"Oh, certainly," she interposed, with the same gracious smile and manner. "It was because I knew you hadn't been made aware. Now we'll soon be able to make him comfortable, and then when he's on his feet again he can tell us how it all happened." Again her white hand was laid upon the haggard forehead. "Courage, Brannan. Don't worry. We'll get you to sleep presently. Now, doctor, I want to send some medicine and a note to Mrs. Cranston. With your permission I mean to stay here a while."

"I will be your messenger, Miss Loomis," said Davies, "as the attendant doesn't seem to have returned, and then I can let Mrs. Davies know that I shall come here again, myself."

As he sped along the row, note and medicine phial in hand, Davies was surprised to see his captain's storm-door wide open and a light shining through the transom within. A light was moving through the parlor, too, but Davies paid no further heed, left the note and medicine in Mrs. Cranston's hands with brief explanatory word, then hurried back to Boynton's quarters. He had turned down the light when he went out for his walk and had left his wife in the darkness of her room, trying, presumably, to go to sleep. He found the lights turned on again, and Almira, a heavy shawl bundled about her shoulders, sitting with white, scared face, trembling and twitching, at the big coal base-burner in what was called the parlor.

"Why, Mira!" he cried. "What has happened? Are you ill?" And he bent over as though to fold her in his arms, but she shrank away.

"Don't!" she cried. "I was frightened. You—you were gone so long. I thought you'd never come back." Then to his utter amaze she burst into a wild fit of hysterical weeping. "Oh, take me away,—take me away from this dreadful place, or I shall die,—I shall die!"



CHAPTER XIV.

Mr. Davies was very late in returning to the hospital that night. For nearly half an hour Almira sobbed and shivered and refused to be comforted, and yet failed to explain. To his urgent plea to be told the cause of her fright and distress she could give no intelligible reply. "Oh, I don't know. I heard noises, or voices, or something. I was all—all unstrung, I suppose. You—you talked to me so strangely, so cruelly the other night, and I've—I've been thinking of it all day—all day, and when you went away—and didn't come back, I—I thought all sorts of things. I supposed you'd gone there, you know where,—to those women,—those women who despise me and show it." It brought on fresh moans and tragic wringing of hands, and new outpouring of salty tears when he presently told her where he had been, but she would not listen to the cause of his detention at the hospital. It was more than enough that he had been out walking with her,—with her, in the dead of night. That seemed the only fact she cared to grasp, and that she crooned over with bitter wailing until his patience was exhausted.

"This is childish and absurd!" he said. "It is unworthy of you, my wife, and unjust to Miss Loomis as well as unjust to me. It is not possible that this has caused all your terror and distress. What noises—what sounds did you hear?"

But these now she had forgotten. In the light of his confession, as she termed it, all other calamities had faded into naught. He gradually calmed her sufficiently to induce her to return to bed, but when he announced that he must go again to the hospital to see how Brannan was getting on, her lamentations were piteous. In vain he reminded her that Brannan was her own cousin, the only son of her aunt and benefactress. She would listen to none of it. Brannan was only an excuse to enable him again to go and meet Miss Loomis, and finally, with white face and set, rigid lips, Davies turned and left the house, walking rapidly to the hospital.

Miss Loom is still bent over the patient, who seemed now dozing. Dr. Burroughs sat beside her at the moment, but had been away, he explained, to see old Fritz again. A new attendant, a shy, awkward young fellow from Devers's troop, was hovering about the bedside, and Davies glanced at him inquiringly. "What became of Paine?" he asked, and the steward shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

"Captain Devers took him away," was the answer. The doctor arose and stood by Davies a minute.

"I don't know what to make of that captain of yours," he said. "Either he or I will keep out of this hospital in future. He came here and 'raised Cain' with my steward to-night, all on account of Brannan; then went over to the troop barracks foaming like a mad bull. I fancy he means to make it rather lively for you."

"Never mind me, doctor, so long as this poor boy's coming out all right. How is he?"

"Doing nicely now, but—I wish I'd understood the case before. I'm bound to say Captain Devers misled me entirely. She's the doctor he needed," said he, with a jerk of his head towards the grave, beautiful girl bending over the soldier's pillow, one hand still slowly, tenderly stroking back the dark hair about his temples.

"Will you say good-night to her for me and escort her home? Mrs. Davies is not well and I must return to her," said Davies, "that is,—unless I am needed here."

"No, go by all means. Only I may need you at the colonel's office in the morning when this thing has to be fought out. Dodge your captain, meantime, if you can."

"I know of no reason why I should dodge him or anybody," said Davies, with rising color. "I have done no wrong."

But on the steps without, as he hurried away, the lieutenant met a man who differed with him as to that—who differed with most people as to everything, and that he had been working up the case in his own mind against his subaltern there was no room for doubt.

"By what right, sir, do you assume to over-ride my authority and undo my orders? Time and again last summer I had occasion to caution you against interference in the handling of the men and the management of the troop, and now no sooner do you rejoin than here you are taking advantage of my being probably abed and asleep to countermand my positive instructions and overthrow my efforts at discipline."

Without one word of reply Mr. Davies assumed the position of attention and stood like a soldier before his furious commander. "I say again, sir," began Devers, "that you have deliberately sought to deride my authority and have connived at the disobedience of my orders. You knew perfectly well what orders I had given in the case of Brannan, and you dared to set them aside."

Still not a word in reply.

"This silence is contemptuous. Why don't you speak, sir?"

"I simply deny each and every allegation, Captain Devers."

"Denial is ridiculous, Mr. Davies! Haven't I the evidence of my own senses,—of the steward and the attendant? Don't I know? By God, sir——"

"One moment. Oblige me, captain. I wish to behave with all deference and respect, but when you use blasphemy——"

"Oh, blasphemy be damned! Don't attempt to teach me! I've had too much of your puritanical, psalm-singing business. I condoned your wretched misconduct of last September in the hope that you might do better, but now the time has come for you to be given the lesson you deserve. Things have reached a pretty pass when an officer who leads his men into ambush and then deserts them in their extremity——"

"Captain Devers!"

"No dramatics now. You're not in the pulpit——" The steward came forth at the moment, and with instant modulation of tone Devers went on. "You may not realize what you have done, but you have done it all the same, despite every effort of mine to teach you the proper course——What is it, steward?" he broke off, as though suddenly aware of that official's presence.

"The doctor's compliments, sir, and the new man the captain has sent over to relieve Paine seems to lack intelligence; he won't do at all as an attendant."

"Tell the doctor I sent the best I had, and that he begged to be relieved because he couldn't serve so many masters. When the post surgeon hears of this night's work he will doubtless have his say as to the manner in which his subordinates have trifled with their duties. I will make no change.—You appear to be waiting, Mr. Davies. That's all, sir, for to-night. You may go."

With a face almost as white as the snowy expanse of the parade, the lieutenant still stood there, quivering with wrath and wrong. He looked as though a torrent of reply were trembling on his lips, yet by supreme effort he curbed the impulse. His chest heaved once or twice. His lips were twitching. His hands were clenched and convulsive, but at last, with one long look into his captain's eyes while the latter was going on to say something about the necessity of his junior's accepting his admonition in proper spirit, Davies turned abruptly and sprang down the steps. Two soldiers stood there in the dusk, where they must have heard every word that was said. One was the new company clerk, Howard, the other Paine. Neither lifted a hand in salute to the officer. Both turned their backs and feigned to be deeply interested in conversation of their own.

It was Mr. Hastings's duty that week to supervise reveille roll-call and attend morning stables. He was surprised, therefore, as he went bounding over the parade, to see his junior sub on the porch wrapped in a heavy overcoat. Presently, after reporting to the post adjutant, as was the local custom, the various officers came scattering back to their own firesides, the infantry subs to turn in for another snooze, the cavalry to swallow a cup of coffee before going down to stables. Sanders hailed the lonely figure with characteristic levity.

"Hello, Parson! Up for all day and meditating a sermon?"

Davies ignored the question and went straight to business. "I want to see Captain Cranston as soon as possible. Does he go to stables this morning?"

"Never misses 'em. What's up? Hope Mrs. Davies isn't ill."

"Mrs. Davies isn't very well, but it's on personal business I want to see the captain. I'll go down with him."

"Come over to my house and have some coffee, or a cocktail," said Sanders, with cheery hospitality. "Just what you need, old man. You look as if you'd been dragged by the heels through a knot-hole."

"Barnickel is making some coffee for me, thank you, Sanders. It will pull me together all right, I fancy." And Sanders went whistling on. The world and its cares, the flesh and the devil all dropped lightly on the shoulders of this young sinner, and either rode there or fell to the ground unnoticed. Garrison days were but a merry-go-round with him. "If that's a specimen of the bridegroom cometh," said he to himself, "I've got no more use for matrimony than I have for the catechism." And doubtless to this gay and nonchalant spirit the deeply religious temperament of the Parson seemed a sombre and repellent thing,—a thing to be lamented, yet indulged as something too solemn or sacred for remonstrance.

