texan trail, soldier sense of duty leading on, and
God alone knowing to what end.




CHAPTER X.


The day that broke on old Fort Worth thus late in a sunshiny May proved
one of deep anxiety. There was no telegraph wire then to connect it with
the distant head-quarters of the department. If there had been it would
have been cut six times a week. There was no way of waving back the
coming convoy or of signalling danger. Crockett Springs lay a long day's
ride to the southeast, and the little troop of cavalry there in camp was
looking for the coming of no call upon it for duty until early on the
morrow it should supply the paymaster and his party with breakfast, the
ambulance with fresh mules and driver, and the night riders of the
escort with their relief. Forty troopers from Crockett Springs would
take the place of those who had come from the San Saba, and trot along
with the paymaster until, somewhere about midway to Worth, they should
meet the forty sent out the previous night to bivouac on the prairie and
be ready to take up the gait and keep it until the man of money and his
safe were well within the limits of the reservation. But the fifty-mile
stage from Crockett to the southeast was the worst on the long line.
The road wound over the divide to the valley of the San Saba, and on the
way had to twist and turn through defiles of the range of hills, where
more than a dozen times Indians and outlaws had defied the little
detachments of cavalry scouting after them. The worst part of the pass
lay some twenty miles beyond the stage station at Crockett Springs.
Neither Indians nor outlaws, to be sure, had been heard of in that
neighborhood for several months, but that proved nothing. It was easy
for the latter to sweep from their supposed fastnesses in the Apache
range to the west, and, issuing from the Wild Rose Pass, to water miles
below the springs and then line the rocks in the heart of the San Saba
Pass, without a trooper being the wiser. Forty cavalrymen, as Lawrence
knew, would be the major's escort from the camp on the Rio San Saba
beyond the range. Forty men disciplined and organized ought ordinarily
to be able to cope with any band of outlaws to be found in Texas. But
when, as was now reasonably certain, this far-famed Friday gang had
received accessions from the troops themselves and had welcomed the
deserters and desperadoes so frequently sloughed off from the soldier
skin of Uncle Sam in the days close following the great war, there was
grave reason for precaution, and graver still for anxiety. Question as
he might, Frazier could not shake an atom of the original statement of
Fuller's men. Fifty mounted outlaws, at least count, with a dozen led
horses, they had seen through their field-glass far over the prairie,
pushing southeastward from the direction of Wild Rose Pass of the Apache
range, straight for the lower valley through which ran the little stream
that had its source at Crockett Springs.

So there were anxious hearts at Worth, for, while it was felt that
Brooks would lose no moment and was well on his way at four o'clock of
this bright Sunday morning, he had still some sixty miles to traverse
before he could get to Crockett, rest and bait his men and horses, pick
up Cramer's troop there camped, and then push ahead for the San Saba,
where he expected to find the outlaw gang disposed in ambuscade,
confidently awaiting the coming of their prey.

Now, Brooks had men enough to thrash them soundly, but unless he caught
them in the act of spoliation he lacked authority. Just as sure as he
pitched into a force of armed frontiersmen, they would appeal to the
courts, and public sentiment would be dead against him. He could
doubtless push ahead through the range, careless of lurking scouts of
the would-be robbers, meet Major Pennywise and his protectors, and
escort them back in safety. That problem presented no great difficulty;
but what Frazier wanted and Brooks wanted and everybody, presumably,
wanted was that the outlaws should be caught in the act and be punished
then and there. The question was how to catch them in the act without
being themselves discovered, and before the gang had had time to inflict
much damage on the paymaster's party. There was the rub. "Why, their
first volley, delivered from ambush, might kill half the outfit and the
paymaster too," said Frazier. "No, we dare not risk it, Brooks. Push
through and pull him through, that's the best we can do--unless," and
here came the redeeming clause, "unless on the way you should light on
some unforeseen chance. Then--use your discretion."

