Facing the broad, bleak prairie, separated from it only by a rough,
unpainted picket fence, and flanked by uncouth structures of pine, one
of which was used as a storehouse for quartermaster's property, the
other as the post-trader's depository for skins and furs, there stood
the frame cottage which Mr. Hayne had chosen as his home. As has been
said, it was precisely like those built for the subaltern officers, so
far as material, plan, and dimensions were concerned. The locality made
the vast difference which really existed. Theirs stood all in a row,
fronting the grassy level of the parade, surrounded by verandas,
bordering on a well-kept gravel path and an equally well graded drive.
Clear, sparkling water rippled in tiny _acequias_ through the front
yards of each, and so furnished the moisture needed for the life of
various little shrubs and flowering plants. The surroundings were at
least "sociable," and there was companionship and jollity, with an
occasional tiff to keep things lively. The married officers, as a rule,
had chosen their quarters farthest from the entrance-gate and nearest
those of the colonel commanding. The bachelors, except the two or three
who were old in the service and had "rank" in lieu of encumbrances, were
all herded together along the eastern end, a situation that had
disadvantages as connected with duties which required the frequent
presence of the occupants at the court-martial rooms or at
head-quarters, and that was correspondingly far distant from the
barracks of the soldiers. It had its recommendations in being convenient
to the card-room and billiard-tables at "the store," and in embracing
within its limits one house which possessed mysterious interest in the
eyes of every woman and most of the men in the garrison: it was said to
be haunted.
A sorely-perplexed man was the post quartermaster when the rumor came
out from the railway-station that Mr. Hayne had arrived and was coming
to report for duty. As a first lieutenant he would have choice of
quarters over every second lieutenant in the garrison: there were ten of
these young gentlemen, and four of the ten were married. Every set of
quarters had its occupants, and Hayne could move in nowhere, unless as
occupant of a room or two in the house of some comrade, without first
compelling others to move out. This proceeding would lead to vast
discomfort, occurring as it would in the dead of winter, and the
youngsters were naturally perturbed in spirit,--their wives especially
so. What made the prospects infinitely worse was the fact that the
cavalry bachelors were already living three in a house: the only spare
rooms were in the quarters of the second lieutenants of the infantry,
and they were not on speaking-terms with Mr. Hayne. Everything,
therefore, pointed to the probability of his "displacing" a junior, who
would in turn displace somebody else, and so they would go tumbling like
a row of bricks until the lowest and last was reached. All this would
involve no end of worry for the quartermaster, who even under the most
favorable circumstances is sure to be the least appreciated and most
abused officer under the commandant himself, and that worthy was simply
agasp with relief and joy when he heard Mr. Hayne's astonishing
announcement that he would take the quarters out on "Prairie Avenue."
It was the talk of the garrison all that day. The ladies, especially,
had a good deal to say, because many of the men seemed averse to
expressing their views. "Quite the proper thing for Mr. Hayne to do,"
was the apparent opinion of the majority of the young wives and mothers.
As a particularly kind and considerate thing it was not remarked by one
of them, though that view of the case went not entirely unrepresented.
In choosing to live there Mr. Hayne separated himself from
companionship. That, said some of the commentators,--men as well as
women,--he simply accepted as the virtue of necessity, and so there was
nothing to commend in his action. But Mr. Hayne was said to possess an
eye for the picturesque and beautiful. If so, he deliberately condemned
himself to the daily contemplation of a treeless barren, streaked in
occasional shallows with dingy patches of snow, ornamented only in spots
by abandoned old hats, boots, or tin cans blown beyond the jurisdiction
of the garrison police-parties. A line of telegraph-poles was all that
intervened between his fence and the low-lying hills of the eastern
horizon. Southeastward lay the distant roofs and the low, squat
buildings of the frontier town; southward the shallow valley of the
winding creek in which lay the long line of stables for the cavalry and
the great stacks of hay; while the row on which he chose to
live--"Prairie Avenue," as it was termed--was far worse at his end of it
than at the other. It covered the whole eastern front. The big, brown
hospital building stood at the northern end. Then came the quarters of
the surgeon and his assistants, then the snug home of the post trader,
then the "store" and its scattering appendages, then the
entrance-gateway, then a broad vacant space, through which the wind
swept like a hurricane, then the little shanty of the trader's fur house
and one or two hovel-like structures used by the tailors and cobbler of
the adjacent infantry companies. Then came the cottage itself: south of
it stood the quartermaster's store-room, back of which lay an extension
filled with ordnance stores, then other and similar sheds devoted to
commissary supplies, the post butcher-shop, the saddler's shop, then big
coal-sheds, and then the brow of the bluff, down which at a steep grade
plunged the road to the stables. It was as unprepossessing a place for a
home as ever was chosen by a man of education or position; and Mr. Hayne
was possessed of both.
