I.

In the Pullman car of the westward-bound express, half-way across the

continent, two passengers were gazing listlessly out over the wintry

landscape. It was a bitter morning in February. North and south the

treeless prairie rolled away in successive ridge and depression. The

snow lay deep in the dry ravines and streaked the sea-like surface with

jagged lines of foam between which lay broad spaces clean-swept by the

gale. Heavy masses of cloud, dark and forbidding, draped the sky from

zenith to horizon, and the air was thick with spiteful gusts and spits

of snow, crackling against the window-panes, making fierce dashes every

time a car door was hurriedly opened, and driving about the platforms

like a myriad swarm of fleecy and aggressive gnats raging for battle.

Every now and then, responsive to some wilder blast, a blinding white

cloud came whirling from the depths of the nearest gully and breaking

like spray over the snow fence along the line. Not a sign of life was

visible. The tiny mounds in the villages of the prairie-dogs seemed

blocked and frozen; even the trusty sentinel had "deserted post" and

huddled with his fellows for warmth and shelter in the bowels of the

earth. Fluttering owl and skulking coyote, too, had vanished from the

face of nature. Timid antelope--fleetest coursers of the prairie--and

stolid horned cattle had gone, none knew whither, nor cared to know

until the "blizzard" had subsided. Two heavy engines fought their way,

panting, into the very teeth of the gale and slowly wound the long train

after them up-grade among the foot-hills of the great plateau of the

Rockies. Once in a while, when stopping for a moment at some group of

brown-painted sheds and earth-battened shanties, the wind moaned and

howled among the iron braces and brake-chains beneath the car and made

such mournful noise that it was a relief to start once more and lose

sound of its wailing in the general rumble. As for the scenery, only as

a picture of shiver-provoking monotony and desolation would one care to

take a second look.

And yet, some miles ahead, striving hard to reach the railway in time to

intercept this very train, a small battalion of cavalry was struggling

through the blasts, officers and men afoot and dragging their own

benumbed limbs and half-benumbed chargers through the drifts that lay

deep at the bottom of every "coulée." Some few soldiers remained in

saddle: they were too frozen to walk at all. Some few fell behind, and

would have thrown themselves flat upon the prairie in the lethargy that

is but premonition of death by freezing. Like men half deadened by

morphine, their rescue depended on heroic measures, humane in their

seeming brutality. Officers who at other times were all gentleness now

fell upon the hapless stragglers with kicks and blows. As the train drew

up at the platform of a station in mid-prairie, a horseman enveloped in

fur and frost and steam from his panting steed reined up beside the

leading engine and shouted to the occupants of the cab,--

"For God's sake hold on a few minutes. We've got a dozen frozen men with

us we must send on to Fort Warrener." And the train was held.

Meantime, those far to the rear in the sleeper knew nothing of what was

going on ahead. The car was warm and comfortable, and most of its

occupants were apparently appreciative of its shelter and coseyness in

contrast with the cheerless scene without. A motherly-looking woman had

produced her knitting, and was blithely clicking away at her needles,

while her enterprising son, a youth of four summers and undaunted

confidence in human nature, tacked up and down the aisle and made

impetuous incursions on the various sections by turns, receiving such

modified welcome as could be accorded features streaked with mingled

candy and cinders, and fingers whose propensity to cling to whatsoever

they touched was due no more to instincts of a predatory nature than to

the adhesive properties of the glucose which formed so large a

constituent of the confections he had been industriously consuming since

early morning. Four men playing whist in the rearmost section, two or

three commercial travellers, whose intimacy with the porter and airs of

easy proprietorship told of an apparent controlling interest in the

road, a young man of reserved manners, reading in a section all by

himself, a baby sleeping quietly upon the seat opposite the two

passengers first mentioned, and a Maltese kitten curled up in the lap of

one of them, completed the list of occupants.

The proximity of the baby and the kitten furnishes strong presumptive

evidence of the sex and general condition of the two passengers referred

to, and renders detail superfluous. A baby rarely travels without a

woman, or a kitten with a woman already encumbered with a baby. The baby

belonged to the elder passenger, the kitten to the younger. The one was

a buxom matron, the other a slender maid. In their ages there must have

been a difference of fifteen years; in feature there was still wider

disparity. The elder was a fine-looking woman, and one who prided

herself upon the Junoesque proportions which she occasionally exhibited

in a stroll for exercise up and down the aisle. Yet no one would call

her a beauty. Her eyes were of a somewhat fishy and uncertain blue; the

lids were tinged with an unornamental pink that told of irritation of

the adjacent interior surface and of possible irritability of temper.

