AN INVITATION--TO GO
Between early morning drills and the fact that Jimmy was now quite big
and old enough to look after himself, the father's supervision of the
morning tub, rub, and toilet had ceased, and there was but time for a
hug and a word before the major swallowed his solitary cup of coffee,
swung into saddle, and trotted away. On this eventful morning he had
kept his men at their work rather longer than usual and to no good
purpose. In common with the rest of the garrison, Dwight had heard the
fate of the Canteen, and heard it without remark. An abstemious man, he
preferred that others should be the same, but other far more pressing
matters were uppermost in his mind; matters here at Minneconjou--matters
in far-away Mexico, where an importunate father-in-law, after making
ducks and drakes of the thousands liberally supplied him, was now
demanding more, or "all would be lost." Then it transpired that a lawyer
in town had been retained, by certain of that father-in-law's creditors,
to press Major Dwight for payment of the same, or with evidence of
fraudulent doings on part of Mr. Farrell. To meet this lawyer, Dwight
had ridden to town right after drill, and up to noon had not returned.
Foster and Mrs. Dwight, driving thither in the pretty phaeton, with the
pygmy tiger, were surprised, possibly disconcerted--to see his orderly
with the two horses patiently waiting in front of the office. Possibly
that had something to do with their return soon after twelve o'clock.
Possibly there was design in Foster's selection of that hour of the day
to visit the office of the post Exchange, still in active operation
along all its accustomed lines, awaiting official orders, so far as
comforting fluids were concerned, to close. At all events, there were no
witnesses to a scene,--and but few to certain very audible words,--that
became memorable in the chronicles of Fort Minneconjou from that day
forth.
It will be remembered that Priscilla saw the meeting between the post
commander and his Exchange officer, and their move in company toward the
townward gate. But at that distance it was not to be expected that she
could see the deep concern in the colonel's face or hear anything of the
conversation that passed between them. It was barely an hour since their
brief interview at the office. The colonel then looked solemn enough,
but now the concern and smoldering wrath in his deep-set eyes exceeded
anything his adjutant had ever seen or that Sandy Ray deemed possible in
a soldier usually so placid and philosophical.
"Come with me, Mr. Ray," said Stone, in the hearing of the listening
men. "There's a matter I want to talk over." Then, once fairly out of
earshot, and after a glance to see that his orderly was well to the
rear, "Sandy, were you at your office yesterday morning?"
"No, sir; I was at church."
"Ah, yes. I should have known. _I_ used to go, too, while I had a
mother," sighed the colonel. "But that was very long ago." Then, with
sudden energy, "You wouldn't know whether--er--Captain Foster had been
over here at the Exchange--writing letters? Ah--er--who would?"
"Sergeant Bates, sir, probably."
"It's a bit of business I don't like, Sandy. Nobody but my adjutant
knows, though some may guess, and I'm going to tell you because----"
"I wish you _wouldn't_, sir. I--own I don't like Captain Foster," was
the blunt interruption.
"I've got to, lad, for I may have to act! But it was your father who
spake there, and you have known Foster longer and perhaps better than
any man here--Major Dwight possibly excepted. There are reasons why I
_can't_ ask Dwight."
"Then, Colonel," and with face still graver the young officer turned
appealingly to his commander, "all the more I ask you--don't ask me."
"See here, Ray," said the colonel, halting short. "No, keep back,
orderly, I don't want you!" he added with impatient wave of the hand.
"There's a piece of devilment going on at this post that it's my
business to stop before it gets too late. Pray God it isn't too late
_yet_! That man has no business here as Dwight's guest. He has no
business here at all. He isn't straight. He tells everybody he can't
imagine where his orders have gone, and that he's been wiring everywhere
to find them. This morning I find that he's lying. Yesterday he left
Dwight's house to write letters at the Club, as he said, and send more
dispatches. He stayed there only about fifteen minutes, until church was
fairly started. Then he said he wanted some keg beer which can't be had
at the Club, and so he left, saying he'd go to the Canteen and finish
the beer and his letters at your desk. That's almost the last they saw
of him, but before eleven he went through the east gate and down to old
Sergeant Sweeny's on the south flats. Sweeny served with him seven years
ago, and he's laid up with rheumatism. The second relief started just at
eleven, and the first problem the recruit on No. 4 had to deal with,
before the relief that left him was fairly out of sight, was what to do
with a gentleman, in civilian dress who was crossing his post. The
sentry stopped him, and the stranger said: 'I'm Captain Foster, staying
at Major Dwight's,' and went on in the back way. If Sweeny confirms this
story I shall send for Captain Foster and--until this is settled never
mind about that other matter. Er--have you seen Miss Sanford?"