The morning air was bitter and Davies felt his toes and fingers tingling. The boards cracked and snapped under his tread, so, rather than disturb Almira, he stepped out on the walk and began pacing up and down, still burning with indignation over the events of the previous night. There had been a fresh fall of snow Sunday morning, and though the walks and paths were cleared, the soft white mantle lay like a glistening carpet over the parade and prairie and along the slanting roofs of the quarters. There was an open space of sixty feet from outer wall to wall along officers' row, and a paling or picket fence, running at right angles to the roadway in front, divided this space equally, so that each set of quarters had its own yard. Davies had remarked with a smile the previous evening, the contrast presented by the Leonards's yard at the west end and his at the east of the double set in which they lived. Leonard's yard was criss-crossed, cut up in every direction by tracks of sled-runners and sturdy little rubber boots. His own lay like a flawless sheet without even a kitten's footprint to mar its virgin surface. Now as he strode rapidly westward again and came in front of the Leonard playground, he noted once more the traces that spoke so eloquently of happy, healthy childhood, of rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes and merry laughter. Then he turned back to his own, still tramping briskly in the endeavor to send the blood to his finger-tips, and then coming in view of what at nightfall had been an unbroken coverlet of snow, Davies stopped short, amazed. Straight from the corner at the front where the fences met, straight as a lance, went the footprints of a man, in long, unhesitating stride, to a point immediately underneath the closed blinds of the window behind which his wife now lay placidly sleeping. Davies stood and studied the tracks a moment, then went to the point of meeting of the front fence,—a flat-topped affair,—with its picketed offshoot. Beyond doubt the maker of those tracks had swung himself over the fence at that point, dropped lightly to the ground inside and gone straightway to that side window. There he must have stood a moment or two, for the snow was trampled. Thence the tracks led around to the back of the house. Returning to his gate and hall-way, Davies tiptoed noiselessly through the little dining-room to the kitchen in the shed at the back. There Barnickel was sleepily starting a fire, and the door leading into his little den farther back discovered the soldier blankets of his bunk tumbled over as though he had just arisen. The door to the yard was still bolted. Davies slipped the bolt and stepped out on the plank walk leading from the kitchen to the gate in the rear fence. These had been tramped by many feet in that direction, and by only one pair in the other. Coming around from the side of the house were the tracks of the same foot gear, the heavy soldier arctics worn then by officers and men alike, that he had marked at the front. They led to a point underneath the rear or north window of Almira's room, and there, after evident shifting and tramping of a minute or two, had turned sharply away, led straight past the kitchen door and were lost in the general run of those towards the gate.

"What time did you come in to bed last night, Barnickel?" asked the lieutenant, at the kitchen door.

"About 10.30, sir. I'd been over to Sergeant Walsh's quarters. I went in to see if the lieutenant wanted anything, sir, but he'd turned down the lights and gone out."

"Yes. And now did you hear any noise,—any footsteps?"

"No, sir. Only Mrs. Davies, sir; she was stirring round, excited like, and peeped out of her room to ask did I know where the lieutenant was."

"Did you come in through the front hall or the back way?"

"The back way, sir. There's standing orders against enlisted men crossing the parade or bein' on the officers' sidewalk."

Davies paused a minute. "Give me your broom," said he, and taking it through the partly opened door he carefully turned the knob behind him, swept away the traces leading to the rear window, swept and obliterated those at the back and side, as far as and including those under the east window, then, tossing the broom to the door, strode round the house to the front just as stable call was pealing, and Captain Cranston in huge beaver skin overcoat and cap came forth into the frosty day. The instant he caught sight of Davies the captain hastened to him and drew his arm within his own.

"The very man I want to see, and you are waiting for me!"

"Yes. I presume you know why."

"I've heard. Come with me to stables, by way of the hospital. I want to see how Brannan passed the night."

"I cannot go in, captain. I am virtually forbidden further connection with the case."

"I understand, but I am not included in the order, and wouldn't heed it if I were." Plainly Captain Cranston was in aggressive mood. Other officers, issuing from their quarters, set forth across the parade, but catching sight of the popular troop commander, pulled up as though to wait for him, then looked surprised to see him earnestly talking with the pale-faced subaltern, going straight on eastward. Directly in front of Devers's house they met that officer himself, a bundle of papers in his hand. In the "Tactics" of the day one of the foremost paragraphs read, "Courtesy among military men being indispensable, it is enjoined on all officers to salute each other on meeting, the junior tendering the first salute," or words to that effect, but it was a rule far more honored in the breach than the observance. The post commander was about the only one to receive such recognition from his juniors, all others, as a rule, contenting themselves with a jovial "'Morning, Jack." "How are you, major?" and, possibly, an off-hand and perfunctory touch of the cap. Only among sticklers for military propriety like Leonard was the salute tendered to superiors. In nine cases out of ten it meant, when given, that personal relations were strained. Approaching the battalion commander Mr. Davies looked him straight in the eye and raised his gloved right hand to the cap visor. Cranston, with the most off-hand nod imaginable, gruffly and shortly said, "Good-morning," without so much as a tempering "sir" or "captain," and hurried sturdily by. Devers flushed, looked after the two an instant as though tempted to call, then turned back across the parade and was presently swallowed up in the door-way of the troop office.

Leaving Davies outside, Cranston ran into the hospital, and presently reappeared. "Sleeping quietly," said he, "and the poor devil would have been in the terrors of delirium tremens if Devers's orders had been carried out and the doctor hadn't been sent for. Now tell me the whole story. Agatha has told me her version."

Lashed tight to the heavy picket rope, the horses were revelling in the keen morning air and slanting sunshine, nipping at each other's noses, challenging, with sparkling eye and tip-tilted ear, each well-known face and form of officer or man to caress or frolic, snapping and squealing at each other across the line, occasionally rearing and plunging in uncontrollable jollity. Bending to their work in their white stable frocks and overalls, the men were making brush and currycomb fly over the shining coats of their pets, carefully guarding, however, the long, thick winter crop of hair, for no man could say how soon they might have to take the field and face unsheltered the keen Dakota blasts. The frosty quadrangle was merry with musical tap, tap of the metal comb, and the snort and "purr" and paw of hoof of the spirited bays. Little Sanders, an enthusiastic horseman, was darting in and out among his charges, praising this man's work, condemning that, and occasionally seizing brush and comb himself and giving a practical lesson to some comparative novice. And, leaving matters for the nonce to his subaltern, Cranston paced gravely up and down, Davies by his side, absorbed in close converse. Captain Devers left his line to Mr. Hastings and did not appear at stables at all. "That means he's concocting an epistle," said Hastings, with a grin. "He's hobnobbing with his new pet, Howard, and somebody'll get the benefit of an official letter this morning."

"We expect you to breakfast," said Cranston, as he bade the lieutenant good-by at the gate, "and I hope Mrs. Davies is feeling all right now."

But Mrs. Davies was not. She was so far from well that she had decided to remain in bed. No, she wanted no breakfast, no doctor, no anybody. All the same, Mrs. Cranston sent her a dainty tray on which was displayed a most appetizing little feast, and Almira's resolution gave way at sight of it. Wisely Mrs. Cranston refrained from calling, but other women were presently on hand to cheer and sympathize when at ten o'clock the commanding officer's orderly appeared with the commanding officer's compliments and he desired to see Mr. Davies at the office.

"Precisely as I told you," said Cranston, who was waiting for him on the walk without. "It was best to let Devers make the attack. Now for the defence."

Colonel Stone was at his desk. "Come in, Cranston," he called, as he caught sight of the soldier he so much liked. "I want to see you, too. Er,—come in, Mr. Davies," he added in a tone less cordial and more official. "Orderly, ask Mr. Leonard to step in here. Then shut the door and remain outside. Er—sit down, gentlemen, er—sit down."

And then in came Leonard, silent, even saturnine; a massive fellow with a mind as broad as his shoulders, a head full of reading and research and knowledge of his profession, but the quietest man in the garrison withal, and Leonard simply bowed to the new-comers, dropped into the chair indicated by his commander, then dropped his eyes upon the floor and waited.

Pegleg dandled a pencil, end for end, between his fingers a minute, reflectively studying a knot-hole in the floor that yawned through a corresponding breach in the matting. Then he flung the stump of a cigar into a sawdust spittoon and began.

"Mr. Davies, I sent for you and I also invited in Captain Cranston because I want to hear your side of a singular case. In an official letter to the post adjutant, Captain Devers charges that you went to the post hospital last night, ordered the attendant out of the room, and proceeded to usurp control of a patient under the doctor's care,—that you deliberately overthrew his authority and actually told the attendant his orders were of no account. This, if true, is a most serious matter, but I have learned that there are many sides to a story. What is yours?"

"As briefly as possible, colonel,—and just as I answered Captain Devers,—I deny every such allegation."

"Well, you certainly went to the hospital?"

"I certainly did, sir; simply to get some medicine for Captain Cranston's little son and without an idea that Brannan was there."

"Then you didn't go with the purpose of seeing Brannan?"

"Certainly not, sir. I believed him to be at the agency until I heard his voice. I knew the young man well from an experience last summer and during the campaign."

"But what about ordering the attendant out?"

"That is absurd. I found—or rather"—and now the hot color of embarrassment flew up to his pale forehead—"Miss Loomis, who is experienced in such matters, found Brannan in very dangerous plight,—his pulse nearly gone. He was verging, perhaps, on an attack of delirium. She considered, as did I, that the doctor ought to see him at once, and, as his quarters were at the nearest corner, barely two hundred yards away, she told the attendant to hurry for him. I should have done the same thing, but it was unnecessary. The attendant should have returned at once, but——"

"Well, didn't you undertake to administer brandy?"

"Not at all, sir. The doctor himself ordered that on his arrival."

"At your urging or suggestion?"

"I certainly approved it, sir, but I did not urge."

"Well, then, what does it mean—your having told the attendant his orders were of no account?"

"I did nothing of the kind, sir. The attendant once or twice began talking about his orders, but I had no time to listen. I did say, never mind your orders, or something like that, but he knew perfectly well what I meant. I inferred what the orders were,—I simply had no time to hear them."

"Well, the attendant declares, or at least Captain Devers says he declares, you twice choked him off when he tried to tell you what his orders were by saying he shouldn't mind such orders. Here, Leonard, the shortest way will be to read the whole letter. You do it." And slowly Leonard took the official sheet and began.

"POST ADJUTANT, FORT SCOTT, NEBRASKA.

"SIR,—It is with extreme regret that I feel it necessary to report to the commanding officer certain occurrences tending to the overthrow of good order and military discipline in the command. Yesterday morning there arrived from the Ogallalla Agency, Trooper Brannan of Troop 'A,' Eleventh Calvary, who had been ordered hither by Lieutenant Boynton as attendant or escort to the mail-rider. First Sergeant Haney reported to me at ten o'clock that the man had evidently been drinking on the way and was in an advanced stage of intoxication. On examination of the man I was convinced that he needed medical attendance rather than incarceration, and, instead of sending him to the guard-house, as is customary in such cases, caused him to be taken to the hospital, where under Dr. Burroughs's orders he was put to bed and an attendant from my troop was detailed with instructions to see that no stimulants of any kind were given him. All seemed to progress favorably until shortly after taps, when Trooper Paine, the attendant in question, reported to me that Lieutenant Davies, Eleventh Calvary, entered the ward, accompanied by a member of the household of Captain Cranston, declared the treatment of the patient unjustifiable and ordered him, the attendant, out of the room. On Paine's attempting to define his orders he was abruptly silenced and again ordered to leave. Being on duty under the instructions of superior authority, Trooper Paine again strove to explain his orders, and this time was curtly told that he should pay no heed to such instructions, and was then sent out of the hospital. The trooper called the doctor on his way and then, very properly, reported his embarrassing dilemma to me. I closely questioned him, and there can be no doubt as to the language imputed to Lieutenant Davies, whose propensity to interfere in the discipline of the troop I had frequent occasion to notice and rebuke during the campaign of the past summer. As courteous and kindly admonition had no effect, and as the officer in question has seen fit to treat my words with apparent disdain, I am compelled to invoke the support of the post commander in suppressing the spirit of insubordination of which this is so flagrant an instance.

