To say that Mr. Ray's abrupt announcement was a surprise to the dense
throng of listeners is putting it mildly. To say that it was received
with incredulity on part of the soldiery, and concern, if not keen
apprehension, by old friends of Sandy's father who were present, is but
a faint description of the effect of the lad's emphatic statement.
To nine out of ten among the assembly the young officer was a total
stranger. To more than nine out of ten the identification of the dead as
Walter Foster, Maidie Ray's luckless lover, was already complete, and
many men who have made up their minds are incensed at those who dare to
differ from them.
True, Mr. Stuyvesant had said that the sentry, Number 6, did not remind
him except in stature, form, and possibly in features, of the recruit he
knew as Foster on the train. He did not speak like him. But, when
closely questioned by the legal adviser of the provost-marshal's
department--the officer who conducted most of the examination with much
of the manner of a prosecuting attorney, Mr. Stuyvesant admitted that he
had only seen Foster once to speak to, and that was at night in the dim
light of the Sacramento station on what might be called the off-side of
the train, where the shadows were heavy, and while the face of the young
soldier was partially covered with a bandage. Yet Vinton attached
importance to his aide-de-camp's opinion, and when Ray came out
flat-footed, as it were, in support of Stuyvesant's views, the general
was visibly gratified.
But, except for these very few, Ray had spoken to unbelieving ears.
Sternly the military lawyer took him in hand and began to probe. No need
to enter into details. In ten minutes the indignant young gentleman, who
never in his life had told a lie, found himself the target of ten score
of hostile eyes, some wrathful, some scornful, some contemptuous, some
insolent, some only derisive, but all, save those of a few silently
observant officers, threatening or at least inimical.
Claiming first that he knew Walter Foster well (and, indeed, it seemed
to him he did, for his mother's letters to the Big Horn ranch had much
to say of Maidie's civilian admirer, though Maidie herself could rarely
be induced to speak of him), Ray was forced to admit that he had met him
only twice or thrice during a brief and hurried visit to Fort Averill to
see his loved ones before they moved to Fort Leavenworth, and then he
owned he paid but little attention to the sighing swain. Questioned as
to his opportunities of studying and observing Foster, Sandy had been
constrained to say that he hadn't observed him closely at all. He
"didn't want to--exactly." They first met, it seems, in saddle. The
winter weather was glorious at Averill. They had a fine pack of hounds;
coursing for jack-rabbit was their favorite sport, and, despite the fact
that Foster had a beautiful and speedy horse, "his seat was so poor and
his hand so jerky he never managed to get up to the front," said Sandy.
It was not brought out in evidence, but the fact was that Sandy could
never be got to look on Foster with the faintest favor as a suitor for
his sister's hand. A fellow who could neither ride, shoot, nor
spar--whose accomplishments were solely of the carpet and perhaps the
tennis-court--the boy had no use for. He and Maidie rode as though born
to the saddle. He had seen Foster in an English riding-suit and English
saddle and an attempt at the English seat, but decidedly without the
deft English hand on his fretting hunter's mouth the one day that they
appeared in field together, and the sight was too much for Sandy. That
night at dinner, and the later dance, Foster's perfection of dress and
manner only partially redeemed him in Sandy's eyes, and--well--really,
that was about all he ever had seen of Foster.
Questioned as to his recollection of Foster's features, stature, etc.,
Sandy did his best, and only succeeded in portraying the deceased almost
to the life. Except, he said, Foster had long, thick, curving eyelashes,
and "this man hasn't"--but it was remembered that brows and lashes both
were singed off in the fire. So that point failed. Questioned as to
whether he realized that his description tallied closely with the
appearance of the deceased, Sandy said that that all might be, but still
"this isn't Foster." Questioned as to whether, if the deceased were
again to have the color and action,--the life that Foster had a year
ago,--might not the resemblance to Foster be complete?--Sandy simply
"couldn't tell."