Mounted on the very horse he used to ride as troop commander, and with
the old familiar horse-equipments, Ned Lawrence left the post at the
major's side. He had slept as only soldiers can, curled up in the
stage-coach, during the previous afternoon, and was in far better trim
for the long ride in saddle than Captain Mullane, who with bleary eyes
and muddled head rode _solus_ in front of the leading troop, his one
lieutenant, Mr. Bralligan, being reported by Dr. Collabone's assistant
as sick in quarters, which indeed he was, with a lump the size of an
apple on the side of his head, and another, apparently the heft and
density of a six-pounder cannon-ball, rolling about inside of it. "D"
Troop, jogging easily along at the rear of column, was led by Barclay
and Brayton, both of whom had marked the absence of the subaltern of the
leading company, and neither of whom was surprised when ten miles out
there came galloping past them, with a touch of the hand to his
hat-brim, the late regimental commissary, Lieutenant Harry Winn.

"That's good!" said Brayton, as he saw his classmate ride up to the
major and report, then fall back and range himself alongside Mullane.
But Barclay was silent.

"You think he ought not to have come?" asked Brayton, half hesitatingly,
as he glanced at his silent leader.

"I'm thinking more of others--who should be here," was the answer. "Yet
those two have so much to leave." And Brayton, following the glance of
his captain's eyes, fully understood.

The morning grew warm as the sun began to climb above the distant
low-lying hills to the east. The dust soon rose in dense clouds from
beneath the crushing hoofs, and, leaving Brayton with the troop, Barclay
cut across the chord of a long arc in the trail and reined up alongside
the major. The command at the moment was moving at a sharp trot through
a long, low depression in the prairie-like surface. Brooks returned the
captain's punctilious salute with a cheery nod and cordial word of
greeting.

"With your permission, sir, I will fall back a hundred yards or so,
divide the troop into sections, and so avoid the dust."

Brooks glanced back over his shoulder. "Why, certainly, captain," said
he. "I ought to have known the dust would be rising by this time. It's
eight o'clock," he continued, glancing at his watch. Barclay turned in
saddle and signalled with his gauntlet, whereat Brayton slackened speed
to the walk, and a gap began to grow between the rearmost horses of
Mullane's troop and the head of "D's" already dusty column.

"Ride with us a moment, won't you, Barclay?" called the major,
significantly, as his subordinate seemed on the point of reining aside
to wait for his men. "I want you two to know each other." And the new
and the old captain of "D" Troop, who had courteously shaken hands with
each other when presented in the dim light of the declining moon at four
o'clock, now trotted side by side, Lawrence eying his successor with
keen yet pleasant interest. He had been hearing all manner of good of
him during the wakeful watches of the night, and was manfully fighting
against the faint yet irrepressible feeling of jealous dislike with
which broader and better men than he have had to struggle on being
supplanted. Do what he might to battle against it, Lawrence had been
conscious of it hour after hour, and felt that he winced time and again
when some of the callers spoke even guardedly of the changes Barclay was
making in the old troop, changes all men except the ultra-conservative
ranker element (as the ranker was so often constituted at that peculiar
time, be it understood) could see were for the better.

"You and Barclay lead on, will you, Ned?" said the major, in his genial
way. "I wish to speak with Mullane a moment." Whereat he reined out to
the right and waited for the big Irishman to come lunging up. Mullane
was already spurring close at his heels, gloomily eying the combination
in front. "There are Oirish and Oirish," as one of their most
appreciative and broad-minded exponents, Private Terence Mulvaney, has
told us; and it galled the veteran dragoon to see his junior in rank
bidden to ride even for the moment at the head of the swiftly moving
column. So, reckless of the fact that his individual spurt would call
for a certain forcing of the pace along his entire troop, now moving in
long column of twos, Mullane had spurred his horse to close the
twelve-yard gap between himself and the major's orderly, determined that
there should be no conference of the powers in which he was not
represented.