"Very respectfully, "Your obedient servant, "JARED B. DEVERS, "Captain Eleventh Cavalry."

When Leonard had finished reading he folded the paper and looked dreamily at the cobweb in the corner. He wished to be understood as having no opinion whatever to express. Cranston sat in silence with lips compressed under his heavy moustache. Davies never moved. His blue eyes were fixed unflinchingly on the swarthy face of the veteran adjutant until the latter had finished reading, then sought the eye of his commander as though for permission to speak.

"Well, Captain Cranston, what do you think of the letter?" asked Pegleg, after a moment's silence.

"I think it very ingenious, sir."

"Now, gentleman, the captain says that when he attempted to remonstrate with Mr. Davies last night he was treated with absolute contempt, and, Mr. Davies, he says that you refused to answer."

"I strove to control my tongue and temper both, colonel, and not to behave with disrespect. I did not answer him at once, but it was from no lack of impulse to do so."

Pegleg reflected a moment, then addressed himself to Cranston. "I confess that this matter is one that causes me much embarrassment," said he. "The post surgeon says that he was not aware of the man being sent to the hospital at all, and that it was Dr. Burroughs's case. Dr. Burroughs says he did not consider the man drunk, but took Captain Devers's statement, as he knew the man well. Captain Devers asked that he be put in hospital to keep him from drinking, because he knew the prisoners got liquor whenever they had money, and it wouldn't be safe to have him in the guard-house. Is there anything peculiar about this Brannan?—any reason why he should be treated by his captain on a different system?"

"Colonel Stone," said Cranston, "I knew Brannan's mother, a wealthy and prominent woman in society. Mr. Davies can perhaps tell you even more, but I do not think Captain Devers knows anything of Brannan's past."

Leonard's dark eyes came down from the cobweb and studied Cranston's face as though he wished to ask a question, and Pegleg saw it. He leaned on Leonard, and had grown to respect his judgment.

"What were you about to ask?" said he.

"Do you know anything about the antecedents of that new company clerk of Captain Devers?" asked the adjutant, thus authorized.

"Nothing whatever," said Cranston, wheeling round in his chair and looking curiously at the big infantryman.

"Well,—pardon me, Mr. Davies. Had you never met or known him?"

"Never, except that he was one of the party of recruits I came out with last summer."

"But you knew Brannan, did you not?"

"Yes, he was the man who handled a nozzle with me in showering a pack of rioters among the recruits last June."

"But I mean you knew him before that, did you not?"

"Never," answered Davies, in surprise. "I never saw him in my life."

And then Leonard in turn reddened and looked confused, and shut his jaws like a clam.

"Orderly," sang out the colonel, "go and give my compliments to Captain Devers, and say I wish to see him." Then, turning to Cranston, "We may as well get to the bottom of this business right here and now. I hate trickery."



CHAPTER XV.

But, as on more than one previous occasion, Captain Devers was not immediately to be found. He was not at his quarters, not at the store nor the stables. Mr. Hastings said later that just after Cranston and Davies went to the adjutant's office, Devers came from his house and went over to the barracks. Sergeant Haney did not know where the captain had gone. Not until 10.30 o'clock did the orderly succeed in finding him, coming up the bluff from the river bottom, whither he had ridden, he said, to look over the prospective ice crop. By that time Pegleg was tired of waiting and had dismissed his visitors. They, however, were recalled in a minute, and when Captain Devers was made acquainted with Mr. Davies's positive denial of his allegations, Captain Devers promptly shifted the responsibility to the shoulders of the attendant, Private Paine, who had persisted, he said, in his story despite his, Devers's, incredulity and stringent cross-examination. Bang went Pegleg's fist on the bell. "Send for Private Paine, Troop 'A,'" said he. "I'm bound to get to the bottom of this at once." And then while the orderly was gone he began pacing the floor, occasionally stopping to drum on the frost-covered window. Leonard shifted his seat to Cranston's side and entered into low-toned chat with him and Davies, though neither seemed in mood to talk. A natural question that had risen to their lips was why Leonard seemed to think that Brannan was well known to Davies before his enlistment, and this question Leonard had disposed of by saying that he had been assured that this was the case, and that he would ask his informant's permission to give his name. It was an officer and a friend of Davies, and the statement was made in all apparent good faith. Devers sat nervously in a chair feigning to read a newspaper, but every now and then furtively watching the three. Presently the orderly came back. Trooper Paine wasn't in the post: he'd gone with the market wagon to town.

"Captain Devers," said Pegleg, irritably, "you ought to have known this. Why didn't you say he'd gone, instead of keeping us waiting here?"

"I protest against the imputation, colonel," said Devers, to all appearances much injured at such injustice. "The wagon rarely, if ever, goes to town on Monday, and that Private Paine should have gone with it is equally fortuitous."

"Well, just as soon as that wagon gets back I wish to examine that man, and I wish you, gentlemen, to be present, also Doctor Burroughs. You see to it, Mr. Leonard."

"I'll give instructions at once," said Leonard, rising quickly, and then, with significant glance at Cranston, taking his cap and quitting the office.

"Then, Colonel Stone," said Devers, "I must ask, in justice to myself, that one or two officers, who are friends of mine, may be present at the inquisition. I am conscious of nothing but enemies in this office, and I can expect no fair play."

Stone whirled wrathfully upon him. "Your language is insubordinate, Captain Devers, and there must be an immediate end to it. If you have enemies here, they are of your own making. Bring any gentleman who will consent to appear with you, and, meantime, sir, you may withdraw."

"And leave the field in possession of my opponents, sir, and, like Sir Peter Teazle, my character in their hands. There is a higher court than a post commander," said Devers, white and trembling with mingled wrath and apprehension, "and to that court I shall appeal."

"You shall have every opportunity, sir," answered the colonel, with a bang upon his bell, "and leave this office in arrest if I hear another word.—Recall Mr. Leonard," said he to the orderly, who sprang in with scared face as Devers went mumbling out, "Which way did he go?"

"To the cavalry barks, sir," answered the Irish soldier, and Devers caught the reply before he was fairly out of the hall. He turned whiter still, for sudden suspicion flashed upon him. He halted as though more than half disposed to again address his commander, but realized that already he had gone too far. He looked again across the white level of the parade and saw the tall, dark figure of the adjutant stalking straight to the door of his own troop office, and as with anxiously throbbing heart he walked away homewards, Devers watched his hated persecutor, almost divining what was his purpose,—what would be his first question. He saw him halt and the office-door open and Sergeant Haney come forth. Haney, who could be flippant and independent in the presence of his own lieutenants, stood like a statue before that dark, saturnine face. Officer or man, no soldier in that garrison ever took a liberty with Leonard. Devers realized that he had made a fatal error at last. He almost realized—almost divined the very words of that brief, curt interview.

"Sergeant Haney, you must have known Trooper Paine would be needed at the office this morning. How, then, did you select him to go to town?"

And Haney, to use his own expression, "wilted."

"Them was the captain's orders, sir."

"Captain who?"

"Captain Devers, sir."

"That's all."

And when Sergeant Haney was informed ten minutes later that the captain wished to see him at his quarters at once, he realized that there were breakers ahead in earnest, and went with his heart in his mouth. Later, when he came forth after full confession of the adjutant's question and his own compromising reply, the sergeant proceeded to the adjutant's office, asked to see that gentleman, well known throughout the old army as Black Larry, and nervously twitching his cap stood uneasily before those penetrating eyes. "I've come to make a correction, sir. I misunderstood the captain."

"As to what?"

"As to Paine. The captain told me he might be needed this morning. Then he said he promised Paine he might go to town next trip of the market-wagon. We were out of potatoes, sir, and there were fine ones in market, so the captain said we'd better secure some without delay. I took it he meant at once, and so the wagon went this morning and Paine went along. I suppose I got it mixed, sir, but I thought the captain meant Paine should go to-day."

"Which wasn't at all what the captain meant you should think, eh?" said Leonard, dryly.

"No, sir. He says he meant to have him ready to go to see the colonel."

"Exactly. I only marvel at your misunderstanding such explicit and clear-cut orders," said Leonard, with calm sarcasm. "That will do, sergeant, so far as you are concerned." And Haney walked away, well content that when Paine and the wagon got back there would be something more for "the ould man" to explain, or stand the consequences.

But even Haney had only faint conception of his captain's squirming powers. Not until evening stables was the wagon back from Braska. It was loaded to the guards with fine Utah potatoes for the troop mess, and there was no room for Trooper Paine. "You're wanted at the adjutant's office at once," said the orderly to the wagon-driver, who was already in conversation with Sergeant Haney, "and I'm to fetch you with me."

"The man can't go till he's put up his team, young fellow," said Haney to the infantry bugler.

"He can when ould Pegleg's a-pullin', Misther Sergeant Haney, and he's not to go anywhere else or talk with any one else furst off ayther," was the significant answer,—another unpleasant item to impart to his now wretchedly uneasy captain; and verily it seemed to Haney that the halcyon days were done for good and all, when soon after dusk a little squad from Cranston's troop, with Second Lieutenant Sanders in command, rode briskly away on the Braska road, and it was speedily whispered about the garrison that they were going to find Paine, drunk or sober, dead or alive, and fetch him back to the post forthwith.

"It takes a heap of nagging to get old Pegleg fully worked up," said the fellows of the Fortieth that night, a propos of the snub given Devers, and the pursuit by members of another troop of material witnesses, "but when he locks horns in dead earnest, the other party's got to scratch gravel; it's business and no quarter."

