A MOMENTOUS DAY
A week,--another long week,--went by at Minneconjou, and Major Dwight at
last was declared out of danger, though a badly shattered man. Mrs.
Dwight, who should have shown corresponding improvement, seemed,
however, not so well. Just in proportion as the major mended, his wife
appeared to fail. Both doctors persisted in the belief that her case was
one of nerves entirely. There was nothing organically wrong. She had
been under a great strain, of course, and her husband, in his lucid
moments, as well as in those of delirium, had shown strong antipathy to
her presence in the sick room. They had persuaded her, without much
difficulty, that it were better she kept away, and though pathetically,
properly grieved, she obeyed. Something, however, was preying upon
her--something she could not and would not confide to Mrs. Stone and
other sympathetic would-be consolers. "Madame was distressed at ill news
from her parents," Felicie had gone so far as to admit, but the ill news
did not seem to refer to illness, for there had been frequent letters
addressed in Farrell's sprawling fist, or the senora's precise
chirography, and of late these had begun to be supplemented by
telegrams.
In all this fortnight of alternating hope and anxiety Mrs. Ray had, with
proper inquiries, called but twice. She could do no less. She would do
no more. Mrs. Dwight occasionally appeared for an afternoon drive now,
but always with Felicie by her side in the phaeton--never, now that her
husband's guest and wits were gone, with a man. Other companionship
might have been better for her, it was generally suggested, but she
seemed to shrink from the conversation and, possibly, the interrogations
of those of her own sex and social caste.
Great was the surprise, therefore, when a polite and perfumed note came
to the Rays for Miss Priscilla Sanford, and would Miss Sanford do Mrs.
Dwight the great kindness to drive with her that day? Priscilla, who
knew not why, and who would gladly have avoided her, ordinarily, was now
doing universal penance according to her lights, and would have gone
driving with a Jezebel. Priscilla accepted, and Felicie, for the first
time, was left at home.
Sandy Ray's health had been suffering, and Stone saw it, and of his own
motion came over and said he considered it necessary that Mr. Ray should
take exercise. Walking being painful, the colonel said ride, and,
despite his arrest, riding anywhere within five miles' limit of the
flagstaff. Sandy thanked him, but really tried to sulk and stay home,
until the mother's gentle appeal prevailed and he began as the colonel
had suggested. There were men who thought the general would "row" Stone
for such indulgence to a man under serious charges, but Stone said he
knew his business--and the general. He would neither argue nor defend
his position, but he would like to bet two to one the general would
approve. It was rumored the general himself thought of running out to
Minneconjou and perhaps away to Wister and looking into matters along
the lower line, having but recently returned from a look along the
upper. The court had not yet been ordered. It was believed that the
charges might still be withdrawn, so difficult was it to believe Sandy
Ray capable of such a crime. But Ray insisted on trial, said he desired
the most rigid investigation, and could never be content without. It was
a most unsatisfactory situation, so far as he was concerned, and, with
no duty to perform, no drill to stir his blood, nothing to do but try to
comfort mother, reassure Maidie, who was writing every day or two, watch
for the coming of the mail from Manila and the detail for his court,
Sandy Ray was growing morbid.
He was gone and loping up the valley when the phaeton with pale-faced,
languid Mrs. Dwight stopped at the door for Miss Sanford. Ray did not
wish to see her. He had not seen her to speak to since the night before
Dwight's breakdown, as that episode by common consent was now referred
to. He had altered his manner toward Priscilla, though resentment still
rankled, because of her almost dependent position under their roof. Had
Priscilla owned enough money to take her back to the seaboard States,
and had then remained, Sandy, perhaps, would have found forgiveness
beyond him. Even now he raged at heart when he thought of her willful
exaggeration as to the Canteen, her utter misrepresentation of
facts--especially as to his father. Again and again he owned to his
mother he felt like shaking Priscilla whenever he looked at little Jim,
who so often now became his companion on these daily rides. Once or
twice, when the patient was sleeping soundly, the doctors had taken the
lad to his bedside, but the meeting between them was yet to come. Dwight
was still too weak for experiments, and how he would bear it all when
stronger was a matter of grave conjecture.
