Opinion was divided at Camp Merritt as to whether Billy Gray should or
should not stand trial. Confident as were his friends of his innocence of
all complicity in Morton's escape, there remained the fact that he had
telephoned for a carriage, that a carriage had come and that a carriage
with four men, apparently soldiers, had driven rapidly townward along
Point Lobos Avenue. It was seen by half a dozen policemen as it shot
under electric light or gas lamp. Then there was the bundle inside his
rolled overcoat that Gray had personally handed Morton when a prisoner.
Everybody agreed he should have sent it by orderly--everybody, that is,
except some scores of young soldiers in the ranks who could see no harm
in it having been done that way, especially two "Delta Sigs" in the
--teenth. Then there were the long conferences in the dark. What did they
mean? All things considered the older and wiser heads saw that, as the
lieutenant could or would make no satisfactory explanation of these to
his colonel, he must to a court--or take the consequences.
"You've made a mess of the thing and an ass of yourself, Billy," was
Gordon's comprehensive if not consolatory summary of the matter, "and as
Canker has been rapped for one thing or another by camp, division and
brigade commanders, one _after_ another, he feels that he's got to prove
that he isn't the only fool in the business. You'd better employ good
counsel and prepare for a fight."
"Can't afford it," said Billy briefly, "and I'm blowed if I'll ask my
dear old dad to come to the rescue. He's had to cough up (shame on your
slang, Billy) far too much already. I tell you, Gordon, I'm so fixed that
I can't explain these things unless I'm actually brought to trial.
It's--it's--well--you have no secret societies at the Point as we do at
college, so you can't fathom it. I'm no more afraid of standing trial
than I am of Squeers--and be d----d to him!"
"Good Lawd, youngster--you--you aren't quite such an ass as to suppose a
court is going to regard any schoolboy obligation as paramount to that
which your oath of office demands. Look hyuh, Billy, your head's just
addled! _I_ can't work on you, but somebody must!"
And Gordon went away very low in his mind. He liked that boy. He loved a
keen, alert, snappy soldier on drill, and Billy had no superior in the
battalion when it came to handling squad or company. The adjutant plainly
saw the peril of his position, and further consultation with his
brother-officers confirmed him in his fears. Schuyler, the brigade
commissary, being much with the --teenth--messing with them, in fact,
when he was not dancing attendance on Miss Prime--heard all this camp
talk and told her. Thus it happened that the very next day when he drove
with the cousins (Mr. Prime being the while in conference with the
detectives still scouring the city for the young deserter, who the father
now felt confident was his missing boy), Miss Lawrence looked the captain
full in the face with her clear, searching eyes and plumped at him the
point-blank question:
"Captain Schuyler, do Mr. Gray's brother-officers really consider him in
danger of dismissal?"
"Miss Lawrence, I grieve to say that not one has any other opinion now."
There could be no doubt of it. Amy Lawrence turned very pale and her
beautiful eyes filled.
"It is a shame!" she said, after a moment's struggle to conquer the
trembling of her lips. "Has--is there no one--influential enough--or with
brains enough" (this with returning color) "to take up his case and clear
him?"
They were whirling through the beautiful drive of the Golden Gate Park,
passing company after company at drill. Even as Amy spoke Schuyler lifted
his cap and Miss Prime bowed and smiled. A group of regimental officers,
four in number, stood, apparently supervising the work, and as Miss
Lawrence quickly turned to see who they might be, her eyes met those of
Colonel Armstrong. Five minutes later, the carriage returning drew up as
though by some order from its occupants, at that very spot. Armstrong and
his adjutant were still there and promptly joined them.
Long weeks afterward that morning lived in Stanley Armstrong's memory. It
was one of those rare August days when the wind blew from the southeast,
beat back the drenching Pacific fogs, and let the warm sun pour upon the
brilliant verdure of that wonderful park. Earth and air, distant sea and
dazzling sky, all seemed glorifying their Creator. Bright-hued birds
flashed through the foliage and thrilled the ear with their caroling. The
plash of fountain fell softly on the breeze, mingled with the rustling of
the luxuriant growth of leaf and flower close at hand. It was not chance
that brought the stalwart soldier instantly to Amy's side. Her gaze was
upon him before the carriage stopped, and irresistibly drew him. The man
of mature years, the hero of sharp combats and stirring campaigns with a
fierce and savage foe, the commander of hundreds of eager and gallant
men, obeyed without thought of demur the unspoken summons of a girl yet
in her teens. There was a new light in her clear and beautiful eyes, a
flush upon her soft and rounded cheek, a little flutter, possibly, in her
kind and loyal heart. Heaven knows his beat high with an emotion he could
not subdue, though his bearing was grave and courteous as ever, but about
that sweet and flushing face there shone the halo of a woman's brave
determination, and no sooner had be reached the carriage side than,
bending toward him, she spoke. Mildred Prime could not repress a little
gasp of amaze.