Her complexion was of that mottled type which is so sore a trial to its

possessor and yet so inestimable a comfort to social rivals; but her

features were handsome, her teeth fine, her dress, bearing, and demeanor

those of a woman of birth and breeding, and yet one who might have

resented the intimation that she was not strikingly handsome. She looked

like a woman with a will of her own; her head was high, her step was

firm; it was of just such a walk as hers that Virgil wrote his "_vera

incessu patuit dea_," and she made the young man in the section by

himself think of that very passage as he glanced at her from under his

heavy, bushy eyebrows. She looked, moreover, like a woman with a

capacity for influencing people contrary to their will and judgment, and

with a decided fondness for the exercise of that unpopular function.

There was the air of _grande dame_ about her, despite the simplicity of

her dress, which, though of rich material, was severely plain. She wore

no jewelry. Her hands were snugly gloved, and undisfigured by the

distortions of any ring except the marriage circlet. Her manner attested

her a person of consequence in her social circle and one who realized

the fact. She had repelled, though without rudeness or discourtesy, the

garrulous efforts of the motherly knitter to be sociable. She had

promptly inspired the small, candy-crusted explorer with such awe that

he had refrained from further visits after his first confiding attempt

to poke a sticky finger through the baby's velvety cheek. She had spared

little scorn in her rejection of the _bourgeois_ advances of the

commercial traveller with the languishing eyes of Israel: he confided to

his comrades, in relating the incident, that she was smart enough to see

that it wasn't _her_ he was hankering to know, but the pretty sister by

her side; and when challenged to prove that they _were_ sisters,--a

statement which aroused the scepticism of his shrewd associates,--he had

replied, substantially,--

"How do I know? 'Cause I saw their pass before you was up this morning,

cully. It's for Mrs. Captain Rayner and sister, and they're going out

here to Fort Warrener. That's how I know." And the porter of the car had

confirmed the statement in the sanctity of the smoking-room.

And yet--such is the uncertainty of feminine temperament--Mrs. Rayner

was no more incensed at the commercial "gent" because he had obtruded

his attentions than she was at the young man reading in his own section

because he had refrained. Nearly twenty-four hours had elapsed since

they crossed the Missouri, and in all that time not once had she

detected in him a glance that betrayed the faintest interest in her,

or--still more remarkable--in the unquestionably lovely girl at her

side. Intrusiveness she might resent, but indifference she would and

did. Who was this youth, she wondered, who not once had so much as

stolen a look at the sweet, bonny face of her maiden sister? Surely

'twas a face any man would love to gaze upon,--so fair, so exquisite in

contour and feature, so pearly in complexion, so lovely in the deep,

dark brown of its shaded eyes.

The bold glances of the four card-players she had defiantly returned,

and vanquished. Those men, like the travelling gents, were creatures of

coarser mould; but her experienced eye told her the solitary occupant of

the opposite section was a gentleman. The clear cut of his pale

features, the white, slender hand and shapely foot, the style and finish

of his quiet travelling-dress, the soft modulation and refined tone of

his voice on the one occasion when she heard him reply to some

importunity of the train-boy with his endless round of equally

questionable figs and fiction, the book he was reading,--a volume of

Emerson,--all combined to speak of a culture and position equal to her

own. She had been over the trans-continental railways often enough to

know that it was permissible for gentlemen to render their

fellow-passengers some slight attention which would lead to mutual

introductions if desirable; and this man refused to see that the

opportunity was open to him.

True, when first she took her survey of those who were to be her

fellow-travellers at the "transfer" on the Missouri, she decided that

here was one against whom it would be necessary to guard the approaches.

She had good and sufficient reasons for wanting no young man as

attractive in appearance as this one making himself interesting to

pretty Nellie on their journey. She had already decided what Nellie's

future was to be. Never, indeed, would she have taken her to the gay

frontier station whither she was now _en route_, had not that future

been already settled to her satisfaction. Nellie Travers, barely out of

school, was betrothed, and willingly so, to the man she, her devoted

elder sister, had especially chosen. Rare and most unlikely of

conditions! she had apparently fallen in love with the man picked out

for her by somebody else. She was engaged to Mrs. Rayner's fascinating

friend Mr. Steven Van Antwerp, a scion of an old and esteemed and

wealthy family; and Mr. Van Antwerp, who had been educated abroad, and

had a Heidelberg scar on his left cheek, and dark, lustrous eyes, and

wavy hair,--almost raven,--was a devoted lover, though fully fifteen

years Miss Nellie's senior.