But on this particular day when the phaeton came for Priscilla, little
Jim had again been trouting with Sergeant French and, as luck would have
it, came dancing in with his basket of prizes to show Aunt Marion just
as Priscilla descended from her room, dressed for the drive. Three weeks
agone Priscilla would have reproved his entering without first washing
his hands and smoothing his hair. To-day she bent and hurriedly kissed
his flushed and happy face, and he looked up astonished. They had never
let him know--they could not bear to speak of--Priscilla's share in the
events of that tragic morning, and when in her downright honesty
Priscilla would have sought and told him, Aunt Marion forbade. The boy
who formerly shrank from was now growing to like her. She read to him,
helped him in the daily lessons, Aunt Marion deeming it wise he should
study even though this was vacation time; but never before had he known
Priscilla to tender a caress. Mrs. Ray watched them curiously as
together they left the room to see his catch properly stored in the
icebox. Presently, hand in hand, they returned through the hall and went
forth upon the veranda just as the phaeton suddenly drew up at the gate,
and Priscilla felt the little hand withdrawing. He did not know mamma
was coming. He went unwillingly, but obedient, to receive her effusive
words of greeting, and to hear, unresponsive, that he, dear child, was
looking so much better since dear Mrs. Ray had taken charge of him in
all these dreadful days. But she did not ask him to drive with them, nor
did he wish to go, for she had need to speak with Priscilla, and Jimmy
would have been in the way.
It seems that matters had come to such a pass that Mrs. Dwight felt that
she must have advice, and, oh, how her heart yearned for a friend! Many
of the ladies had been kind, yes, very kind, Mrs. Stone especially; and
others, even Mrs. Ray, who she felt, she feared, she _knew_, did not
like or trust her, though she had so longed to win Mrs. Ray's
friendship. But even Mrs. Stone and Mrs. Ray could not be to her now
what she so needed--a real friend and adviser, a confidant, in fact, and
these ladies were, though they did not look it, of an age sufficient to
be her mother. What she craved was one nearer herself in years (Miss
Sanford was certainly ten years older and not easily flattered), for now
a time had come, said Mrs. Dwight, when there might be conflict between
the duty she owed her husband and--and----Priscilla gasped and bridled
and began to bristle all over with premonition of what might be coming,
then breathed a sudden sigh of relief, yet of disappointment, as Mrs.
Dwight concluded with "the deference due her parents." In their letters
both her father and her mother had been appealing to her to appeal to
her husband to come further to their financial aid; that Major Farrell
had relied upon the backing of his son-in-law in certain enterprises;
that he was now in desperate straits, and--and finally they had gone so
far as to threaten--threaten her, their daughter, with untold calamity
if she did not instantly assure them that material aid would speedily be
forthcoming. She had written, telling them of her husband's perilous
plight, of the possibly fatal illness, of the impossibility of anything
being done until his recovery, and their telegrams in acknowledgment
were imperative. She felt that she must bring her burden of trouble and
ask Miss Sanford,--of whose charity and gentleness the garrison never
tired of telling by the hour,--for Miss Sanford must feel and know that
since the day he so raged against his own son, he--he had even seemed to
turn against her, his devoted and dutiful wife.
And now when the doctors said he was almost well enough to be approached
on matters of urgent business, she dared not. She had lost, perhaps, her
influence. "Then what could _I_ possibly do?" asked Priscilla bluntly,
and then came the explanation. The woman whom he most honored,
respected, believed in, the woman who had been the devoted friend of
her,--that was gone, with, alas, his heart buried by her side,--that
woman, Mrs. Ray, if she would but speak with him, plead with him for
her, his fond, but, ah, so cruelly misjudged wife, whose heart was
failing her now, and at a time when for his sake as well as hers she
needed all her strength. If Mrs. Ray could but see her way to do this,
ah, with what gratitude and devotion would she, Inez, ever think of
her--and all Minneconjou knew Mrs. Ray's love for her noble niece.
Everyone said that if Miss Sanford but willed a thing and urged it upon
her aunt it was a thing accomplished. Out of the goodness of her heart
would not Miss Sanford strive for her, a heart-crushed, well-nigh
hopeless wife, upon whom there had but recently dawned the knowledge
that, that--could not Miss Sanford imagine?
And in the midst of the gush of tears with which she closed came sudden
distraction. They had been trundling easily, aimlessly over the smooth,
hard prairie road, the well-trained, well-matched ponies ambling
steadily along. They had given the cavalry herds and herd guards a wide
berth, and the townward route, for Mrs. Dwight shunned, she said, the
sight of almost any face but the sweet and sympathetic one beside her.