"Captain Mullane," said Brooks, "I see it is getting dusty. You might
divide into sections, as 'D' troop has done, and keep fifty yards apart,
so that the dust can blow aside and not choke your men."

"This is 'L' Troop, sorr, and my men are not babes in arrums," was
Mullane's magnificent reply. At any other time he might have felt the
pertinence of the suggestion, but here was a case where a doughboy
captain, bedad, had instigated the measure for the comfort of his men.
That was enough to damn it in the eyes of the old dragoon. The answer
was shouted, too, with double intent. Mullane desired Barclay to hear
what he thought of such over-solicitude; but Barclay, riding onward
sturdily if not quite so easily as was Lawrence, gave no sign. He was
listening, with head inclined, to the words of the keen campaigner on
his right.

Brooks was quick to note the intention of the Irish officer, and equally
quick to note the flushed and inflamed condition of his face, the
thickness of his tongue. "So ho, my Celtic friend," thought he, as he
saw that two canteens were swung on the off side of Mullane's saddle,
one at the cantle under the rolled blanket, the other half shaded by the
bulging folds of the overcoat at the pommel, "I suspected there was more
whiskey than wit in your eagerness at the start; now I know it."

But even to Mullane the major would not speak discourteously. "We all
know 'L' Troop is ready for anything, captain," he smilingly answered,
"but I have to call for unusual exertion to-day, and the fresher they
are to-night the better. Let them open out, as I say," he continued; and
Mullane saw it was useless to put on further airs.

"You 'tind to it, sergeant," he grunted over his shoulder to his loyal
henchman, and then, uninvited, ranged up alongside the leader.

The prairie was open here; the road split up into several tracks from
time to time, and the men could have ridden platoon front without much
difficulty for two or three miles. Away to the southeast the ground rose
in slow, gradual, almost imperceptible slope to the edge of the far
horizon, not a tree or shrub exceeding a yard in height breaking
anywhere the dull monotony of the landscape. Eastward, miles and miles
away, a line of low rolling hills framed the dull hues of the picture.
Northward there was the same almost limitless expanse of low, lazy
undulation. To the right front, the south and southwest, the land seemed
to fall away in even longer, lazier billows, until it flattened out into
a broad valley, drained by some far-distant, invisible stream. Only to
the west and northwest, over their right shoulders, was there gleam of
something brighter. The faint blue outline of the far-away Apache range
was still capped in places by glistening white, while straight away to
the northwest, back of and beyond the dim dust-cloud through which the
swallow-tailed guidons were peeping, hovered over their winding trail
the bold and commanding heights, Fort Worth's shelter against the keen
blasts that swept in winter-time across the prairie from the upper
valley of the Rio Bravo. Four hours out, and just where the road dipped
into that broad deep swale a quarter-mile behind the rearmost
troopers,--just where the wreck of one of Fuller's wagons and the bones
of two of Fuller's mules and the soft spongy mud to the west of the
trail told how the waters could gather there in the rainy season and
evaporate to nothingness when needed in the dry,--a solitary stake
driven into the yielding soil bore on bullet-perforated cross-board the
legend, "20 miles to Worth and only 20 rods to Hell."

Only twenty miles in four hours, with fresh horses and the cool of the
morning, and a paymaster with forty thousand dollars in deadly danger
some sixty to eighty miles away. Slow going that, yet scientific. Not
another drop of water could those lively chargers hope to have until
they reached the springs at Crockett, forty miles away. Thrice has
Brooks halted for brief ten minutes' rest, the resetting of saddles,
etc., and now, after fifteen minutes' lively jog, he signals "walk"
again, and glances back to watch the march of his men. By this time the
column is long drawn out. The two troops are split up into four sections
each, riding a little over a dozen men in a bunch; by this means they
are relieved from the ill effects of the choking clouds of dust. Mullane
halts with the major. It pleases him to convey the impression to his men
that Brooks can't get along without him. A big pull at his pommel
canteen, ten minutes back, has temporarily braced him, and he wants to
talk, whereas Brooks, intent on the duty before him, wishes to think.

