For nearly a week after the home-coming of his beloved daughter John
Folsom was too happy in her presence to give much thought to other
matters. By the end of that week, however, the honest old Westerner
found anxieties thickening about him. There were forty-eight hours of
undimmed rejoicing. Elinor was so radiant, so fond, and had grown, so
said the proud father to himself, and so said others, so wondrously
lovely. His eyes followed her every movement. He found himself negligent
of her gentle little friend and guest, Jessie Dean, to whom he had vowed
to be a second father, and such a friend as she had been to his Pappoose
when, a homesick, sad-eyed child, she entered upon her schooldays.
Elinor herself had to chide him, and with contrition and dismay he
admitted his fault, and then for hours nothing could exceed his
hospitable attentions to Jessie, who, sorely disappointed because
Marshall was not there to meet her, was growing anxious as no tidings
came from him. Two whole days the damsels spent in going over the new
house, exclaiming over papa's lavish preparations, but wishing presently
that Mrs. Fletcher were not quite so much in evidence, here, there, and
everywhere. Only when bedtime came and they could nestle in one or other
of their connecting rooms were they secure from interruption, and even
then it presently appeared they could not talk confidentially as of old.
Folsom had taken them driving each afternoon, he himself handling the
reins over his handsome bays, Elinor at his side the first time, and
Jessie, with Mrs. Fletcher, occupying the rear seat. But this, Elinor
whispered to him, was not as it should be. Her guest should have the
seat of honor. So, next day, Jessie was handed to the front and Mrs.
Fletcher and Pappoose were placed in rear, and in this order they bowled
round the fort and listened to the band and talked with several of the
women and one or two officers, but these latter could tell nothing about
Lieutenant Dean except that they had been expecting him for two days--he
having taken the long way home, which both Jessie and Pappoose
considered odd under the circumstances, though neither said so and
nobody thought to explain. But the morning of the third day "Miss
Folsom"--as the veteran was amazed to hear his daughter addressed, yet
on reflection concluded that he'd be tempted to kick any man who
addressed her otherwise--seized a favorable opportunity and whisked her
fond father into a corner of his library, and there gave him to
understand that in Eastern circles the housekeeper might sometimes,
perhaps, accompany the young ladies when they were going shopping, or
the like, alone, but that when escorted by papa it was quite
unnecessary. It was in fact not at all conventional.
"Bless my soul!" said Folsom. "I supposed that was what she was for.
What did these women mean by telling me I must have a, companion--a
guide--etc.?"
"They meant, you blessed Daddy, that they wished to provide you
with--one of their number, and me--with something I do not want. If Mrs.
Fletcher is to be housekeeper I have nothing to say, but--don't you
think your big daughter old enough and wise enough to select her own
companions? Daddy dear," she continued, after a little pause, and
nestling close to him with a pathetic look in the big brown eyes, her
lips twitching a bit, "I know how loving and thoughtful you have been in
all this, and I wouldn't have you think me ungrateful, but--did you
believe I was always going to be a little girl? What do you suppose I
studied housekeeping for at school? Mrs. Fletcher is engaged, I presume,
and I can't ask you to undo that now, but I wish you had written to me
first. However, if you don't mind, there's somebody I'd rather you would
invite to take the fourth seat to-day, and then you can have Pappoose
beside you, if you wish."
"Why, of course, sweetheart, any one you like."
"Lieutenant Loomis, then, Daddy--the officer we met on the train. Jessie
likes him and he's such a friend of her brother--the only one we have
yet seen who seems to know him at all. Then you could ask him to dinner,
too."
Folsom's face was a study. Doubt and perplexity both were twitching in
the little muscles about his lips.
"We met three officers, did we not, Elinor, and I had thought--somewhat
of--asking the major and his guest. He said he wished to call. He was
here while we were driving yesterday. I met him later."
"Yes, I saw his card," was the hurried, indifferent answer. "But they
are not like Mr. Loomis. Daddy, I did not at all like that Captain
Newhall, or--for that matter----"
"They both seemed prodigiously struck with you," said Folsom, in
misguided confidence yet pardonable pride. "They've done, nothing but
talk to me about you ever since."
"They did nothing but talk to me all the way over the mountains, except
when they were out taking what I have reason to believe was an
occasional drink, Daddy mine. Jess had Mr. Loomis to herself. They have
found your weak spot, Daddy. They know you love to talk of your
daughter. You have only known Major Burleigh a little while, is it not
so?"
"Only within the year, perhaps, though of course I've heard of him a
great deal."
"And this Captain Newhall, whose regiment is in Louisiana while he's out
here on leave--I thought officers went East when they got leave."
"Newhall says he's out here looking over some mining schemes. He has
money to invest, I believe."
"He should invest some money in a traveling suit, Daddy dear. That coat
and his linen seemed woefully out of condition. Gentlemen are not
careless about such matters."
"Oh, he explained that his trunks were delayed in Omaha or somewhere,
and were coming along next train. I own I was prejudiced against him,
too, but of course if he's a friend and guest of Burleigh's he--he must
be all right. He's staying with him at the depot."
"And you've got to invite them to dinner?" asked Miss Folsom, after
another pause, during which she had been thinking deeply.
"Not if you don't want it, pet. Of course they'll expect it. Army
officers are hospitable, you know, Burleigh has asked me to dine with
him a dozen times, though I've only been there once."
"Then you'll have to invite him, Daddy," was the answer, with quick
decision. "Only, just wait for a day or two. Captain Newhall was going
right out to the mines, he said, and there may be others we'd be glad to
have. Jessie's brother ought to be here any hour."