They had turned southward, after rounding Castle Butte, a bold, jagged
upheaval among the nearest foothills, and were winding slowly down this
narrow and crooked ravine toward the broad Minneconjou bottom, when, as
the ponies reached a fairly level bit of road, and were swiftly turning
a point of bluff, they suddenly and violently shied to the right, almost
upsetting the dainty vehicle, and nearly pitching its helpless freight
headlong into the road. Then with the bits in their teeth, away they
tore, full gallop down the next incline, the phaeton bounding after
them, and so, mercifully as it happened, out upon the broad level of the
valley, with the Minneconjou and its fringing line of cottonwoods barely
five hundred yards across the bench. The pygmy tiger had been left at
home; his ears would have been too active, and Mrs. Dwight, though
accustomed to driving her usually gentle and tractable team, was utterly
helpless now. She hung on desperately to the reins. But this was a new
and delirious experience for the merry little scamps in harness. They
were headed for home. There was a deep bend of the stream and a ford
through the shallows, and an abrupt dip of four feet from the bench
level, and the words of their fair, frail charioteer were stimulating
rather than soothing, so away they went, and it was high time for Miss
Sanford, if she wished to save their necks, to throw convention and
etiquette to the wind, to take personal control--and the reins.
No one ever doubted Priscilla's nerve, yet here sat Priscilla hanging on
to the side-rail with both hands and staring backward, her head twisted
half round, with all her wondering, startled eyes, for the objects that
had stampeded the ponies were a brace of frowsy, blanketed Minneconjou
braves, squatted on the bunch grass in the shade of the bluffs at the
side of the road, in close conference with two men in khaki and campaign
hats, one of them, though instantly the brim was jerked down over his
eyes, she knew to be Blenke,--Blenke whose woe-begone, remorseful
letters she had duly filed and docketed, but who, he declared, was too
shame-stricken to show his face to her of all the world. What on earth
was Blenke doing there in that out-of-the-way nook, and in confab with
Indians? They were hidden from view by a wave of prairie almost as
suddenly as they had been whirled into sight, and then Priscilla had to
give her aid and attention to Mrs. Dwight, who was swaying in her seat.
She grasped the reins with her strong, wiry hands, but the little devils
were within an hundred yards of the brink and reckless of everything but
the mad exhilaration of a runaway. She heard from somewhere a shout,
"Pull your left rein _hard_!" and with both hands she tugged with sudden
and startling result. The ponies almost instantly veered to the left;
the light vehicle tipped slightly to the right, and with that Inez went
toppling headforemost over the low, leathern mud guard, and Priscilla
was alone. Still clinging to that left rein, she swung her discomfited
steeds in broad, big circle, narrowly scraping yet safely missing the
edge, and so, gradually, they found themselves galloping out once more
over the prairie and away from the homeward road and back toward that
narrow ravine whence two Indians were now lashing their finally captured
ponies southward across the valley; and then, still circling, the
pygmies discovering that they were heading westward once more and
farther from home, their enthusiasm by degrees, therefore, became
beautifully less. They slowed gradually down to a lunging canter, then
to a shame-faced trot, and finally, with Priscilla in complete control
of both reins, her own head and theirs, they were brought at a decorous
gait back to the road and the point where their mistress had quit
them--and the lady had disappeared.
Guiding them carefully down the short declivity to the water's edge,
Priscilla came upon a not unlooked-for explanation. Sandy's horse had
disappeared. His owner was kneeling at the edge of the rippling waters,
bending over a lovely, prostrate form, alternately sprinkling and
fanning the dusty, pallid, but beautiful face, then dropping his hat to
chafe the limp little hands. With eyes full of terror he glanced up at
his cousin. With a voice half-choked with dread, he called to her, "Let
those little brutes go, Pris, and come here quick!" But Priscilla, with
wisdom untrammeled by passion and dread, lashed their bits to a tree
trunk before she would quit her charges, and by the time she reached the
interesting group at the water's edge the dusky head was pillowed on a
tan-colored knee, and further supported by a tan-colored arm, and the
loveliest dark eyes in the world, just unclosing, were gazing
imploringly up into her cousin's agonized features. A faint flush was
rising to the soft cheek, and lips that were colorless but a moment or
two agone, now reddening again, now quivering and beautifully alluring,
seemed almost uplifting, as though to reward, to welcome his, as with
joy unmistakable they murmured, "Sandy--Sandy--I knew--you'd come."