Meantime, acting under the advice of Captain Cranston, Davies had refrained from making any complaint of the language which Devers had seen fit to use at his expense. "Leonard says that some other matters should come up first, and Leonard knows. The colonel is after Devers with a sharp stick now, and all these charges are to be sprung upon him presently. You go on getting your quarters ready for Wednesday's house-warming. By that time you'll be wanted on the witness-stand. To-morrow, Tuesday, there'll be fun at the commanding officer's office with a general court-martial looming up behind it. Meantime, hold your peace."

This was Monday evening, and when he returned, meditating, to his temporary fireside, he found Mira surrounded by a swarm of post callers, smiling and chatting, gracious and gay. He was in no mood for chatter himself, but had to sit by and strive to be interested and sociable. Most of their visitors had heard the story of Captain Devers's close call at the office that morning, and not a few sought to hear the facts of the case from the lips of an eye-witness. But Davies would not speak of the matter at all, and, finding him intractable, some one asked if Sanders had returned, and what success had attended his search for the missing. It was nearly time for tattoo. Dr. Burroughs was among the callers, and had just come over from the hospital. He had had no addition to the list of patients. "On the contrary," said he, "I have a man who might go to duty to-night were there need, and that is Miss Loomis's patient, Brannan."

"Oh, do tell us about that, Mr. Davies," appealed Mrs. Flight, who was again on hand, well knowing that next to the colonel's, where she was not entirely in the good graces of the lady of the house, garrison society would be most apt to be found in force doing homage to the bride. "We've heard all manner of conjectures already, and are so eager to know the truth. Was he an old friend of her's, and did he send and beg her to come to him?"

"No," said Davies, promptly, "she got to the hospital by merest accident. Louis Cranston's throat was sore, and he was coughing a great deal. She went for medicine, and I happened to meet her on the way."

"But they said there was such a romantic scene; he wept and clung to her hand, and——"

Here Burroughs opportunely and somewhat aggressively burst into a guffaw of derisive laughter. "Miss Loomis is just one of those admirable women," said he, "that empty-headed idiots prate about. I wish other people had half her sense." A luckless way of essaying the defence of the absent, for it reflected on many a woman present.

"Fie! Dr. Burroughs," exclaimed Mrs. Flight. "Your blushes give you away, even more than your words. Don't you be falling in love with Miss Loomis. She's aiming higher than one room and a kitchen and a thousand a year." Whereupon there was shrill laughter, and further accusation and indignant protest from the ill-starred medico. And Davies, who ought to have rejoiced in the loyalty of such admiration for his friend and whilom nurse, was conscious of a pang of annoyance and aversion. The entrance of the old chaplain and his wife, and dark, swarthy Leonard with the handsome partner of his joys and sorrows, gave instant turn to the conversation. In a very few minutes Mrs. Flight and two younger matrons took their departure, Almira following them with rustic regretfulness, and exchanging some whispered confidences at the door, which brought new flush to Davies's anxious face. Mrs. Leonard was speaking of a recent visit "up the road," as in those days the Union Pacific in its westward climb to the Rockies was referred to. She had had such a lovely visit to Fort Russell, and had so much to tell about affairs in that particularly swell regiment, the —th, and the Truscotts had entertained her at such a pretty dinner; Mrs. Truscott was charming, and Mrs. Stannard was such a noble woman, and they were all so interested in Mr. Ray's engagement. It was practically announced. He was to be married to Miss Sanford—an heiress and a great catch—early in June, and this led to the chaplain speaking of Ray, whom in days gone by he was prone to look upon with little favor, if not indeed as a ne'er-do-well. "I always feared that he would fall, and I am so rejoiced in this new phase to his character."

"Oh, I met Mr. Ray!" exclaimed Almira, delightedly. "He was ordered in to General Sheridan on some duty late in the summer, and some of the young officers, Percy's classmates, said he was such a brave fellow."

"What did the old officers say?" asked Leonard, with a twinkle in his black eyes, but not the vestige of a grin under his heavy moustache.

"They? Oh, I don't remember their saying anything about him. They said lots of lovely things about Percy."

"Yes. That's right. I can understand their omitting no opportunity of doing that. One learns to be something of a courtier even in Chicago, when on staff duty, and as for Washington, service there is a liberal education in diplomacy. One never knows who may have the strongest pull with the President in the event of a vacancy in the staff corps."

"Leonard," said the chaplain, gravely, "you're a born cynic and a pessimist to boot. Have we no generous impulses in the army?"

"Lots of 'em. Lots of 'em, chaplain, especially in the line and on the frontier, where we can afford to pat a fellow on the back, since we know that's about the extent of the reward he'll ever get. It's when we're in big society in the East, above all in Washington, one has to be guarded in what he says, or first thing he knows he'll be hoisting some fellow over his own head in a moment of enthusiasm. No. I know just how you regard me, but I spent six weeks of a three months' leave in Washington last winter, and sat night after night at the club, or day after day among the army crowd at the Ebbitt, or in some fellow's den at the Department, and never once did I hear one word of frank, outspoken, fearless praise of some other fellow's work or deeds, unless it were to his face. Ask a man flat-footed if that wasn't a capital scout of Striker's last winter in the Tonto Basin, or if Jake Randlett hadn't done a daring thing in going all alone through the Sioux country to drum up Crow scouts for Crook's command, or what he thought of Billy Ray's cutting his way out through the Cheyennes to bring help to Wayne last June, and ten to one he'll hum and haw and say yes, he did hear something about that, and now that I mentioned it he believed Striker or Jake or Billy had really behaved quite creditably, but the whole tone was significant of nothing like what some other fellow I might mention, modesty only forbidding, would have done under similar circumstances.' It's just the damnation of faint praise. The trouble with the whole gang of those fellows seems to be a mortal dread lest somebody's eyes should be deflected from the valor of the warriors at Washington to that of the warriors on the plains. What recognition do you suppose Ray will ever get for that feat? General Crook says it's useless to recommend him for brevet, because the Senate wouldn't confirm it, and the reason they won't is that those hangers-on about the capital don't mean to let such rewards be given to the men on the frontier. And yet this sort of thing doesn't happen only in Washington. It was a cavalry officer who said of that very affair that Ray was simply a reckless fellow under a cloud, with everything to gain and nothing to lose, and that doing a reckless thing was just as much a matter of instinct with him as battle is to a bull-dog."

It was unusual to see Leonard warm up in this way. Besides the chaplain and the silent host, there were three officers in the dreary little bachelor den at the moment. Each and every one seemed surprised at the adjutant's outbreak, but not one of them at the concluding revelation.

"No need to ask who that was," said Captain Hay, with a prefatory "Humph." "It savors of Devers from first to last. That man is a born iconoclast. He pulls down everybody's idols and sneers at what he cannot pull down,—our ideals."

"Well, now let me ask you," said the chaplain, a man whose broad charity led him at any and all times to the defence of the absent. "Without detracting in the faintest degree from the heroism and value of Mr. Ray's exploit, are there not degrees of personal bravery, are there not possibilities of an order of courage higher even than his? As I recall him, he was what I should term a fearless man, brave to a fault; but have we not in the army tens and perhaps hundreds of honorable gentlemen who are as keenly susceptible to the thrill of danger as Ray is apparently dead to it? Have I not heard man after man say how his own knees trembled or his comrade's cheek blanched at the whistle of the first bullets of the battle? And as for this Indian campaigning, can there be a warfare imagined in which the percentage of peril is so great, the possibilities of ambush, surprise, sudden death in the midst of fancied security so constant, the daily and nightly circumstances so full of incessant nervous strain? Now, who is the better soldier,—the really braver, or, perhaps better, the more courageous man,—he who rides the trail utterly reckless of or insensible to its peril, or he who, sighting danger in every bush, scenting death on every breeze, looking every instant for the war-whoop, the death-wound, nevertheless so bears himself with all his faculties in hand as to seem calm, serene, confident, and stands ready for death or duty at any moment? I have always held that the Christian gentleman was the highest type of the highest order of courage; the man who replaced the fatalism of the Mahometan with the sustaining faith of the soldier of the Cross. But I see you think I'm in the pulpit and preaching again," said he, smiling at Leonard. "We both warmed up to our hobby."

They were silent a moment. Across the wintry night the trumpets were singing the lullaby of the crowded garrison, and hurrying footsteps told of belated subalterns speeding to their companies to supervise the roll-calls. Leonard rose to his full height and threw his cloak over his broad shoulders.

"We are more in accord in this matter than you think, perhaps, chaplain; only the man doesn't live who could be insensible to the danger of cutting his way through a band of encircling Cheyennes. I've heard of no braver deed in many a year than Ray's. I doubt if we'll hear of truer grit or courage in many more."

"Perhaps not, Leonard," said the chaplain, as the adjutant paused an instant at the threshold to say he would return the moment he had received the reports. "Perhaps not, nor would I say one word to underrate the heroism of Ray's exploit; but when we do hear of another I look to hear of it in some fellow as firm in his faith as he is in his sense of honor and duty, and some day we shall see."

But Leonard did not return in five minutes nor in ten, and Mrs. Leonard grew anxious. "This never happens unless something unusual has occurred." Captain Hay stepped through the hall and opened the outer door.

"There are lights dancing about over there on the parade near 'A' Troop's quarters. I wonder what's up. Hullo, Sanders! That you? When did you get back? Did you get your man?"

"Got two of 'em," was the breezy answer. "T'other one disguised as a gentleman in cits and just about starting on the night train for the West,—the gifted Mr. Howard, clerk of 'A' Troop."

Mrs. Davies was standing just within the parlor door at the moment, blushing over the praises lavished on her by the chaplain's impulsive helpmeet and trying hard to say civil and appropriate things to her guests. The officers, one and all, had edged into the hall-way in eagerness to hear the news.

"What was it Mr. Sanders said?" asked Mrs. Leonard, anxious to know what detained her husband. Hay half turned.

"He says they arrested two men, one of them apparently deserting, being in civilian dress and aboard the train,—Captain Devers's new clerk, Howard."