Nearly an hour was consumed in trying to convince him he must, or at
least might, be mistaken, but to no purpose. He mentioned a card
photograph of Foster in ranch costume that would convince the gentlemen,
he thought, that there was no such very strong resemblance, and a note
was written to Miss Porter asking her to find and send the picture in
question. It came, a cabinet photo of a tall, slender, well-built young
fellow with dark eyes and brows and thick, curving lashes and oval,
attractive face, despite its boyishness, and nine men out of ten who saw
and compared it with the face of the dead declared it looked as though
it had been taken for the latter perhaps a year or so agone. Ray had
hurt his own case, and, when excused to return to his sister's side,
went forth into the gathering twilight stricken with the consciousness
that he was believed to have lied in hopes of averting scandal from that
sister's name.
And on the morrow with that _post-mortem_, so insisted on by Brick, no
longer delayed, the dead again lay mutely awaiting the final action of
the civil-military authorities, and to the surprise of the officers and
guards, before going to the daily routine that kept him from early morn
till late at night in his beleaguered office, Drayton came and bowed his
gray head and gazed with sombre eyes into the sleeping features now
before him.
A pinched and tired look was coming over the waxen face that had been so
calm and placid, as though in utter weariness over this senseless delay.
Drayton had been told of young Ray's almost astounding declaration, and
officers of the law half expected him to make some adverse comment
thereon, but he did not. Alert correspondents, amazed to see the corps
commander at such a place and so far from the Ayuntamiento, surrounded
him as he would have retaken his seat in his carriage, and clamored for
something as coming from him in the way of an expression of opinion,
which, with grave courtesy, the general declined to give, but could not
prevent appearing a week later in a thousand papers and in a dozen
different forms--ferried over to Hong Kong by the Shogun or some other
ship, and cabled thence to waiting Christendom.
Drayton had his own reasons for wishing to see the remains, then Vinton,
and later Ray, and as his movements were closely followed, the wits of
the correspondents were sorely taxed. But the examination was to be
resumed at nine. A rumor was running wild that Miss Ray herself was to
be summoned to appear, and Drayton had to be dropped in favor of a more
promising sensation.
It began with dreary surgical technicalities. The heavy bullet had
traversed the ascending aorta "near its bifurcation," said Brick, who,
though only an autopsical adjunct, was permitted to speak for his
associates. Death, said he, had resulted from shock and was probably
instantaneous. No other cause could be attributed. No other wound was
discovered. No marks of scuffle except "some unimportant scratches" on
the shoulder. The bullet was found to weigh exactly the same as those of
the unexploded cartridges in poor Maidie's prized revolver, and though
Brick would gladly have kept the floor and told very much more, the
provost-marshal as gladly got rid of him, for, despite the unwillingness
of the medical officers at the Cuartel de Meysic, Connelly had been
trundled down to Ermita in a springy ambulance and was presently
awaiting his turn.
The moment his coming was announced, Connelly was ushered in and Brick
shut off short.
A nurse and doctor were with the sturdy little Irishman, and he needed
but brief instruction as to what was wanted. Taken to the trestle and
bidden to look upon the face of the deceased and say, if he could, who
it was, Connelly looked long and earnestly, and then turned feebly but
calmly to the attentive array.
"If it wasn't that this looks much thinner," said he, "I'd say it was a
man who 'listed with our detachment at Denver last June, about the first
week. The name was Foster. He disappeared somewhere between Sacramento
and Oakland, and I never saw him again."