In garrison, despite the flat parade, there was a grand expanse of
country to be seen stretching away towards the snow-covered Rockies.
There was life and the sense of neighborliness to one's kind. Out on
Prairie Avenue all was wintry desolation, except when twice each day the
cavalry officers went plodding by on their way to and from the stables,
muffled up in their fur caps and coats, and hardly distinguishable from
so many bears, much less from one another.
And yet Mr. Hayne smiled not unhappily as he glanced from his eastern
window at this group of burly warriors the afternoon succeeding his
dinner at the colonel's. He had been busy all day long unpacking books,
book-shelves, some few pictures which he loved, and his simple,
soldierly outfit of household goods, and getting them into shape. His
sole assistant was a Chinese servant, who worked rapidly and well, and
who seemed in no wise dismayed by the bleakness of their surroundings.
If anything, he was disposed to grin and indulge in high-pitched
commentaries in "pidgin English" upon the unaccustomed amount of room.
His master had been restricted to two rooms and a kitchen during the two
years he had served him. Now they had a house to themselves, and more
rooms than they knew what to do with. The quartermaster had sent a
detail of men to put up the stoves and move out the rubbish left by the
tailors; "Sam" had worked vigorously with soft soap, hot water, and a
big mop in sprucing up the rooms; the adjutant had sent a little note
during the morning, saying that the colonel would be glad to order him
any men he needed to put the quarters in proper shape, and that Captain
Rayner had expressed his readiness to send a detail from the company to
unload and unpack his boxes, etc., to which Mr. Hayne replied in person
that he thanked the commanding officer for his thoughtfulness, but that
he had very little to unpack, and needed no assistance beyond that
already afforded by the quartermaster's men. Mr. Billings could not help
noting that he made no allusion to that part of the letter which spoke
of Captain Rayner's offer. It increased his respect for Mr. Hayne's
perceptive powers.
While every officer of the infantry battalion was ready to admit that
Mr. Hayne had rendered invaluable service to the men of the cavalry
regiment, they were not so unanimous in their opinion as to how it
should be acknowledged and requited by its officers. No one was prepared
for the announcement that the colonel had asked him to dinner and that
Blake and Billings were to meet him. Some few of their number thought it
going too far, but no one quite coincided with the vehement declaration
of Mrs. Rayner that it was an outrage and an affront aimed at the
regiment in general and at Captain Rayner in particular. She was an
energetic woman when aroused, and there was no doubt of her being very
much aroused as she sped from house to house to see what the other
ladies thought of it. Rayner's wealth and Mrs. Rayner's qualities had
made her an undoubted though not always popular leader in all social
matters in the Riflers. She was an authority, so to speak, and one who
knew it. Already there had been some points on which she had differed
with the colonel's wife, and it was plain to all that it was a difficult
thing for her to come down from being _the_ authority--the leader of the
social element of a garrison--and from the position of second or third
importance which she had been accorded when first assigned to the
station. There were many, indeed, who asserted that it was because she
found her new position unbearable that she decided on her long visit to
the East and departed thither before the Riflers had been at Warrener a
month. The colonel's wife had greeted her and her lovely sister with
charming grace on their arrival two days previous to the stirring event
of the dinner, and every one was looking forward to a probable series of
pleasant entertainments by the two households, even while wondering how
long the _entente cordiale_ would last,--when the colonel's invitation
to Mr. Hayne brought on an immediate crisis. It is safe to say that Mrs.
Rayner was madder than the captain her husband, who hardly knew how to
take it. He was by no means the best liked officer in his regiment, nor
the "deepest" and best informed, but he had a native shrewdness which
helped him. He noted even before his wife would speak of it to him the
gradual dying out of the bitter feeling that had once existed at Hayne's
expense. He felt, though it hurt him seriously to make inquiries, that
the man whom he had practically crushed and ruined in the long ago was
slowly but surely gaining strength even where he would not make friends.
Worse than all, he was beginning to doubt the evidence of his own senses
as the years receded, and unknown to any soul on earth, even his wife,
there was growing up deep down in his heart a gnawing, insidious,
ever-festering fear that after all, after all, he might have been
mistaken. And yet on the sacred oath of a soldier and a gentleman,
against the most searching cross-examination, again and again had he
most confidently and positively declared that he had both seen and heard
the fatal interview on which the whole case hinged. And as to the exact
language employed, he alone of those within earshot had lived to testify
for or against the accused: of the five soldiers who stood in that now
celebrated group, three were shot to death within the hour. He was
growing nervous, irritable, haggard; he was getting to hate the mere
mention of the case. The promotion of Hayne to his own company thrilled
him with an almost superstitious dismay. _Were_ his words coming true?