Full of bliss and comfort was Mrs. Rayner's soul as she journeyed

westward to rejoin her husband at the distant frontier post she had not

seen since the early spring. Army woman as she was, born and bred under

the shadow of the flag, a soldier's daughter, a soldier's wife, she had

other ambitions for her beautiful Nell. Worldly to the core, she herself

would never have married in the army but for the unusual circumstance of

a wealthy subaltern among the officers of her father's regiment.

Tradition had it that Mr. Rayner was not among the number of those who

sighed for Kate Travers's guarded smiles. Her earlier victims were kept

a-dangling until Rayner, too, succumbed, and then were sent adrift. She

meant that no penniless subaltern should carry off her "baby

sister,"--they had long been motherless,--and a season at the sea-shore

had done her work well. Steven Van Antwerp, with genuine distress and

loneliness, went back to his duties in Wall Street after seeing them

safely on their way to the West. "Guard her well for me," he whispered

to Mrs. Rayner. "I dread those fellows in buttons." And he shivered

unaccountably as he spoke.

Nellie was pledged, therefore, and this youth in the Pullman was not one

of "those fellows in buttons," so far as Mrs. Rayner knew, but she was

ready to warn him off, and meant to do so, until, to her surprise, she

saw that he gave no symptom of a desire to approach. By noon of the

second day she was as determined to extract from him some sign of

interest as she had been determined to resent it. I can in no wise

explain or account for this. The fact is stated without remark.

"What on earth can we be stopping so long here for?" was Mrs. Rayner's

somewhat petulant inquiry, addressed to no one in particular. There was

no reply. Miss Travers was busily twitching the ears of the kitten at

the moment and sparring with upraised finger at the threatening paw.

"Do look out of the window, Nell, and see."

"There is nothing to see, Kate,--nothing but whirling drifts and a big

water-tank all covered with ice. Br-r-r-r! how cold it looks!" she

answered, after vainly flattening her face against the inner pane.

"There must be something the matter, though," persisted Mrs. Rayner. "We

have been here full five minutes, and we are behind time now. At this

rate we'll never get to Warrener to-night. I do wish the porter would

stay here where he belongs."

The young man quietly laid down his book and arose. "I will inquire,

madame," he said, with grave courtesy. "You shall know in a moment."

"How _very_ kind of you!" said the lady. "Indeed I must not trouble you.

I'm sure the porter will be here after a while."

And even as she spoke, and as he was pulling on an overcoat, the train

rumbled off again. Then came an exclamation, this time from the younger:

"Why, Kate! Look! see all these men,--and horses! Why, they are

soldiers,--cavalry! Oh, how I love to see them again! But, oh, how cold

they look!--frozen!"

"Who _can_ they be?" said Mrs. Rayner, all vehement interest now, and

gazing eagerly from the window at the lowered heads of the horses and

the muffled figures in blue and fur. "What _can_ they be doing in the

field in such awful weather? I cannot recognize one of them, or tell

officers from men. Surely that must be Captain Wayne,--and Major

Stannard. Oh, what can it mean?"

The young man had suddenly leaped to the window behind them, and was

gazing out with an eagerness and interest little less apparent than her

own, but in a moment the train had whisked them out of sight of the

storm-beaten troopers. Then he hurried to the rear window of the car,

and Mrs. Rayner as hastily followed.

"_Do_ you know them?" she asked.

"Yes. That _was_ Major Stannard. It is his battalion of the ----th

Cavalry, and they have been out scouting after renegade Cheyennes.

Pardon me, madame, I must go forward and see who have boarded the

train."

He stopped at his section, and again she followed him, her eyes full of

anxiety. He was busy tugging at a flask in his travelling-bag.

"You know them! Do you know--have you heard of any infantry being out?

Pardon me for detaining you, but I am very anxious. My husband is

Captain Rayner, of Fort Warrener."

"No infantry have been sent, madame, I--have reason to know; at least,

none from Warrener."

And with that he hurriedly bowed and left her. The next moment, flask in

hand, he was crossing the storm-swept platform and making his way to the

head of the train.