And then every one in the parlor saw that Mrs. Davies was seized as with sudden faintness. She turned very white and grasped at the nearest chair for support. "I'm only dizzy, not ill, or I don't know what it is," she protested, as they crowded round her, and Davies came quickly in, conscious that something was amiss. Nor did she recover her color or her calm. Nervous, fluttering answers only could she give to their sympathetic inquiries, and when presently Leonard reappeared, cool and imperturbable as ever, she was evidently relieved to see her guests departing. The adjutant explained his detention by saying he had gone to the colonel's with Sanders, who had galloped ahead, leaving his guard to bring along the prisoners in an ambulance, Paine too drunk to be able to move. They would hardly arrive before eleven.

"The colonel desires to see you at the office at eight o'clock in the morning," said he in low tone to Cranston. "Howard has been away all day,—since guard-mounting, in fact,—and no report was made of it. Devers has been notified that the colonel would investigate matters—the whole business, in fact—early to-morrow."

But who can tell what a day may bring forth? Devers, after a sleepless night, filled with foreboding of the wrath to come as the result of that impending investigation, sat nervously over his coffee while the trumpets were sounding first call for guard-mounting, and turned a shade yellower at the ring of the front-door bell. The servant re-entered the dining-room and announced that Lieutenant Leonard, the adjutant, desired to speak to the captain. For a moment he could not rise. Conscious of his own double-dealing, visions of arrest, charges, court-martial—heaven knows what all—were floating before his startled eyes, but go he had to. Summoning courage, bravado, or something, he swaggered into the hall.

"Oh—ah—step into the parlor, Mr. Leonard," said he, airily, "I presume you're here on business." He was preparing to exhibit amaze—virtuous and soldierly indignation—at the idea of having, all unheard and unrepresented, been ordered into arrest on the prejudiced statement of a swarm of hostile officers and sorely badgered and bullied members of his troop. Well knowing himself to be tottering on the ragged edge of final discovery, his duplicity exposed, his deceit established, he nevertheless braced himself for the supreme effort to bluff to the very last. Thanks to the storm-shed without, the hall was dark, and for a moment he could only vaguely see the huge bulk of the infantryman standing erect before him, the very attitude indicative of stern official purpose.

And then in sudden revulsion of feeling,—in a wild whirl of reviving hope, courage, exultation,—he noticed that the adjutant was without his sword, and listened, spell-bound, well-nigh incredulous and without reply, to the brief official words which Mr. Leonard delivered, then saluting, turned on his heel and left the house.

"It is my duty to announce, sir, that Colonel Stone has had a stroke of apoplexy or vertigo and is seriously ill. As senior captain, you are in command of the post."



CHAPTER XVI.

That beautiful wintry Tuesday morning was as placid and serene as nature could make it, but Fort Scott was in a ferment. Whether stricken by apoplexy, which was the first, or vertigo, which was the later, theory, Colonel Peleg Stone had been found lying bleeding and unconscious at the foot of the stairs, and almost at his parlor door, just after sick-call. He had arisen early, said his tearful and terrified wife, saying that matters of importance demanded his presence at the office before guard-mounting. He had been wakeful and restless during the night. He had called for hot water soon after reveille, and gone into his dressing-room to shave. This was all she knew until aroused an hour later by her frightened maid, with the tidings that the colonel was lying speechless in the hall. Both doctors and Mr. Leonard were summoned. Violence was hinted at, but the orderly pacing the front piazza declared that no one had entered the front door since he came over and rang the bell to report himself for duty just as soon as he had finished breakfast. "For them was the colonel's orders when he dismissed me last night." Just about sick-call he heard the sound of a heavy fall inside, and presently "Jane come a-runnin'," and told him to rush for the doctors. Alonzo, the colonel's colored body-servant who had followed his fortunes a dozen years, was in the kitchen below stairs, and was sure no one had come in from the rear. He, too, had heard the fall and ran up with Jane, finding his master completely dressed, lying close to the parlor door, with blood streaming from his nose and mouth. There were heavy contusions on the forehead and face, caused probably by his having plunged blindly forward down the stairs. Something in the stertorous breathing suggested apoplexy, but the doctors soon decided against that. It might have been vertigo, or he might simply have tripped at the top and come diving head-foremost all the way down, but his clothing was not in such disorder as that would cause, and neither the orderly, nor Jane, nor Alonzo had heard more than one single crash or thud. Had they examined the parlor and sitting-room to see if any one could have been there hidden? was asked. No, there wasn't time. The house was one of the big double sets of quarters, with hall-way and staircase in the middle, as frequently planned in those days for the commanding officer of the large frontier garrisons. Four large rooms were on the ground floor for use as parlor, sitting-, and reception- and dining-room, all abundantly furnished, as Mrs. Stone was well-to-do, and there were hiding-places enough if some one had stolen in, like a thief in the night. The broad contusion on the forehead might have been caused by some blunt instrument, to be sure, said the senior surgeon, but he thought it improbable. Only one thing was certain,—Pegleg was knocked out. It might be several days, possibly a week, before he could resume duty. Captain Devers came over five minutes after the adjutant left him, and was profuse in sympathy, sorrow, and proffers of aid. The despatch sent to Department head-quarters that afternoon was a model of style, but it did not reach the office until late in the afternoon, so late that the general had gone home with his chief of staff, and not until five o'clock was it placed in the hands of the latter, who took it at once to his commander.

"Whew!" said the chief. "It's bad enough to have Pegleg down, but think of having Devers up, even for a week."

"I don't see what we can do, sir," was the reply. "The lieutenant-colonel of the Fortieth is on leave awaiting retirement, the major on General Sheridan's staff. Major Warren, of the Eleventh, is abroad, and Devers is the ranking captain."

"Well, let it stand," said the general, after a while. "Leonard will look after affairs in the Fortieth, and you look after Devers. If he gets to cutting up any didoes, send him up to the reservation to investigate the trouble up there; it's something after his own heart, I reckon,—or send him anywhere, and let the command devolve on the next captain until Stone's on deck again. Devers says he'll be up in a week."

"That's just what makes me fear he won't be well in a month, and if he isn't able to resume duty, Devers will say he only meant sitting up in bed, probably."

No matter what the opinion attaching to Captain Devers, however, the fact remained that he was now in law and fact commanding officer of the biggest post in the Platte Valley, and meant to make the most of his opportunities. Leonard promptly asked to be relieved from duty as post-adjutant, on the plausible ground that Captain Devers would doubtless prefer to have one of his own cloth and corps in the office, and Devers, well knowing how it would reflect upon him at Department head-quarters, refused to change. "However strained may be our personal relations, the good of the service demands that for the present they be ignored. The differences between us can and shall be adjusted later on," was the purport of his reply. Meantime Mr. Leonard could be assured that he should in no wise be disturbed in his functions as regimental adjutant, or hampered no more than was necessary in those that related to the post. Leonard swore impressively as he read the reply to his friends, Captain Pollock of the Fortieth, and Cranston of the Eleventh, but said nothing to any one else.

Davies was to relieve Hastings as troop duty officer for the week, and assume charge of roll-calls and stables, all matters between himself and his captain being incontinently shelved after conference with Cranston, Truman, and Hay, until such time as somebody beside Devers should sit in judgment on Devers's acts. The temporary post-commander spent very little of Tuesday morning in the office. With official gravity he signed the ration returns and such papers as were to be forwarded. "All matters concerning the interior discipline of the companies I prefer leaving to their proper commanders," said he, coldly, to the statuesque adjutant, thereby hitting a self-comforting whack at the colonel, who rather liked to interfere. "I have every confidence in the judgment of the captains of the infantry, at least, and as for routine matters you will be pleased to conduct them just as when Colonel Stone was on duty."

Then he went forth to his own sanctum, the troop office, raising his fur cap in acknowledgment of the sentry's shrill, "Turn out the guard; commanding officer!" and once there established, he sent his orderly with directions to the sergeant of the guard. In five minutes prisoner Howard, conducted by an armed sentry, made his appearance, and was received within the sanctum. "You may retire, sentry, until called. I'll be responsible for this man," said he, and from that conference even Sergeant Haney was excluded. The interview lasted twenty minutes, at the end of which time Howard was remanded to the guard-house and Paine brought over in his place. Howard swaggered insolently past the sergeant of the guard on his return, and when told to get ready to go out to work, replied, "I guess not, Johnny, unless you want to lose your stripes." But Paine came "home" scared and abject. Men in quarters said that both the captain and Sergeant Haney stormed at him until he didn't know black from white, and the temporary company clerk, excluded from the office during the conference, was called in finally to witness Paine's signature to a paper, the contents of which he did not see at all.

All day Tuesday Davies was occupied in getting his furniture and traps into Number 12, and Almira—pretty as a picture, and eagerly assisted by her now intimate friends, Mesdames Flight and Darling—was tacking up curtains, brackets, and knickknacks. Army women have a gift of making even a burrow look cheery and attractive, though they do accumulate an amount of truck that becomes embarrassing in the inevitable event of a move. On Wednesday, however, as has been said, his week of troop duty was to begin, and at gun-fire he was up and dressed and ready for business. Devers did not come down to stables. The first sergeant made the various reports in somewhat off-hand and perfunctory style, but Davies took, apparently, no notice of his manner, and, joining Captain Cranston as soon as he had inspected the stables on the return of the horses to their stalls, the two friends strolled slowly up the winding road to the parade, the last officers to return homeward. Sick-call was sounding as they passed the barracks, and Captain Devers met them on the walk. Both officers saluted the post-commander, Davies in silence, Cranston with an accompanying "Good-morning, sir." Devers responded in the briefest possible way and went at once to business.

"Mr. Davies, that man Brannan will be returned to the troop from hospital this morning. See that he is immediately confined in the guard-house." And then, with his orderly following, the commander went his way. Sergeant Haney was standing not forty yards away on the barrack-porch awaiting his captain's coming. Such instructions were generally given by the company commander direct to the first sergeant, and the purpose of making Davies the medium and Cranston the witness of the order was apparent at a glance. Devers meant to inflict his punishment not only upon the soldier, but upon those who dared either in person or through some "member of the household" appear as the soldier's friend.

"What should I do, captain?" asked Davies, sadly. "Turn and carry the order to the first sergeant at once?"

Cranston looked back, saw Devers halt to say some words to the troop farrier, and seized the opportunity.