"Hwat time will we make Crockett's, major?"

"Not before five or five-thirty," is the brief answer.

"'L' Troop can do it in two hours less."

"So could 'D,' if it hadn't to push on again at nightfall." Brooks
answers in civil tone, despite the hint conveyed by the brevity of his
words, despite the conviction that is growing on him as he somewhat
warily glances over his companion, that what "L" might do its captain
won't do if he consults that canteen again. Two silent but keen-eared
orderlies are sitting in saddle close beside their respective officers,
and it will not do to give his thoughts away.

Then Mullane tries another tack. He seeks confidential relations with
his chief; and when an Irishman has a man he is jealous of to talk about
and whiskey to start him, he needs no supply of facts; they bubble from
his seething brain, manufactured for the occasion.

"The Preacher was caught where he couldn't get out of it," says he, with
a leering wink at the leading horseman. "Is he larnin' his thrade from
Lawrence, afther robbin' him av his throop?"

And now Brooks fires up unexpectedly. Turning quickly on the Irishman
with anger in his eyes, the major bends forward over the pommel.
"Captain Mullane," he says, so low that the near-by troopers fail to
catch his words, so distinctly that the captain cannot fail to, "there
are things of more value in a trade than the tricks of it that you seem
to know so well. You can learn more from Captain Barclay that is worth
knowing than you can ever teach him, and I'll listen to no slur at his
expense. You've been drinking too much, Mullane. Take my advice and pull
the stopper out of that canteen and put one on your tongue."

The Irishman boils up with wrath. The idea of Major Mildmanners pitching
into him--him, that was once the pride of the Second Dragoons!--and
praising that white-livered parson! Whurroo! Mullane at the moment could
have flung commission and conscience to the wind, everything but that
canteen. Nothing but the stern and icy stare in Brooks's usually
benignant eye represses the outburst trembling on the tangling tip of
his tongue.

"If you knew--what I know, sorr, that man'd not be ridin' wid his
betthers," he begins, "and it's this night that'll prove me wurrds."




CHAPTER XI.


It was at four o'clock of a blistering afternoon, twelve hours from the
time of their start from the post, that the leaders in the long-extended
column hove in sight of a patch of green down in a distant depression to
the south that marked the site of Crockett Springs. Beyond it, hemming
the broad, shallow valley, there rose a long wave of bare, desolate
heights, rounded and billowing in soft and graceful contours as they
rolled away northeastward, abrupt and jagged towards the south and
southwest, where the stream seemed to have torn a pathway for the sudden
torrents of the springtide that foamed away towards the broader valley
of the Bravo. At the point where, rounding the nose of a low ridge, the
trail twisted into view of Crockett's, the major halted to look back
over his command, still tripping steadily onward in little bunches, each
a dozen strong, each followed by its own little dust-cloud, each
independent, apparently, of the others, yet moving as part of one
harmonious train. Foremost, the group at the head of column had received
accessions. Fuller, the sutler, finely mounted and bristling with arms
of the latest and most approved pattern, backed by two sun-tanned Texans
from his ranch, had overtaken the command at noon, bent on sharing its
fortunes in the tussle anticipated with the outlaws; and they were now
riding with "head-quarters," from which, on the other hand, two figures
were missing,--Lawrence and one of the orderlies. As early as two
o'clock the ex-captain had pushed on ahead, a double object in view, to
warn Cramer's troop of the coming of the Worth command and the tidings
they bore of the Friday gang, also to have a little party mount at once
and gallop northeast, ten miles to the Saba trail,--a short cut from
Worth to the San Saba Pass, used by horsemen in the rainy season.
Captain Cramer might or might not have received warning of the
appearance of the gang in the valley below his camp at the Springs; but
the "Fridays," whoever their leader, would certainly have friends and
confederates on the watch near Worth, friends who would probably take
that very short cut and gallop at speed to warn the gang of the coming
vengeance. Oddly enough, it was not Brooks nor Lawrence who was first to
think of this, but Barclay. It was his modest suggestion at the noon
halt, a suggestion that was put in form of a question, that had opened
the major's eyes. "I remember, sir," said he, "that the Springs lie in
a sort of elbow; the trail runs nearly east and west for many miles
beyond them, and nearly north and south on this side. Is there no way in
which scouts could gallop across our left and give warning to those
fellows?"