_Was_ it the judgment of an offended God that his hideous pride,
obstinacy, and old-time hatred of this officer were now to be revenged
by daily, hourly contact with the victim of his criminal persecution? He
had grown morbidly sensitive to any remarks as to Hayne's having "lived
down" the toils in which he had been encircled. Might he not "live down"
the ensnarer? He dreaded to see him,--though Rayner was no coward,--and
he feared day by day to hear of his restoration to fellowship in the
regiment, and yet would have given half his wealth to bring it about,
could it but have been accomplished without the dreadful admission, "I
was wrong. I was _utterly_ wrong." He had grown lavish in hospitality;
he had become almost aggressively open-handed to his comrades, and had
sought to press money upon men who in no wise needed it. He was as eager
to lend as some are to borrow, and his brother officers dubbed him
"Midas" not because everything he touched would turn to gold, but
because he would intrude his gold upon them at every turn. There were
some who borrowed; and these he struggled not to let repay. He seemed to
have an insane idea that if he could but get his regimental friends
bound to him pecuniarily he could control their opinions and actions. It
was making him sick at heart, and it made him in secret doubly
vindictive and bitter against the man he had doomed to years of
suffering. This showed out that very morning. Mrs. Rayner had begun to
talk, and he turned fiercely upon her:
"Not a word on that subject, Kate, if you love me!--not even the mention
of his name! I must have peace in my own house. It is enough to have to
talk of it elsewhere."
Talk of it he had to. The major early that morning asked him, as they
were going to the _matinée_,--
"Have you seen Hayne yet?"
"Not since he reported on the parade yesterday," was the curt reply.
"Well, I suppose you will send men to help him get those quarters in
habitable shape?"
"I will, of course, major, if he ask it. I don't propose sending men to
do such work for an officer unless the request come."
"He is entitled to that consideration, Rayner, and I think the men
should be sent to him. He is hardly likely to ask."
"Then he is less likely to get them," said the captain, shortly, for,
except the post commander, he well knew that no officer could order it
to be done. He was angry at the major for interfering. They were old
associates, and had entered service almost at the same time, but his
friend had the better luck in promotion and was now his battalion
commander. Rayner made an excuse of stopping to speak with the officer
of the day, and the major went on without him. He was a quiet old
soldier: he wanted no disturbance with his troubled friend, and, like a
sensible man, he turned the matter over to their common superior, in a
very few words, before the arrival of the general audience. It was this
that had caused the colonel to turn quietly to Rayner and say, in the
most matter-of-fact way,--
"Oh, Captain Rayner, I presume Mr. Hayne will need three or four men to
help him get his quarters in shape. I suppose you have already thought
to send them?"
And Rayner flushed, and stammered, "They have not gone yet, sir; but I
had--thought of it."
Later, when the sergeant sent the required detail he reported to the
captain in the company office in five minutes: "The lieutenant's
compliments and thanks, but he does not need the men."
The dinner at the colonel's, quiet as it was and with only eight at
table, was an affair of almost momentous importance to Mr. Hayne. It was
the first thing of the kind he had attended in five years; and though he
well knew for knew that it was intended by the cavalry commander more
especially as a recognition of the services rendered their suffering
men, he could not but rejoice in the courtesy and tact with which he was
received and entertained. The colonel's wife, the adjutant's, and those
of two captains away with the field battalion, were the four ladies who
were there to greet him when, escorted by Mr. Blake, he made his
appearance. How long--how very long--it seemed to him since he had sat
in the presence of refined and attractive women and listened to their
gay and animated chat! They seemed all such good friends, they made him
so thoroughly at home, and they showed so much tact and ease, that never
once did it seem apparent that they knew of his trouble in his own
regiment; and yet there was no actual avoidance of matters in which the
Riflers were generally interested. It was mainly of his brief visit to
the East, however, that they made him talk,--of the operas and theatres
he had attended, the pictures he had seen, the music that was most
popular; and when dinner was over their hostess led him to her piano,
and he played and sang for them again and again. His voice was soft and
sweet, and, though it was uncultivated, he sang with expression and
grace, playing with more skill but less feeling and effect than he sang.