"Yes, sir," answered Ray, half choking, "and--she was to answer me fully
at twelve o'clock."
"Well--er--I may be able to see Sergeant Bates and perhaps you again. I
won't take you farther. Wait for me at your desk, will you?"
A distant horseman, trotting swiftly homeward, splashed through the ford
at the moment; but long before he reached the gate the colonel had gone
on through upon his regular daily tramp, making the rounds of the big
wide-spreading post. The young officer, silent and pale, had gone back
to his office. The sentry at the gate presented arms as the tall
haggard-looking rider came trotting in, sitting very erect and squarely
down in the saddle. At the parting of the roads he suddenly reined in
and dismounted. "Take him to the stables and get your dinner, Gribble,"
said he to the trumpeter boy. "I shall not ride again to-day." Then,
with grave, anxious, downcast face, went striding up the southward line
to his quarters at the farther end--the quarters that had been the
Rays'.
On the gallery of Lieutenant Thornton's were two or three young army
wives and mothers, who ceased chatting and somewhat curiously studied
the coming officer. In brief, absent-minded fashion he lifted his cap
and passed them by. Young Dr. Wallen was just coming forth and calling
cheerily to them. "Oh, he'll do very nicely now. Miss Sanford handled
him admirably;" then, "Oh, beg a thousand pardons, Major," as he bumped
sideways into the tall soldier passing by.
"Who's hurt?" asked Dwight with scant interest.
"Why--er--Georgie Thornton got a little--er--gash playing. His mother
was scared a bit, and I was coming that way and she called me in. The
eye isn't injured."
"Why--how'd it happen?"
"Oh, er--well, I don't know, exactly," answered Wallen, in deep
confusion. "Some boy scrap--mishap--accident, probably,
and--er--good-day," he finished lamely, as he darted off.
Queer, thought Dwight. Is everybody seeking to avoid me? He only vaguely
heard, and for the moment gave little heed to, the angry words that
followed him from the open doorway. "Ask your boy how it happened, Major
Dwight," for the mother was suffering still, and some natures,
suffering, _will_ spit and scratch. Not then, but just a little later,
as Jimmy came bounding gladly to meet him and to seize his hand, did
Dwight remember Mrs. Thornton's words, and looking down into the joyous,
beaming, flushing face, with the big, wide-open, violet eyes, the father
questioned:
"What's this about Georgie Thornton? How was he cut?"
"Georgie? Cut? Why, daddy, I didn't know it. Is he hurt?"
"You don't, Jim? Why, they told me to ask you, as though _you_ would
know. Weren't you with him?"
"Why, yes, daddy. I--I got out late," and here the young face began to
cloud. "And then--such fun!" and the laughter once more came bubbling
joyously from his happy heart. "Some 'B' Troop horses got loose, and we
all ran to see the round-up, and we were hinder-most at the start,
Georgie and I, but _I_ caught 'em, and got there with the foremost, an'
I guess he got tired and went home because we ran away from him,
really."
But already the father's attention was diverted. His eyes were following
Stanley Foster, who, dancing lightly down the steps, waved his hand with
exuberant cordiality to the pair as he crossed the road and struck out
over the parade.
"When that fellow begins putting his hand on my shoulder or patting my
back or calling me old chap I know he's playing to 'do' me some way,"
once said a brother officer of Foster's, and Sandy Ray was thinking of
it when three minutes later Foster came bounding breezily in,
confidence, cordiality, and jovial good-fellowship beaming from his
well-groomed visage:
"Sandy, old boy, lend me a horse this afternoon, will you?"