Questioned as to whether there was any mark by which the recruit could
be known, Connelly said that he was present when Foster was physically
examined, and he never saw a man with a whiter skin; there wasn't a mark
on him anywhere then that he could remember. Bidden to tell what he knew
of Foster, the young artilleryman was given a seat, and somewhat feebly
proceeded. Foster was bound to enlist, he said, was of legal age and
looked it; gave his full name, his home and business; said he owned a
ranch down in New Mexico near Fort Averill; didn't know enough to go in
for a commission and was determined to enlist and serve as a private
soldier in the cavalry. He had good clothes and things that he put in a
trunk and expressed back to Averill, keeping only a valise full of
underwear, etc., but that was burned up on the car afterwards. Two days
later, before they started for the West, a man who said his name was
Murray came to the rendezvous and asked for Foster, who was then being
drilled. A detachment was to start the next day, and anybody could see
that Foster wasn't glad to welcome Murray by any means, but on that very
evening Murray said that he too wished to enlist and go with his
"friend." He squeezed through the physical examination somehow, and they
took him along, though nobody liked his looks.
Then Connelly told what he could of the fire and of Foster's subsequent
disappearance, also of Murray and Murray's misconduct. They asked
Connelly about Lieutenant Stuyvesant, and here Connelly waxed almost
eloquent, certainly enthusiastic, in Stuyvesant's praise. Somebody went
so far, however, as to ask whether he had ever seen any manifestation of
ill-will between Stuyvesant and Recruit Foster, whereat Connelly looked
astonished, seemed to forget his fever, and to show something akin to
indignation.
"No, indeed!" said he. There was nothing but good-will of the heartiest
kind everywhere throughout the detachment except for that one
blackguard, Murray. They all felt most grateful to the lieutenant, and
so far as he knew they'd all do most anything for him, all except
Murray, but he was a tough, he was a biter, and here the sick man feebly
uplifted his hand and pointed to the bluish-purple marks at the base of
the thumb.
"Murray did that," said Connelly simply. "He was more like a beast than
a man."
But the examiners did not seem interested in Murray. General Vinton, who
had again entered and was a close listener, and was observed to be
studying the witness closely, presently beckoned to one of the doctors
and said a word in undertone to him. The medico shook his head. There
was a lull in the proceedings a moment. Connelly was too sick a man to
be kept there long, and his doctor plainly showed his anxiety to get him
away. The crowd too wanted him to go. He had told nothing especially new
except that Murray and Foster were acquainted, and Murray enlisted
because Foster had.
"Everybody" said by this time this must be Foster's body. What
"everybody" wanted was to get Connelly out of the way now, then
perhaps--_another_ fever patient might be summoned, for they couldn't
expect to keep those remains another day. There was widespread, if
unspoken, hope among the score of correspondents that the
provost-marshal would feel that he must summon Miss Ray.
But before the examiners could decide there came an unexpected scene.
Vinton went over, bent, and whispered to the provost-marshal, who looked
up, nodded, and glanced towards the witness, sitting flushed and
heavy-eyed, but patient, across the room. Vinton was plainly asking
something, and to the manifest displeasure of many of the crowd the
little Irishman was again accosted.
"You say Murray was a biter and bit you so that the marks last to this
day. Did you take note of any peculiarity in his teeth?"
"Yes, sir. One of 'em was gone near the front, right-hand side, next to
the big yellow eye-tooth."
"Would that make a peculiar mark on human flesh?"
"Yes, sir," answered Connelly, holding up his hand again and showing the
scar, now nearly five months old.
"Steward," said the officer placidly, "uncover the shoulder there and
let Connelly look at the mark Dr. Brick referred to."
Connelly did. He studied the purplish discolorations in the milky skin,
and excitement, not altogether febrile, suddenly became manifest in his
hot, flushed face. Then he held forth one hand, palm uppermost, eagerly
compared the ugly scars at the base of the thumb with the faint marks on
the broad, smooth shoulder, and turned back to the darkened room. With
hand uplifted he cried:
"Major,"--and now he was trembling with mingled weakness and
eagerness,--"I knew that man Murray was following this young feller to
squeeze money out of him, and when he couldn't get it by threats, he
tried by force. He's followed him clear to Manila, and that's his mark
sure's this is!--sure's there's a God in heaven!"