"By Jove!" said Brooks, "there's the old San Saba cut-off. What had we
better do, Lawrence?" And Lawrence said, "Send at once a sergeant with a
set of fours to the left, until they cut the trail, in order to prevent
information going to the gang that way, and to report if any horsemen
have already passed, which latter any old frontiersman can tell at a
glance." Mullane, lurching drowsily in saddle all through the last
stage, had thrown himself on the turf and gone sound asleep the moment
the column halted. Only with extreme difficulty could he be aroused and
made to understand what was wanted. Mr. Winn, standing silently by,
turned his back on his temporary commander. He knew the Irish captain
was well-nigh swamped with liquor, and he had no wish to bear witness
against him. Those were days so close to the war that officers, old and
new, still thought more of what a man had done than of what he was
doing, and Mullane had been a gallant trooper. "You 'tind to it,
sergeant," was again the Irishman's comprehensive order to his first
sergeant when at last he grasped the significance of Brooks's words, and
five horsemen rode away at the lope to the left front the moment the
column again mounted. Again did Brooks see fit to caution his leading
troop commander. "I am afraid you have sampled that whiskey once too
often, Mullane. No more of it now, or you'll go to pieces when you are
most needed," he muttered, then rode on to the head of column.

And the prediction came true. At the very next halt Mullane had fallen
into a stupor so heavy that it was found impossible to rouse him. The
assistant surgeon with the column made brief examination, then unslung
and removed the canteen at the captain's pommel, and whispered his
conclusion,--"Better leave his horse and orderly here with him."

"Then," said the major, briefly, "Winn, you command 'L' Troop." And when
again the column mounted, Barclay rode back and directed his leading
section to incline to the right, so that they passed the lonely little
group, the two horses placidly cropping at the scant herbage, the
orderly squatting with averted face, filled at once with shame and
sympathy, the recumbent figure sprawled upon the prairie, its bloated
red visage buried in the blue-sleeved arms. Barclay's rearward sections
instinctively followed the lead, and only furtive glances were cast, and
no audible comments made. The ranks were full of tough characters in
those days, yet imbued with a strange fidelity in certain lines that
reminds one of the dog immortalized by Bret Harte at Red Gulch,--the dog
that had such deep sympathy for a helplessly drunken man. There was
nothing in their code to prevent their stealing from Uncle Sam, their
captain, or any other victim, but to hint that an officer or a friend
was drunk would have been the height of impropriety.

Winn, not Mullane, therefore, led "The Devil's Own," as Mullane's
troop--together with others, no doubt--had been appropriately
designated. Barclay followed at the head of "D." When nearing Crockett
Springs at five o'clock, a dim speck of courier came twisting out upon
the trail to meet them, and Brooks long after recalled the thought that
came to him as he read the despatch that reached him there. It was from
Lawrence:


"Cramer got wind of the gang early this morning, followed with thirty
men into the San Saba, had sharp fight, lost three men and many horses,
and is corralled out there, about fifteen miles southeast. Cramer
himself wounded, Dr. Augustin killed. Courier says most of Friday gang
gone to San Saba Pass. You, of course, must push on to save Pennywise
and his money. I take five men and horses here and hasten to pull Cramer
out of the hole. Think you now justified in attacking gang wherever
found. No doubt who were Cramer's assailants. Expect to reach him before
six and have one more square fight out of Texas. Hastily,

"L."