Ray was alone at his desk. The bare little army office, with its few
maps and ornamental calendars adorning the unpapered walls, its
barrack-built table and chairs, its stacks of letter-files, boxes and
tins of samples, was an uninviting place at best, yet had never hitherto
appeared inhospitable. Even under the management of the still
half-crippled cavalryman, himself an abstainer from the cup that
sometimes cheers, and a partaker of a cup that always saddens, there had
ever been frank and cordial greeting for visiting comrades, followed
usually by invitation to taste the good cheer of the Canteen and
suggest, if possible, additional improvement. But it was a lack-luster
eye that turned on the entering officer this day. Sergeant Bates had but
just left the room after having, in answer to question, briefly stated
that no one but Captain Foster had visited the lieutenant's office
during church time Sunday. The captain had merely tasted the beer,
glanced about him, and then departed. No, not the way he came, the
parade side. The captain had looked into the reading-room and through
the billiard-room, which latter was closed on account of the day, and
had strolled out through the rear doorway, a short cut to the east gate.
That, then, seemed to complete the chain of evidence described by the
colonel, and the heart of Sandy Ray was seething when Foster bustled in,
while his voice, when presently there came reply, was as icily cold. All
the same he turned in his revolving chair and looked his visitor
straight in the eye, as he arose.
"What do you want him for?"
Foster flushed. He read unerringly the intense dislike in the young
officer's gaze, but he dissembled:
"To ride, 'bout four o'clock," was the matter-of-course reply.
"Major Dwight said both his horses were at your disposal. He's only had
one out to-day. Is Mrs. Dwight going to ride the other?"
Foster's eyelids shut to a narrow slit. His mustache began to bristle at
the ends. Now the red was flitting and his face was turning sallow.
"While I consider that none of your business, Mr. Ray--yes!"
"Then," said Sandy, his cheek white, his lips set, his eyes aflame, "you
can't have mine."
The low hum of voices, the gurgle of laughter drifting through the
stove-pipe hole and through the crevices of the pine partition from the
lounging-room beyond, seemed to die away almost at the moment. Ray had
hardly uplifted his voice. For an instant a silence fell on the facing
pair in the Exchange office--the one rather tall, fair, stylishly garbed
in the latest civilian fashion; the other short, slender, trimly built,
with dark curling hair and snapping black-brown eyes; both men trembling
now, but neither dropping an eyelid. Then with clinching fist and fiery
eyes the elder took a step forward. He was throwing off the mask. He was
speaking angrily, audibly:
"By Heaven, Ray, if I didn't happen to know that you are, or had been,
madly in love with Mrs. Dwight, I--I'd consider that an insult."
"Well," came the ready response, "why not so consider it--anyhow?"
In an instant the larger, heavier, stronger man had hurled himself on
the slender junior and, one sinewy hand on the back of the neck, the
other at the throat, Foster shook him furiously--but only for a second.
No sooner did Ray feel himself seized than he "let go" with both fists,
and both fists found their mark on Foster's face--one swing, the right,
stinging him on the unguarded jaw. Two more followed in the flash of a
second, and Foster, stunned and amazed, dropped his hold and for a
second recoiled. In blind fury the next moment he rushed again, Ray
springing lightly aside, whirling and sending his right with electric
snap square to the already smarting jowl--a blow that staggered yet did
not fell the stronger man, the man who even in his rage managed
partially, at least, to recover his wits, for as he straightened up he
held forth protesting hand and panted: "Stop! Not now. They hear us, and
by the God that made me you'll hear from me. You dare to strike--your
superior officer!"
"Superior be damned!" shouted Ray, raging for battle and reckless of
consequence. "You rank me two grades on the roster, but you're miles
behind as a man. Come again, if you dare, you cad!" And like a young
bantam the army-bred lad was dancing eagerly about, forgetful of his
lameness and watching like a cat his bulky antagonist.
"Not here, I say, nor with blackguard weapons you seem to know how to
handle; but--next time we meet, young man--next time!"
"Next time, this time, _any_ time!" shouted Ray. "And mind you, you
villain, make your will before you meet me!"
"And meantime, Captain Foster," came the stern commanding words from the
threshold, where suddenly stood the colonel, "pack your belongings and
quit the post. There, sir," and significantly he shook an open telegram,
"there, sir, are your orders."