Music and books had been the solace of lonely years, and he could easily
see that he had pleased them with his songs. He went home to the dreary
rookery out on Prairie Avenue and laughed at the howling wind. The bare
grimy walls and the dim kerosene lamp, even Sam's unmelodious snore in
the back room, sent no gloom to his soul. It had been a happy evening.
It had cost him a hard struggle to restrain the emotion which he had
felt at times; and when he withdrew, soon after the trumpets sounded
tattoo, and the ladies fell to discussing him, as women will, there was
but one verdict,--his manners were perfect.
But the colonel said more than that. He had found him far better read
than any other officer of his age he had ever met; and one and all they
expressed the hope that they might see him frequently. No wonder it was
of momentous importance to him. It was the opening to a new life. It
meant that here at least he had met soldiers and gentlemen and their
fair and gracious wives who had welcomed him to their homes, and, though
they must have known that a pall of suspicion and crime had overshadowed
his past, they believed either that he was innocent of the grievous
charge or that his years of exile and suffering had amply atoned. It was
a happy evening indeed to him; but there was gloom at Captain Rayner's.
The captain himself had gone out soon after tattoo. He found that the
parlor was filled with young visitors of both sexes, and he was in no
mood for merriment. Miss Travers was being welcomed to the post in
genuine army style, and was evidently enjoying it. Mrs. Rayner was
flitting nervously in and out of the parlor with a cloud upon her brow,
and for once in her life compelled to preserve temporary silence upon
the subject uppermost in her thoughts. She had been forbidden to speak
of it to her husband; yet she knew he had gone out again with every
probability of needing some one to talk to about the matter. She could
not well broach the topic in the parlor, because she was not at all sure
how Captain and Mrs. Gregg of the cavalry would take it; and they were
still there. She was a loyal wife; her husband's quarrel was hers, and
more too; and she was a woman of intuition even keener than that which
we so readily accord the sex. She knew, and knew well, that a hideous
doubt had been preying for a long time in her husband's heart of hearts,
and she knew still better that it would crush him to believe it was even
suspected by any one else. Right or wrong, the one thing for her to do,
she doubted not, was to maintain the original guilt against all comers,
and to lose no opportunity of feeding the flame that consumed Mr.
Hayne's record and reputation. He was guilty,--he must be guilty; and
though she was a Christian according to her view of the case,--a pillar
of the Church in matters of public charity and picturesque conformity to
all the rubric called for in the services, and much that it did
not,--she was unrelenting in her condemnation of Mr. Hayne. To those who
pointed out that he had made every atonement man could make, she
responded with the severity of conscious virtue that there could be no
atonement without repentance, and no repentance without humility. Mr.
Hayne's whole attitude was that of stubborn pride and resentment; his
atonement was that enforced by the unanimous verdict of his comrades;
and even if it were so that he had more than made amends for his crime,
the rules that held good for ordinary sinners were not applicable to an
officer of the army. _He_ must be a man above suspicion, incapable of
wrong or fraud, and once stained he was forever ineligible as a
gentleman. It was a subject on which she waxed declamatory rather too
often, and the youngsters of her own regiment wearied of it. As Mr.
Foster once expressed it in speaking of this very case, "Mrs. Rayner can
talk more charity and show less than any woman I know." So long as her
talk was aimed against any lurking tendency of their own to look upon
Hayne as a possible martyr, it fell at times on unappreciative ears, and
she was quick to see it and to choose her hearers; but here was a new
phase,--one that might rouse the latent _esprit de corps_ of the
Riflers,--and she was bent on striking while the iron was hot. If
anything would provoke unanimity of action and sentiment in the
regiment, this public recognition by the cavalry, in their very
presence, of the man they cut as a criminal, was the thing of all others
to do it; and she meant to head the revolt.
Possibly Gregg and his modest helpmeet discovered that there was
something she desired to "spring" upon the meeting. The others present
were all of the infantry; and when Captain Rayner simply glanced in,
spoke hurried good-evenings, and went as hurriedly out again, Gregg was
sure of it, and marched his wife away. Then came Mrs. Rayner's
opportunity:
"If it were not Captain Rayner's house, I could not have been even civil
to Captain Gregg. You heard what he said at the club this morning, I
suppose?"
In one form or another, indeed, almost everybody _had_ heard. The
officers present maintained an embarrassed silence. Miss Travers looked
reproachfully at her flushed sister, but to no purpose. At last one of
the ladies remarked,--
"Well, of course I heard of it, but--I've heard so many different
versions. It seems to have grown somewhat since morning."
"It sounds just like him, however," said Mrs. Rayner, "and I made
inquiry before speaking of it. He said he meant to invite Mr. Hayne to
his house to-morrow evening, and if the infantry didn't like it they
could stay away."