"By heaven," cried Brooks, as he turned to Fuller and the little party
riding with him, all studying his face with anxious eyes, "it's lucky we
got here with our horses in good shape. Cramer is in a scrape somewhere
out in the Range. Lawrence has gone to his aid, and there'll only be
time for a bite at Crockett's; then we must push on and go ahead to the
Pass." Then, dropping into thought, "Now, which of Laura Waite's victims
will most welcome a square fight,--the man she wronged by dropping, or
the man she wronged by taking?"

Two hours later, refreshed by cooling draughts from the brook that
bubbled away from the Springs, their nostrils sponged out, their saddles
reset, their stomachs gladdened by a light feed, the horses of the two
troops seemed fit for a chase, despite their sixty-mile march since
dawn. A courier, galloping ahead, had borne Brooks's directions that
coffee should be ready for his men, and Cramer's camp guard had found
time to add substantials to that comforting fluid. Only half an hour did
the major delay, but even in that time the horses had a quick rub-down
with wisps of hay, and the men themselves swung into saddle with an air
that seemed to say, "There's fun ahead!" The sun was shining aslant from
low down in the western sky as the column once more jogged away on the
dusty trail, Barclay's troop now in the lead, opening out just as it had
marched most of the day, while Winn, between whom and the new captain
there had passed a few courteous yet rather formal words at one or two
of the halts, gave to Mullane's old first sergeant the charge of the
leading section, and himself rode at the distant rear of column, for by
dusk, if at all, straggling would be likely, and straggling would have
to be suppressed with a firm hand. The sun was at their backs now: away
to the front lay the rift in the hills through which wound the San Saba
road, and off to the right front, well to the southeast, somewhere among
those jagged bluffs just beginning to tinge with gold about their sharp
and saw-like crests, lay the scene of Cramer's morning tussle with the
outlaws, who, as all now realized, must have opened on him from ambush
and shot down several horses and not a few men before the troopers could
reply. No further news had come from him, however. The courier who
brought the first news said he had to run the gauntlet, although only a
few of the gang seemed to be hanging about the scene of the
fight,--their main body, as he had previously reported, having gone in
the direction of the Pass. Brooks well knew that the moment he reached
the foot-hills he would have to move with caution, throwing out advanced
guards and, where possible, flankers. He knew that he would need every
man, and believed that Cramer's people, now that Lawrence had gone to
join them, could take care of themselves; but the courier's story, told
to eager ears, had "told" in more ways than one. His description of the
ambuscade, the way Cramer, the doctor, Sergeant O'Brien, and others at
the head of column were tumbled at the first fire, all had tended to
make the head of Brooks's column an unpopular place to ride,--at least
less popular than earlier in the day. Fuller and his men decided that
their horses would be the better for an hour or two of rest at the
cantonment, and so the column moved on without them.

Longer grew the shadows and loftier the range far to the front, as once
more the pace quickened to the trot, and Brooks and his men jogged on.
The doctor, a gifted young practitioner whom Collabone held in high
regard, seemed still to think that he should have been allowed to take
an orderly and his instruments and gallop out on Lawrence's trail to the
aid of Cramer's wounded. "Then what is to become of mine?" asked the
major, calmly. "I'm sorry for Cramer, sorry his doctor is killed, but we
may need you any moment more than he does. No, Lawrence has gone to him;
he'll do what he can to make the wounded comfortable, leave a small
guard with them, and then guide the rest of Cramer's troop through the
range to the San Saba, join either Pennywise's party or ours, and
between us we ought to give those fellows a thrashing they'll never
forget,--if only they'll stand and take it,--if only," he added below
his breath, "they don't lay for us in some of those deep twisting canons
where twenty men could overthrow a thousand."