"Yes," said Folsom dubiously. "I've been thinking about him--I've been
wishing----"
But he hesitated and faltered and could not meet the deep brown eyes, so
full of searching inquiry and keen intelligence.
"You've been thinking--what, Daddy?" she asked, and now her slender
hands were on his shoulders and she was turning him so that she could
study his face. "You have been hearing something you do not wish us to
know, Daddy dear. I heard Major Burleigh say something to Mr. Loomis
about--about Lieutenant Dean, and I know Mr. Loomis did not like it, and
Jessie and I can't believe it. Father, where is he? Why doesn't he come?
Why do these--these people at the fort hem and haw and hesitate when
they speak about him? Jessie is getting so troubled."
"_I'm_ getting troubled, daughter," answered Folsom impulsively. "I
never met a likelier young fellow or one that promised to make a better
officer. He may be all right, too, only it isn't so much what they _do_
say as what they don't say that troubles me. Burleigh here and old
Stevens out at the fort and one or two others I've asked about him.
Burleigh says he 'lost his nerve' when they met Red Cloud's big band. A
boy might be excused for that so long as he didn't misbehave. It was big
responsibility for a young lieutenant. But these people, as you speak of
them out at the fort, really know very little about Dean. Burleigh says
he's in a position that enables him to know so much more about the
character and habits of the young officers."
"Surely he can say nothing against Mr. Dean!" exclaimed Pappoose,
looking up with quick indignation in her brown eyes. "No one knows how
good and generous he has been to Jessie and his mother."
They were standing at the moment in the corner of the library farthest
from the doorway. The front windows opened to the north, giving a fine
view of the rolling hills rising higher and higher and looking down upon
the grass-grown slopes spread out at their feet, criss-crossed and
traversed by hard-beaten roads and trails. Immediately in front of the
house Folsom had seeded and watered and coaxed into semblance of a lawn
the best turf to be had in that section of Wyoming, and inclosed it in a
spick and span white picket fence. The main road between the fort and
the railway station passed directly in front of his gate. The side
window of the cozy room looked out to the west over the valley of a
rushing stream, once rich in trout, but now much infested by the mules
from Burleigh's corral, which lay half a mile away to the southeast, out
of sight of Folsom's house except from the upper windows. Eager to stock
the library with standard works against his daughter's coming, the old
trader had consulted a friend among the officers and had sent a lavish
order to a house in Chicago. Books, therefore, were there in plenty on
the handsome shelves, and they were not ill-chosen either, but it was
Mrs. Fletcher who pointed out how stiff and angular everything looked,
who introduced the easy lounge, the soft rugs, the heavy hanging
portieres of costly Navajo blankets. It was her deft touch that draped
the curtains at the windows and softened and beautified the lines the
hand of man would have left crude and repellent. And that library had
been her favorite haunt; but since the coming of the girls Mrs. Fletcher
had seemed to retire to her own room aloft, and to spend no time below
stairs that was not demanded by her household duties. Now as the father
and daughter were talking earnestly together, they heard Mrs. Fletcher
moving about overhead as though looking over the work of the housemaid.
Jessie had gone to her own room to write a short letter to her mother.
Major Burleigh was to come at 10.30 to drive them out to Pinnacle Butte,
a sharp, rocky height far across the valley, from the summit of which a
wonderful view was to be obtained. It lacked but five minutes of the
time and suddenly Mrs. Fletcher's voice was heard on the floor above. It
was a well-modulated voice, gentle and controlled, with a clear, vibrant
ring in it that made the words distinctly audible to the hearers below.
"The major's carriage is coming up the street, Miss Dean. There are two
officers."
"Two!" exclaimed Jess, starting to her feet, thinking only of her
brother. "Oh! I wonder if--" And then they heard her go pit-a-pat
through the hall to the front of the house, heard Mrs. Fletcher more
deliberately follow, heard presently the beat of horses' hoofs on the
hard roadway, and the whir of coining wheels. "I'll go out to meet them,
Elinor--I'll--I'll talk to you more about this some other time. You
don't care to go on this ride this morning one bit, do you dear?" he
added uneasily.
"No, father; frankly, I don't--but he has been polite to you and
attentive to us. There's no help for it."
And so Folsom went alone to the door to meet his visitors on the porch
without, and did not hear, did not see Mrs. Fletcher, who came hastily
down the stairs, her face singularly pale, a glitter of excitement in
her eyes. On tiptoe she hastened along the broad hall, reaching the
library door just as Folsom stepped out on the porch. On tiptoe she
darted in, closed the door behind her, almost rushed to the north
window, and there grasping the curtain she crouched, heedless of the
possibility of observation, and for half a minute clung and crouched and
stared. Then, as Folsom's genial, powerful voice was heard in welcoming
accents, and heavy footsteps came along the broad board walk, the woman
straightened suddenly and, noiseless as before, hurried back across the
room and came face to face with the daughter of the house.
"Oh, Miss Folsom!" she faltered, her bosom heaving in violent agitation.
"I did not know you were here. I--excuse me--" and hastened out of the
room and up the winding stairs.
"Pappoose" never hesitated. Coolly, quickly, she stepped to the window.
Major Burleigh had just reached the top step and was exchanging greeting
with his host. The stylish team and glistening wagon were just spinning
away.
"It'll be back in five minutes," she, heard the quartermaster explain to
her father. "Newhall has to meet come people coming in by stage from
Green River. I thought I'd rather spend the time here."
And on the back seat, affably waving his hand in adieu, and jauntily
lifting his rakish forage cap in salutation general to any of the young
ladies who might be watching, sat the gentleman whose regiment was in
Louisiana while he was up here on leave looking after mining
investments.