"Yes, and I will go with you to be ready to testify to your having obeyed."

Retracing their steps, the two approached the quarters. "Go no farther," said Cranston, in low tone, as they got about half-way and were close to where Devers stood. "Call the sergeant to you here." Davies did so, and Devers whirled around in surprise. Haney came promptly, buttoning his overcoat on the way. It wouldn't do to "slouch" in presence of Cranston, whatsoever he might dare with a new lieutenant.

"Sergeant," said Davies, "the captain orders that Trooper Brannan be confined in the guard-house the moment he returns from hospital."

"Yes, sir. I got the order, sir, last night," said Haney, forgetful in Cranston's presence of the impulse to be flippant, and unconsciously revealing just exactly what his captain meant to conceal. Davies turned and looked at Cranston, and the latter, with a peculiar smile, linked his arm in that of his friend and, carefully avoiding the spot where Devers now stood watching them, led him away.

This for a starter was significant, but more was to come. Guard mounting was hurried through that morning, for the air was sharply cold and a northerly wind was beginning to moan through the garrison and whirl the snow in drifts over the desolate prairie. Captains Truman and Pollock, the former as old and the latter as new officer of the day, appeared in fur caps and heavy overcoats and stood at the desk where Colonel Pegleg for months past had administered the affairs of the post. The former raised his hand in salute as he said, "I report as old officer of the day, sir," and tendered the guard report. Devers glanced at once at the list of prisoners. Foremost were the familiar names of the old stagers, the general prisoners undergoing sentence of court-martial. Then those of the men sentenced to brief confinement by the minor or garrison court. Then came the names of those awaiting trial, and opposite each name in the column headed "Charges" was the word "Preferred," as was the custom of the day, and this significant word appeared opposite the next to the last name on the list, that of Howard, Troop "A."

"Ah! What is the nature of the charges against prisoner Howard?" asked Devers, blandly.

"I haven't seen them, sir. I understand that they were prepared by Lieutenant Sanders as directed by Colonel Stone."

Devers tapped his bell and the orderly sprang in. "My compliments to the adjutant," said he, and from the adjoining room, grave, stolid, and imperturbable as ever, Leonard came in, pencil in hand, and stood at attention without a word.

"Mr. Leonard, have charges been preferred against Trooper Howard?"

"Yes, sir. Desertion. The specification alleges that he was caught aboard the west-bound train at Braska in civilian dress Monday evening."

"Anything else?"

"No, sir."

"Captain Pollock, you may release Howard. He was in town with my approbation and assent, looking for an absentee whose haunts he knew and whose presence was required here. He says he boarded the train expecting possibly to find him thereon, and wore civilian dress because his uniform might have caused his rejection at places he wished to search."

Captain Pollock touched his cap without a word.

"You will also see that Paine and Brannan, recently confined, are sent out to work with the police cart. Other orders as usual. You are relieved, Captain Truman. That is all, Mr. Leonard."

The talk that ensued among the officers of the calvary command when this matter was detailed at the club room will have to be condensed. Davies was not present. He never went there. Cranston was present for the first time in weeks, for it was an establishment for which ordinarily he had no use. He and Truman went thither because they knew that that was where Sanders could be found, and there they found him. It was barely ten o'clock, but this light-hearted young gentleman, together with three or four kindred spirits of the Fortieth, was discussing, to the accompaniment of hot Scotch, the relative values of hands dealt at random from a grimy deck. That they should have taken to hot Scotch at such an hour they explained by the statement that as they had to be up with the dawn the day was already old, and that they should be playing poker they didn't consider a matter calling for explanation of any kind. It was "a way they had in the army" in those days when the other three-quarters of the year was spent in sharp campaigning. Sanders cheerfully dropped his hand as he had his money and told his story like a little man.

"We trotted or galloped all the way to town and found Paine soon after six, drunk, of course,—too drunk to ride the spare horse, so while we were waiting for an ambulance from the quartermaster's depot, I ran over to the Cattle Club for a drink, and was chatting there with Willett and Burtis,—by the way, I asked them both to drive out and dine with us to-night and take in the hop later,—and presently in came a couple of cattlemen from Cheyenne who knew everybody at Russell and were jolly, pleasant fellows. They were going up on the evening freight, and we loaded up a lunch-basket and went down to the depot to see them off in the caboose. The Braska crowd did their best to send them home full, and they were full, and nothing would do but we must go into the bar and drink Roederer with them until the conductor came rushing in to say all aboard. Then they snaked me on to the caboose platform when the train was under way, pulled me inside and ran me half a mile up the track before they could stop her again. But that half-mile did the business for Mr. Howard. There he was spruce and dandified as you please, dressed fit to kill in a bang-up better suit than I ever hope to own, trying to sit behind a newspaper. They pulled Burtis aboard, too, and in the scuffle he fell all over Howard, knocked his hat off, and I knew the face in a second, and when I came off that car he came with me, by the scruff of his neck, swearing and protesting and denying that he was Howard, and threatening to have the law on me and appealing to the cattlemen for rescue. By Jupiter, if it wasn't that I had been with them long enough to make a favorable impression they would have rescued him, too. They didn't half want to let him go, and he straggled hard to get away as it was."

Then Truman told him what Devers's orders and remarks were, and Sanders fairly blazed with wrath. "It's the maddest kind of a lie," said he. "That fellow had never looked for Paine or thought of such a thing. We found where he had left his uniform and where he kept in hiding until time to skip out and catch that train. He wasn't looking for anybody and didn't care to see or be seen by anybody. If it wasn't a clear-cut case of desertion may I be hanged. He had over two hundred dollars in his clothes and fresh duds in his grip-sack."

Long before mid-day, therefore, Sanders's words were being repeated from mouth to mouth, and Trooper Howard, with pale face and starting eyes, was shut up in the company office where only the captain and Sergeant Haney could get at him, and Devers was there with his sergeant and clerk, when just at 10.45 the telegraph operator came bulging into Mr. Leonard's office.

"An important despatch," said he, "for the commanding officer."

Leonard took it, then hesitated. Under Colonel Stone his instructions were to open and read at once, but the relations between him and the captain temporarily in command were neither confidential nor cordial. "Take it to Captain Devers," said he, "and I will wait."

Devers read the despatch with kindling eye. It was from department head-quarters at Omaha, and said briefly,—

"Send a discreet officer with twenty cavalrymen for temporary duty with Boynton at the agency at once. Report action by wire."

For a few minutes the captain sat in deep thought, then with head erect, and with quick, confident step, left the barracks and went straight to the adjutant's office. "Orderly," said he, "my compliments to Mr. Davies and say I wish to see him at once."

And so only a little more than an hour later, knowing absolutely nothing of what might be going on at the agency, judging only from the reports of the mail-carrier that there had been trouble between the agent and some of Red Dog's people, and that the agent had determined to make arrests, leaving his bride wildly weeping and protesting in the hands of her devoted friends Mesdames Flight and Darling, yet commending her to the guardianship of Captain and Mrs. Cranston, Percy Davies set forth upon a bitter, wintry march of eighty miles, answering the call of duty at the front, leaving wife and fireside, good name and character, to the care of friends or foes who remained.



CHAPTER XVII.

Long remembered at Fort Scott was the evening that followed Mr. Davies's departure for the agency. Infantry and cavalry both, the garrison took it much to heart that the detail should have devolved, of all men, upon him. Not because he was comparatively young and inexperienced; not because he was just back from long leave that had been necessitated by long and serious illness, but solely and entirely because he had but recently married a wife, and therefore shouldn't have been expected to go,—should not have been torn from her side. The women opened the ball, but the men were not slow in taking the floor. What Davies himself might think no one knew, because Davies would not say. He received the order of the post commander without a word, went home to his wife and sent Barnickel to ask Captain Cranston to come to him as soon as possible. Devers retired to his quarters and was not again seen until after stables, when, scrupulously avoiding those of the other troops, he visited his own lines, having previously sent his orderly to Mr. Hastings to notify that gentleman that he should not require him to attend stables this week, which was to have been Mr. Davies's, but would expect him to superintend roll-calls. The temporary commanding officer of the garrison and of the cavalry battalion appeared, therefore, in solitary state in his capacity as captain of Troop "A." Officers who passed him on the way to or from stables raised hand or cap in the salute due the post commander, but few of them entered into conversation. Old Dr. Rooke, the post surgeon, a man ten years Devers's senior in the service, returning from a visit to Colonel Stone's bedside, came face to face with the captain, and the captain stopped to make inquiries. Rooke's face was grave.

"He is semi-conscious and resting fairly well, but has received a severe shock that has clouded his faculties. I cannot say when he will be up again. I do not see any likelihood of his returning to duty for a month."

Devers's face expressed all proper concern and sympathy. "It is best, of course, that I should know this, but the colonel's friends are numerous in garrison, and it is something that would have a depressing effect. I suggest, therefore, that you do not confide your fears to any one else. It affects me painfully to hear it, though I had not the good fortune to be in the colonel's good graces. We differed as to various official matters."

"I'm aware of that," said Rooke, dryly, "and I have felt more than half constrained to remonstrate with you as to the confinement of Private Brannan. He left the hospital in good condition, and with the expectation of returning to his detachment and duty. Of course if new charges have been lodged against him——"

"New charges have been lodged against him, doctor. He was sent to the hospital at my request that he might be restrained from liquor, which, under the system pursued by Colonel Stone, could at any time be procured by guard-house prisoners who had money. That he would be able to indulge his propensity in your department had not, of course, occurred to me as a possibility."

"Any criticisms you have to make at the expense of my department will receive due weight, I have no doubt, with my superiors, and you will oblige me by addressing them upon the subject, not me. The post commander expressed his entire approval of it, and to him and not to the company commanders am I responsible, Captain Devers. This, however, I will say, sir, that sooner than submit to further comment of this character, I shall telegraph to department head-quarters requesting instant relief from duty as post surgeon here, if you are to retain the command."