The doctor admitted the force of his superior's argument, and said no
word. All the same, however, his eyes kept wandering off from time to
time towards the foot-hills at the southeast, now turning to violet in
shade, "like half-mourning," said the doctor to Galahad, as, only half
content, he dropped back to ride a few moments at the latter's side.
"And it won't be long," he added to himself, "before they'll be shrouded
in deep black. Pray God there's no ill omen in that!"

And now the road began to rise, very slowly, very gently as yet, but
perceptibly, towards the still distant range. The long, spindle-shanked
shadows of the horses had disappeared. The sun, yellow-red, was just
sinking below the horizon through the dust-clouds in their wake, when
one of the foremost troopers, close at Barclay's heels, muttered, "It's
somethin' movin', anyhow, and what is it if it ain't a horse?" And
Barclay and the doctor, turning in saddle, caught his eye. "I seen it a
minute ago away out yonder towards them buttes," continued the soldier,
pointing out across the prairie to their right front, "and I couldn't be
sure then. It's comin' this way, whatever it is, comin' fast. Look, sir!
There it is again!"

And with all their eyes Barclay and the doctor gazed, but could see no
moving object. Only the rolling prairie, growing darker, dimmer every
minute, only the sun-tipped ridge and buttes and shining pinnacles far
away towards the San Saba. And still the relentless trot went on, and
the major's head was never turned; yet his orderly, too, was ducking and
peering from time to time off to the southeast, just where the trooper
had pointed. Barclay, cautioning his sergeant to keep a steady trot,
spurred forward, the doctor following.

"What do you see?" they asked, and the orderly too stretched forth a
grimy gauntlet.

"Thought I saw a horse, sir. Some of 'K' Troop's, maybe, for there was
no rider."

With this corroborative evidence, Barclay hailed the major. "Major, may
I send a man or two out in that direction?" he asked. "Two of our people
report seeing a horse galloping this way."

But, even as he spoke, over a distant divide, popping up against the sky
just long enough to catch the eyes of half a dozen men at once, a black
dot darted into view and then came bounding down the long, gradual
incline, looming larger and larger as it ran; presently the body and
legs could be made out, and then the sweeping mane and tail,--a
riderless horse, a cavalry horse probably, coming at eager speed to join
his comrade creatures in the long column. Cavalry horse undoubtedly, as,
bounding nearer and nearer, the flapping rein, the dangling,
black-hooded stirrups, the coarse gray blanket, and the well-known
saddle could be distinguished, a gruesome sight to trooper eyes,
harbinger of disaster if not of death in almost every case,--a cavalry
charger riderless! And at last, as with piteous neigh the laboring steed
came galloping straightway on, a cry went up from two or three soldier
throats at the instant, a wail of soldier sorrow: "God save us, fellows!
it's Blarney--it's the colonel's own!" Officers and men, they swarmed
about the weary, panting, trembling creature, as hope died in every
heart at what they saw: the saddle and blanket, the old overcoat, rolled
at the pommel, that so often had stood between Ned Lawrence and the
Texas gales, were all dripping with blood, yet Blarney had never a
scratch.




CHAPTER XII.


The moon was throwing black shadows into the deep cleft in the San Saba,
where the Crockett trail twisted along beside the swift-running rivulet,
that rose in the heart of the hills and bubbled merrily away until lost
in the westward valley and the brook that found its source at the
springs far out under the foot-hills towards the Bravo. Slowly, wearily,
warily, half a dozen troopers on jaded horses were feeling their way up
the pass, a veteran corporal full thirty yards ahead of his fellows
leading on. With the advance rode an officer whose shoulder-straps,
gleaming on the shell jacket sometimes worn in the mounted service
immediately after the war, seemed almost too bright and new to accord
with the dust-grimed chevrons and trimmings of his comrades. New and
brilliant, too, were the hilt and scabbard of the sabre that dangled by
his side. New and "green" the men of his command had believed him to be,
in cavalry matters at least, when first he joined them some weeks
before, but the most casehardened old customer among their seasoned
troopers had abandoned that vie

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