"I believe he is an officer," said Mrs. Rayner to her sister. "Who else

would be apt to know about the movement of the troops? Did you notice

how gentle his manner was?--and he never smiled: he has such a sad face.

Yet he can't be an officer, or he would have made himself known to us

long ago."

"Is there no name on the satchel?" asked Miss Travers, with pardonable

curiosity. "He has an interesting face,--not handsome." And a dreamy

look came into her deep eyes. She was thinking, no doubt, of a dark,

oval, _distingué_ face with raven hair and moustache. The youth in the

travelling-suit was not tall, like Steven,--not singularly, romantically

handsome, like Steven. Indeed, he was of less interest to her than to

her married sister.

Mrs. Rayner could see no name on the satchel,--only two initials; and

they revealed very little.

"I have half a mind to peep at the fly-leaf of that book," she said. "He

walked just like a soldier: but there isn't anything there to indicate

what he is," she continued, with a doubtful glance at the items

scattered about the now vacant section. "Why isn't that porter here? He

ought to know who people are."

As though to answer her request, in came the porter, dishevelled and

breathless. He made straight for the satchel they had been scrutinizing,

and opened it without ceremony. Both ladies regarded this proceeding

with natural astonishment, and Mrs. Rayner was about to interfere and

question his right to search the luggage of passengers, when the man

turned hurriedly towards them, exhibiting a little bundle of

handkerchiefs, his broad Ethiopian face clouded with anxiety and

concern:

"The gentleman told me to take all his handkerchiefs. We'se got a dozen

frozen soldiers in the baggage-car,--some of 'em mighty bad,--and

they'se tryin' to make 'em comfortable until they get to the fort."

"Soldiers frozen! Why do you take them in the baggage-car?--such a barn

of a place! Why weren't they brought here, where we could make them warm

and care for them?" exclaimed Mrs. Rayner, in impulsive indignation.

"Laws, ma'am! never do in the world to bring frozen people into a hot

car! Sure to make their ears an' noses drop off, that would! Got to keep

'em in the cold and pile snow around 'em. That gentleman sittin'

here,--he knows," he continued: "he's an officer, and him and the

doctor's workin' with 'em now."

And Mrs. Rayner, vanquished by a statement of facts well known to her

yet forgotten in the first impetuosity of her criticism, relapsed into

the silence of temporary defeat.

"He _is_ an officer, then," said Miss Travers, presently. "I wonder what

he belongs to."

"Not to our regiment, I'm sure. Probably to the cavalry. He knew Major

Stannard and other officers whom we passed there."

"Did he speak to them?"

"No: there was no time. We were beyond hearing-distance when he ran to

the back door of the car; and there was no time before that. But it's

very odd!"

"What's very odd?"

"Why, his conduct. It is so strange that he has not made himself known

to us, if he's an officer."

"Probably he doesn't know you--or we--are connected with the army,

Kate."

"Oh, yes, he does. The porter knows perfectly well, and I told him just

before he left."

"Yes, but he didn't know before that time, did he?"

"He ought to have known," said Mrs. Rayner, uncompromisingly. "At least,

he should if he had taken the faintest interest. I mentioned Captain

Rayner so that he could not help hearing."

This statement being one that Miss Travers could in no wise

contradict,--as it was one, indeed, that Mrs. Rayner could have

dispensed with as unnecessary,--the younger lady again betook herself to

silence and pulling the kitten's ears.

"Even if he didn't know before," continued her sister, after a pause in

which she had apparently been brooding over the indifference of the

young man in question, "he ought to have made himself known after I told

him who I was." Another pause. "That's what I did it for," she wound up,

conclusively.

"And that's what I thought," said Miss Travers, with a quiet smile.

"However, he had no time then: he was hurrying off to see whether any of

the soldiers had come on board. He took his flask with him, and

apparently was in haste to offer someone a drink. I'm sure that is what

papa used to do," she added, as she saw a frown gathering on her

sister's face.

"What papa did just after the war--a time when everybody drank--is not

at all the proper thing now. Captain Rayner never touches it; and I

don't allow it in the house."

"Still, I should think it a very useful article when a lot of frozen and

exhausted men are on one's hands," said Miss Travers. "That was but a

small flask he had, and I'm sure they will need more."

There came a rush of cold air from the front, and the swinging door blew

open ahead of the porter, who was heard banging shut the outer portal.

Then he hurried in.