And Rooke had gauged his man. He knew perfectly well that this application, coming on top of Stone's prostration, would lead to the inevitable conclusion at head-quarters that the colonel could not return to duty for some time, and the surgeon could not contentedly perform duty under Devers as temporary commander. In other words, that Devers was already beginning, as the general expressed it, "to cut up didoes," and somebody—some field officer—would be at once detached, in all probability, and sent from his proper post temporarily to take charge of matters at Scott. On the other hand, if things worked smoothly and with no apparent friction, Devers might hope to retain command for several weeks, and that would be of inestimable benefit. What might not be accomplished in that time? He was quick, yet not too precipitate, therefore, in expressing grave and courteous disclaimer. No reflection on Dr. Rooke's management was intended or implied, though Dr. Burroughs, the junior, had, in Devers's opinion, laid himself open to criticism. Of course being somewhat inexperienced, the unwarrantable interference of Lieutenant Davies and Miss Loomis had confused and hampered him. Surely Dr. Rooke could not say that he, Devers, had ever interfered. On the contrary, had he not incurred the enmity of officers and ladies of his own regiment by making formal report to the post commander of what he considered an unjustifiable encroachment on their part upon the sacred precincts of the post surgeon? Rooke looked at him from under his shaggy eyebrows, suspicious and unmollified. He was a shrewd old Scotchman, and Devers protested too much.

"So far as Miss Loomis and Mr. Davies are concerned," said he, "I have no exceptions to take whatsoever. I knew the young lady's father well, and I have faith in the young man. I hear he has been sent on some temporary duty to the agency, captain, and had he consulted me I should have advised against his going. The suffering and exposure of such duty in such weather are more than many a rugged man can bear. Mr. Davies has not yet half recovered his strength."

"Then I wish I had known it, doctor," said Devers, diplomatically; "but not knowing it, I could make no other selection. The orders called for a discreet officer, and Mr. Davies's friends consider him discretion itself. I have even been led to think he had too much discretion. The orders said 'cavalrymen,' therefore I was limited to the officers of my battalion. They said to report to Lieutenant Boynton, therefore I was limited to officers junior in rank to him, for no senior could be required to do it. Mr. Boynton is a first lieutenant, and the only first lieutenants junior to him here are Hastings, who is eminently indiscreet, and Folsom, who is a martyr to rheumatism, as you very well know. The only second lieutenants now on duty with us are Sanders, Jervis, and Davies; certainly of the three Davies is the only one who can be called discreet, and he was the only one who had not been on scout or detached service of this character since he joined. I regret having to break up his honeymooning, but even that is to be but temporary, for so the orders said. I explain all this to you, doctor, because I respect your rank and service, but I shall not condescend to justify myself to my juniors."

"And have you reported action yet by wire?" asked Rooke, critically.

"Certainly," said Devers, but he reddened. Evidently there had been wide spread talk over the selection already, and speculation as to what department head-quarters would think of it. Evidently it was known that he was ordered to report by telegraph, yet who could have "given it away"? The despatch was still in his waistcoat-pocket, for Devers, unlike his trimmer juniors, wore that unsoldierly garment underneath his sack-coat. Even the adjutant had not seen the despatch, and the operator was sworn to secrecy. He had reported by wire, and in these words: "Discreet officer and twenty cavalrymen left post at noon with orders to hasten to Ogallalla agency and report to Lieutenant Boynton for temporary duty." This was sent at 1.15, and he had only just received another inquiring name of the officer detailed. This he did not mean to answer until after five o'clock, by which time he knew the Omaha offices would be deserted and Davies some thirty miles away. "The horses are hard and sound," he had said to the silent subaltern. "You should reach there Friday morning without fail and without fatigue, and ought to camp to-night at Dismal River. It's a long thirty miles, but you can easily make it." He meant Davies to be beyond recall in the event of disapproval, and that point secure, he didn't much care what head-quarters might think or the garrison say.

And so Wednesday's sun went down red over the snow-streaked barren to the west, and long, long before that the last vestige of Davies's little party disappeared from view among the breaks and ravines in the low range of treeless heights many a long desolate mile to the north, and Almira's faithful comforters were still with her, and at dusk bustled her over to Mrs. Darling's for change of scene and surroundings and tea and a little music, and presently sleigh-bells were heard, and Mrs. Flight screamed joyously at the window, "Oh, it's Mr. Willett and Mr. Burtis with their lovely team, and they've come out for the hop!" And before long Lieutenant Darling, accompanied by these very gentlemen, came stamping in, and Sanders and Tommy Dot followed, and in the firelight the little army parlor was a pretty picture as these gallants entered and the lamps were lighted, and the gentlemen from town were presented to Almira, and everybody thought it the proper thing to be especially devoted to her by way of consoling her for this sudden and heartless separation from her lord, and for nearly half an hour her lovely face maintained its expression of pathetic and unconquerable woe; but Willett had seated himself at the piano, and he and Sanders and Tommy Dot began singing with inimitable drollery some of the popular melodies of the day, and presently, "to save her life," as she declared, Almira could not resist joining in the laughter and applause, and then Willett began telling of the new step they were dancing in the East,—he had been home just long enough to attend a few parties,—and while Tommy Dot played a waltz he essayed to teach it to Mrs. Darling,—a charming partner ordinarily, but still she did not seem to catch the idea, and Mrs. Flight was even less successful. Mira looked on with sparkling eyes and new and uncontrollable eagerness. It was the very step she had danced with the aides-de-camp in Chicago the previous September,—almost the same that she had danced time and again with Mr. Powlett at Urbana, and not a lady at Fort Scott had yet learned it. At last Sanders spoke,—

"Why, surely it is the glide step you were telling us about, Mrs. Davies." And then Willett implored her to try it with him, and how could she refuse? This was not a ball or party, it was only a dancing lesson; and somehow, all in a moment, she was floating around that little parlor on Willett's sustaining arm in long, graceful, gliding steps that seemed admirably adapted to his, and Willett's face glowed with delight and hers with pardonable triumph, for was she not showing the belles of the army the latest thing out in the ball-rooms of fashionable society? And Sanders and Darling applauded enthusiastically, and the ladies as enthusiastically as they could, for one's charitable impulses ooze all too rapidly when the object looms suddenly as a rival. Sanders begged presently to try with Mrs. Davies, while Mrs. Flight tried again with Willett, and presently all were trying and gradually mastering the new step, and when it was time to separate for dinner it was solemnly agreed that they would tell no one of their practice, but that very night at the hop they would simply paralyze the entire assemblage by dancing the latest waltz step.

"Now, Mrs. Davies," said Willett, "you've just got to go, if only just once to show them how," and Darling and Sanders joined eagerly in the plea. There was not actual unanimity as to the propriety and necessity of the project, however. Mrs. Flight was doubtful, but did not openly oppose, and Mrs. Darling said, of course dear Mrs. Davies must know that it would certainly cause remark. But all through tea it cropped out again and again, and after tea Willett and Sanders came back from the mess dinner and renewed their supplications. It was, at least, decided that Almira could not be left to mope alone, and as her lady friends had to go to the hop, why, she might as well go and peep in and hear the music at any rate. There were good friends, true friends of her own and her husband, who would have been glad indeed to spend the evening with her, either at her fireside or their own, whose cards and condolences she found on her little hall table when, escorted to the door by Mr. Willett, she went home at half-past eight, just to make some slight change in her toilet, which, as it stood, was too funereal for so festive an occasion.

And so that night, while Davies and his men were huddling about the little camp-fires in the snow at Dismal River and a wintry blast was whistling through the bare, brown limbs of the cottonwoods, there were sounds of revelry at the big frontier post, spirited music, merry laughter, the rhythmic beat of martial feet in the measures of the dance, the rustle of silk, and the pit-a-pat of dainty slippers. Only two or three households were unrepresented. It was the first hop Mrs. Stone had missed. It was something that the chaplain and his wife did not care for. It was a nuisance to Leonard, who loved his books and his home. It bored more than one old warrior, who went, however, on account of his wife and daughters, but Captain and Mrs. Devers were on hand, as befitted the official heads, temporary, of post and martial society, and the Cranstons with Agatha Loomis, after again going to see if they could do anything for Mrs. Davies, and again finding her absent from home, concluded to go over to the hop-room soon after taps, and the first thing that met their eyes was the sight of Mira—Mrs. Davies—waltzing down the waxed floor, and waltzing beautifully in the new step that was coming into vogue while they were still at home, and waltzing on the encircling arm of the appreciative Mr. Willett. Beyond doubt she was the observed of all observers.

It had all come about in the most natural and matter-of-fact way. Mira had persisted for full an hour in her determination not to dance, but again and again had Willett and Sanders implored,—Willett with eyes as eloquent as his tongue. "None of these other ladies had yet really learned the step. Everybody longed to see it. Everybody had heard how beautifully she danced it," and presently body after body came and coaxed "just to show us," and so, really before she knew it, she was again on Willett's arm, he murmuring praise and encouragement into her pretty little pink ear, and everybody seemed to stop to watch them, and then strove to imitate. And then Sanders implored her to give him just one turn for the honor of the Eleventh, and then Jervis wouldn't be denied, and Willett and Burtis came for more,—Willett again and again, and so she danced until the last waltz died away, and her first hop in the army had been one long, vivid triumph; Willett in his eagerness forgetting an engagement to waltz with Mrs. Hay. "She will never forgive me," he murmured to Almira, as he saw her home, "but," and his voice sank lower, "I only wonder I did not forget all—but yours." And that was one of the lovely things said to her that night she did not report in her long, explanatory, self-exculpatory letter to Percy. It is possibly surprising that she had sense enough not to tell it to Mrs. Flight, whose lord was on duty as officer of the guard, and who had accepted Almira's urgent invitation to come and spend what was left of the night with her. Almira was timid, even afraid to be left alone. Like two schoolgirls they chattered about the cosey fire in Almira's bedroom, Mrs. Flight filling the young wife's ears with tales of the compliments that had been passed upon her beauty, her grace, her dancing, her lovely costume,—one of Aunt Almira's modiste's most charming creations, one she assuredly would not have worn had Percy been there. Everybody had praised her in one way or another, and many had done so to her face, Captain and Mrs. Devers, even, taking heart, as they said, from seeing her so delightfully occupied, came up to congratulate her on being the belle of the ball and to express every manner of condolence for the stern necessity which called her husband away. It was a piece of diplomacy Almira was at a loss to answer.