"Well, now, Mrs. Rayner," protested Mr. Foster, "of course none of us
heard what he said exactly, but it is my experience that no conversation
was ever repeated without being exaggerated, and I've known old Gregg
for ever so long, and never heard him say a sharp thing yet. Why, he's
the mildest-mannered fellow in the whole ----th Cavalry. He would never
get into such a snarl as that would bring about him in five minutes."
"Well, he said he would do just as the colonel did, anyway,--we have
that straight from cavalry authority,--and we all know what the colonel
has done. He has chosen to honor Mr. Hayne in the presence of the
officers who denounce him, and practically defies the opinion of the
Riflers."
"But, Mrs. Rayner, I did not understand Gregg's remarks to be what you
say, exactly. Blake told me that when asked by somebody whether he was
going to call on Mr. Hayne, Gregg simply replied he didn't know,--he
would ask the colonel."
"Very well. That means, he proposes to be guided by the colonel, or
nothing at all; and Captain Gregg is simply doing what the others will
do. They say to us, in so many words, 'We prefer the society of your
_bête noire_ to your own.' That's the way I look at it," said Mrs.
Rayner, in deep excitement.
It was evident that, though none were prepared to endorse so extreme a
view, there was a strong feeling that the colonel had put an affront
upon the Riflers by his open welcome to Mr. Hayne. He had been exacting
before, and had caused a good deal of growling among the officers and
comment among the women. They were ready to find fault, and here was
strong provocation. Mr. Foster was a youth of unfortunate and unpopular
propensities. He should have held his tongue, instead of striving to
stem the tide.
"I don't uphold Hayne any more than you do, Mrs. Rayner, but it seems to
me this is a case where the colonel has to make some acknowledgment of
Mr. Hayne's conduct--"
"Very good. Let him write him a letter, then, thanking him in the name
of the regiment, but don't pick him up like this in the face of ours,"
interrupted one of the juniors, who was seated near Miss Travers (a wise
stroke of policy: Mrs. Rayner invited him to breakfast); and there was a
chorus of approbation.
"Well, hold on a moment," said Foster. "Hasn't the colonel had every one
of us to dinner more or less frequently?"
"Admitted. But what's that to do with it?"
"Hasn't he invariably invited each officer to dine with him in every
case where an officer has arrived?"
"Granted. But what then?"
"If he broke the rule or precedent in Mr. Hayne's case would he not
practically be saying that he endorsed the views of the court-martial as
opposed to those of the department commander, General Sherman, the
Secretary of War, the President of the United--"
"Oh, make out your transfer papers, Foster. You ought to be in the
cavalry or some other disputatious branch of the service," burst in Mr.
Graham.
"I declare, Mr. Foster, I never thought you would abandon your colors,"
said Mrs. Rayner.
"I haven't, madame, and you've no right to say so," said Foster,
indignantly. "I simply hold that any attempt to work up a regimental row
out of this thing will make bad infinitely worse, and I deprecate the
whole business."
"I suppose you mean to intimate that Captain Rayner's position and that
of the regiment is bad,--all wrong,--that Mr. Hayne has been
persecuted," said Mrs. Rayner, with trembling lips and cheeks aflame.
"Mrs. Rayner, you are unjust," said poor Foster. "I ought not to have
undertaken to explain or defend the colonel's act, perhaps, but I am not
disloyal to my regiment or my colors. What I want is to prevent further
trouble; and I know that anything like a concerted resentment of the
colonel's invitation will lead to infinite harm."
"_You_ may cringe and bow and bear it if you choose; you may humble
yourself to such a piece of insolence; but rest assured there are plenty
of men and women in the Riflers who won't bear it, Mr. Foster; and for
one _I_ won't." She had risen to her full height now, and her eyes were
blazing. "For his own sake I trust the colonel will omit our names from
the next entertainment he gives. Nellie shan't--"
"Oh, think, Mrs. Rayner!" interrupted one of the ladies; "they _must_
give her a dinner or a reception."
"Indeed they shall not! I refuse to enter the door of people who have
insulted my husband as they have."
"Hush! Listen!" said Mr. Graham, springing towards the door.
There was wondering silence an instant.
"It is nothing but the trumpet sounding taps," said Mrs. Rayner,
hurriedly.
But even as she spoke they rose to their feet. Muffled cries were heard,
borne in on the night wind,--a shot, then another, down in the
valley,--the quick peal of the cavalry trumpet.
"It isn't taps. It's fire!" shouted Graham from the door-way. "Come on!"