"Can some of you gentlemen oblige me with some whiskey or brandy?" he

asked. "We've got some frozen soldiers aboard. Two of 'em are pretty

nearly gone."

Two of the card-players dropped their hands and started for their

section at once. Before they could rummage in their bags for the

required article, Mrs. Rayner's voice was heard: "Take this, porter."

And she held forth a little silver flask. "I have more in my trunk if it

is needed," she added, while a blush mounted to her forehead as she saw

the quizzical smile on her sister's face. "You know I _always_ carry it

in travelling, Nellie,--in case of accident or illness; and I'm most

thankful I have it now."

"Ever so much obliged, ma'am," said the porter, "but this would be only

a thimbleful, and I can get a quart bottle of this gentleman."

"Where are they?" said the person thus referred to, as he came down the

aisle with a big brown bottle in his hand. "Come, Jim, let's go and see

what we can do. One of you gentlemen take my place in the game," he

continued, indicating the commercial gents, two of whom, nothing loath,

dropped into the vacated seats, while the others pushed on to the front

of the train. The porter hesitated one moment.

"Yes, take my flask: I shouldn't feel satisfied without doing something.

And please say to the officer that I'm Mrs. Rayner,--Mrs. Captain

Rayner, of the infantry,--and ask if there isn't something I can do to

help."

"Yes, ma'am; I will, ma'am. Oh, he knows who you are: I done told him

last night. He's goin' to Fort Warrener, too." And, touching his cap,

away went the porter.

"There! He _did_ know all along," said Mrs. Rayner, triumphantly. "It is

most extraordinary!"

"Well, is it the proper thing for people in the army to introduce

themselves when travelling? How are they to know it will be agreeable?"

"Agreeable! Why, Nellie, it's _always_ done,--especially when ladies are

travelling without escort, as we are. The commonest civility should

prompt it; and officers always send their cards by the porter the moment

they find army ladies are on the train. I don't understand this one at

all,--especially--" But here she broke off abruptly.

"Especially what?" asked Miss Nell, with an inspiration of maidenly

curiosity.

"Especially nothing. Never mind now." And here the baby began to fidget,

and stir about, and stretch forth his chubby hands, and thrust his

knuckles in his eyes, and pucker up his face in alarming contortions

preparatory to a wail, and, after one or two soothing and tentative

sounds of "sh--sh--sh--sh" from the maternal lips, the matron abandoned

the attempt to induce a second nap, and picked him up in her arms, where

he presently began to take gracious notice of his pretty aunt and the

kitten.

Two hours later, just as the porter had notified them that Warrener

Station would be in sight in five minutes, the young man of the

opposite section returned to the car. He looked tired, very anxious,

and his face was paler and the sad expression more pronounced than

before. The train-conductor stopped him to speak of some telegrams that

had been sent, and both ladies noted the respect which the railway

official threw into the tone in which he spoke. The card-players stopped

their game and went up to ask after the frozen men. It was not until the

whistle was sounding for the station that he stood before them and with

a grave and courteous bow held forth Mrs. Rayner's silver flask.

"It was a blessing to one poor fellow at least, and I thank you for him,

madame," he said.

"I have been so anxious. I wanted to do something. Did you not get my

message, Mr.----?" she asked, with intentional pause that he might

supply the missing name.

"Indeed there was nothing we could ask of you," he answered, totally

ignoring the evident invitation. "I am greatly obliged to you for your

kindness, but we had abundant help, and you really could not have

reached the car in the face of this gale. Good-morning, madame." And

with that he raised his fur travelling-cap and quickly turned to his

section and busied himself strapping up his various belongings.

"The man must be a woman-hater," she whispered to Miss Travers, "He's

going to get out here, too. Who _can_ he be?"

There was still a moment before the train would stop at the platform,

and she was not to be beaten so easily. Bending partly across the aisle,

she spoke again:

"You have been so kind to those poor fellows that I feel sure you must

be of the army. I think I told you I am Mrs. Rayner, of Fort Warrener.

May we not hope to see you there?"

A deep flush rose to his forehead, suffusing his cheeks, and passed as

quickly away. His mouth twitched and trembled. Gazing at him in surprise

and trouble, Nellie Travers saw that his face was full of pain and was

turning white again. He half choked before he could reply: he spoke low,

and yet distinctly, and the words were full of sadness:

"It--it is not probable that we shall meet at all."

And with that he turned away.