Of all the women present the two whose opinion she most dreaded and toward whom she felt absolute aversion, neither congratulated nor praised her in any way. Miss Loomis smiled and bowed and said, "Good-evening, Mrs. Davies," in very cheery manner when they met in promenade. Mrs. Cranston bowed and smiled gravely, stopped, and extended her hand, which Almira, with heightened color and drooping eyelids, took nervously.

"I need not say how we deplore the orders, Mrs. Davies. I'm so sorry to have missed you to-day. Won't you lunch and dine with us to-morrow and talk over plans? We shall be so glad to have you."

And Almira faltered that she had promised to lunch at Mrs. Darling's and spend the afternoon, and was afraid she couldn't promise to come to dinner, and Mrs. Cranston understood. They went home early, did the Cranston's,—that is, early for Fort Scott,—whereas Mrs. Davies, influenced by her energetic friends, danced until long after midnight, and then sat up and talked it all over until long after two.

"Willett's simply gone on you," was Mrs. Flight's significant remark. "No wonder lots of our primmers looked blue to-night. Willett used to dance with Mrs. Wright and Mrs. Hay all the time, but he hardly looked at them to-night. And did you see the look Miss Loomis gave him when he invited her? He says she snubbed him outright." No, Almira hadn't seen, but she had caught almost every look that Willett gave her, and was thinking more of those and of what he said, and of his plea that she should be at Mrs. Darling's for luncheon next day,—they wouldn't drive back to Braska until afternoon,—and of the ball they meant to give at the railway hotel in town, to return the courtesies of their friends at the fort. He was to lead the german, and might have to lead it with Mrs. Courtenay of the bank, who was the leader of local society but couldn't dance any more than he could fly, and if Mrs. Davies would only promise to be there all would be bliss. Mrs. Davies had said she could not be there. They were in mourning for Mr. Davies's mother, as Willett well knew, and she expected Percy home within a week or ten days. Captain Devers had assured her it couldn't be for longer, and indeed, oh, no! she couldn't think of going to a ball in town.

But she did think of it very much indeed. She thought of it, and the dance of the evening gone, far more than she did of Percy and his party now sleeping in the snow or shivering in the wind at Dismal River. She wrote him one of her long letters Thursday morning, spending over an hour in the effort, and an equal time in her toilet for the luncheon at the Darlings. She was in the midst of this charming function, assisted by Mrs. Flight, when the gong on the front door announced the coming of a visitor. "I can't see anybody now, can I?" she hazarded to Mrs. Flight, and Mrs. Flight thought she really wouldn't have time, and so whispered to Katty, as that Milesian maid-of-all-work bustled through to answer the summons, "Mrs. Davies will have to be excused to callers," and the parley at the hall door was brief enough. Almira and her assistant listened,—as what woman would not?—heard the courteous, cordial tone of inquiry for Mrs. Davies, and Katty's flurried "Begs to be excused, mum," and there was no need of the question which Mrs. Flight asked,—"Who was it, Katty?" for both knew Mrs. Cranston's voice.

"I've done my best, Wilbur," said Meg, as she threw herself on the arm of the big easy-chair in which her lord was reading the Chicago papers before the snapping, sparkling fireplace. "She did not want to see me last night, and she practically refused to see me this morning. She has chosen her intimates, and it is a case of like unto like. We are not congenial. Yet I so wanted to be a friend to him and to her."

Cranston dropped his paper and threw his strong arm about her waist, and when a man turns from the contemplation of his favorite journal to that of the face of his wife her queendom is assured.

"You've done all I could ask, dear," was his answer, "but we may have to pocket our pride a little. She is very young and inexperienced. She goes to Darlings' to-day, does she?—and that coxcomb Willett is to be there, too." The Times slipped to the floor, forgotten, and Margaret, saying nothing more, drew closer to his side and nestled her round, soft cheek against his weather-beaten jowl, and Agatha, coming quickly in from her supervision of the boys' lessons in the adjoining room, went back to the book-littered table unnoticed. This frontier Darby and Joan, whose tin wedding had passed and gone long months before, seemed spooning yet. It's another "way we have in the army," and long may it live and linger.



CHAPTER XVIII.

Long remembered at the agency and among the lodges of the assembled Sioux was the morning of the arrival of Lieutenant Davies with a squad of half-frozen troopers at his back. The gale that swept the prairies on Wednesday had died away. The mercury in the tubes at the trader's store had sunk to the nethermost depths. The sundogs blazed in the eastern sky, and even the rapids of the Running Water seemed turned to solid blue. Borne on the wings of the blast, straight from the frozen pole, the Ice King had swooped upon the sheltered valley. Cold as is the wide frontier at such times, even among the gray heads, the old medicine-men, the great-grandmothers of the tribes, huddling in the frowzy, foul-smelling tepees, were legends of no such bitter, biting cold as this. Cattle lying here and there stark and stiffened, hardy ponies, long used to Dakota blizzards, even some among the Indian dogs had succumbed to its severity, while over at the agent's, behind double-listed doors and frost-covered sashes, around roaring coal fires in red-hot stoves, the employes and their families herded together almost as did the Indians, execrating the drop in the temperature one minute even while thanking God for it the next. It was the main thing that had interposed to save them from the vengeance of Red Dog's band.

All through the desperate battling of the previous summer, even in the face of fiercest triumph the Indians had known in years, one little band of Sioux had kept faith with the white brother and refused all effort to draw its young men to the war-path. For months, from early spring-tide, against three columns of regular troops, the hostiles in the Big Horn and Powder River countries had more than held their own, and under the spell of Sitting Bull and led by such war chiefs as Crazy Horse and Gall and Rain-in-the-Face, the turbulent spirits of nearly every tribe had swelled the fighting force until at times six thousand warriors were in the field engaged in bloody work. The whole Sioux nation seemed in arms. Ogallalla and Brule, Minneconjou, Uncapapa, Teton and Santee, Sans Arc and Black Foot, leagued with their only rivals in plainscraft and horsemanship and strategy, the Cheyennes, thronged to that wild and beautiful land once the home of the Crows. Three columns had striven to hem them in,—three thousand wagon-hampered soldiers to surround six thousand free lances of the plains, and the Indians laughed them to scorn. When the columns pressed too close they swarmed upon the nearest, stung it, sent it staggering back; then watched for the next, and swept it out of existence. They flew at Crook on the 17th of June and fought him luringly, begging him to follow farther into their traps in the canon, but the Gray Fox knew them and divined the numbers that lurked in hiding behind the bold green curtain of bluffs, and so slipped out of the toils. They turned on Custer eight days later and left no tongue to tell the tale. Three columns, against such energetic measures, fell back to recruit and refit, and not until late in the season, doubled in strength, could they resume the offensive. Then, the summer's work accomplished, the warriors scattered, spoil laden, and the troops chased madly hither and yon until brought up standing at the boundaries of Her Britannic Majesty on the one side or those of the Indian Bureau on the other. Across the border-land Sitting Bull snapped his fingers at his pursuers. Across the reservation lines did many a jeering chief hurl taunt and challenge at the baffled soldiery. When winter came on there were still a few strong bands of Sioux and Cheyennes dancing to the war-drums in the fastnesses of the Big Horn, whence Miles and Mackenzie and the Frost King soon routed them; but most of the warriors who had spent their season in saddle in the field were once more at home under the sheltering wing of the Department of the Interior, while their chiefs and leaders, their hands still red with the blood of Custer's men, their wigwams freshly upholstered with cavalry scalps, went eastward on their customary junket to the capital of the nation, to be fed and feted and lionized, to come back laden with more spoil, more arms, ammunition, clothing, blankets, tobacco, kickshaws and trumpery dear to the savage heart, rejoicing, even though they marvelled, at the fatuity of a people that annually rewarded instead of punishing their murderous work. They, the heroes of the summer's campaign, rode in triumph through the very homes of their victims, and weeping women and children listened in amaze to the plaudits with which their townspeople greeted the very savages who, not six months before, were hacking out the last flutter of life, drinking the heart's blood, revelling in the dying moan of beloved husband or father. Verily, we're a nation of odd contradictions.

And, just as a sojourn in Washington seems to turn many a white brother's head, so did this, though with better reason, send the savage homeward with boastful heart. He and his were welcomed back to the fold, lavishly provided for, all manner of requests and demands hitherto denied now smilingly honored. They came back lords of the soil, monarchs of all they surveyed, scornful of all who were not with them in the warfare of the summer gone by, and of these was the household of Spotted Tail. Long time chief of the Brules, he had kept faith with the whites, his kith and kin were loyal to their obligations, and in so far as example and influence could go they had held their tribe, all but the more turbulent young men, out of the fight. There was a band that for years had never "drawn a bead" on white man,—settler or soldier,—a band that had furnished scouts and runners and trailers and had done yeoman's work upon the reservations. These were now, as was to be expected, of no more consequence in council lodge or tribal dance. Snubbed by the war chiefs, sneered at by the young men, slighted by the maidens, it was bad enough that they should have lost caste among their own people, it was worse, and what made it infinitely worse that it was so utterly characteristic, that these faithful allies and servants should now find themselves neglected by the very government which they had so earnestly supported. Back from the war-path, day after day, came dozens of grinning, hand-shaking warriors lately in rebellion, and to them, their squaws and children, with lavish hand the agency dealt out blankets and calicoes, bacon and beef, coffee, flour, and sugar. Such redoubtables as Red Dog, Little Big Man, Prowling Wolf, and Kills Asleep were swaggering about, as were their young men, in plethora of savage adornment and "store clothes." Their squaws and children were warm and fat and garbed in attractive motley. Even their dogs were in better fettle than the social exiles of the Spotted Tail school, now in rags and dependent for their daily bread on what the agent would give them. Three times it happened on ration days that Red Dog and Kills Asleep, swaggering about the corral, told their followers to pick out and drive away such cattle as were passably fat and presumably tender, leaving to the silent loyals only a miserable batch of beeves which Lieutenant Boynton described as "dried on the hoof." The agent said he couldn't help it, "Red Dog and the likes of him are now high in favor at Washington. They and their fellows could have me removed in a minute if I interfered, and they know it. There is no lie at my expense their interpreters wouldn't tell the inspectors, and against so many witnesses what could I do?"