"Colonel Armstrong, will you kindly open the carriage door? I want to
talk with you a moment."
Without a word he wrenched the handle and threw wide the door. Light as a
bird she sprang to the ground, her fingers just touching the extended
hand. Side by side they strolled away across the sunlit lawn, he so
strong, virile, erect, she so lissome and graceful. Full of her purpose,
yet fearful that with delay might come timidity, she looked up in his
face:
"Colonel Armstrong, I have heard only to-day that Mr. Gray is in really
serious danger. Will you tell me--the truth?"
Just what Armstrong expected it might be hard to say. The light that had
leaped to his eyes faded slowly and his face lost something of the flush
of robust health. There was a brief pause before he spoke as though he
wished time to weigh his words.
"I fear it is true," he gravely said. Then in a moment: "Miss Lawrence,
will you not take my arm?" And he felt her hand tremble as she placed it
there. It was a moment before she began again.
"They tell me he should have counsel, but will not heed. I have not seen
him to-day. There is no one in his battalion, it seems, whom he really
looks up to. He is headstrong and self-confident. Do you think he
should--that he needs one?" And anxiously the brave eyes sought the
strong, soldierly face.
"It would seem so, Miss Lawrence."
She drew a long breath. She seemed to cling a little closer to his arm.
Then--straight came the next question:
"Colonel Armstrong, will you do me a great favor? Will you be his
counsel?"
He was looking directly to the front as she spoke. Something told him
what was coming, yet he could not answer all at once. What did it mean,
after all, but just what he had been thinking for a week, that the girl's
fresh young heart had gone out to this merry, handsome, soldierly lad,
whom he, too, had often marked with keen appreciation when in command of
his big company at drill. What possible thought of hers could he, "more
than twice her years," have ever hoped to win. She had come to him in her
sore trouble--and her lover's--as she would have gone to her father had
he been a soldier schooled in such affairs. Armstrong pulled himself
together with quick, stern self-command.
Looking down, he saw that her eyes were filling, her lips paling, and a
rush of tenderness overcame him as he simply and gently answered:
"Yes, and there is no time to be lost."
* * * * *
All these last days, it will be remembered, Mrs. Frank Garrison with
pretty "Cherry Ripe" had found shelter at the Presidio. The Palace was no
place for a poor soldier's wife, and there was no longer a grateful nabob
as a possible source of income. It is doubtful indeed whether that mine
could be further tapped, for the effusive brother-in-law of the winter
gone by had found disillusion in more ways than one. Garrison, busy day
and night with his staff duties, had plainly to tell his capricious wife
that she had come without his knowledge or consent, and that he could not
think of meeting the expense of even a two weeks' stay in town. He could
not account for her coming at all. He had left her with his own people
where at least she would be in comfort while he took the field. He
desired that she should return thither at once. She determined to remain
and gayly tapped his cheek and bade him have no concern. She could
readily find quarters, and so she did. The regular garrison of the
Presidio was long since afield, but the families of many of its officers
still remained there, while the houses of two or three, completely
furnished so far as army furnishings go, were there in charge of the post
quartermaster. From being the temporary guests of some old friends, Mrs.
Frank and her pretty companion suddenly opened housekeeping in one of
these vacated homes, and all her witchery was called into play to make it
the most popular resort of the younger element at the post. Money she
might lack, but no woman could eclipse her in the dazzle of her dainty
toilets. The Presidio was practically at her feet before she had been
established forty-eight hours. Other peoples' vehicles trundled her over
to camp whenever she would drive. Other peoples' horses stood saddled at
her door when she would ride. Other peoples' servants flew to do her
bidding. Women might whisper and frown, but for the present, at least,
she had the men at her beck and call. Morn, noon and night she was on the
go, the mornings being given over, as a rule, to a gallop over the breezy
heights where the brigade or regimental drills were going on, the
afternoons to calls, wherein it is ever more blessed to give than to
receive--and the evenings to hops at the assembly room, or to
entertaining--charmingly entertaining the little swarm of officers with
occasional angels of her own sex, sure to drop in and spend an hour.
Cherry played and sang and "made eyes" at the boys. Mrs. Frank was
winsome and genial and joyous to everybody, and when Garrison himself
arrived from camp, generally late in the evening, looking worn and jaded
from long hours at the desk, she had ever a comforting supper and
smiling, playful welcome for her lord, making much of him before the
assembled company, to the end that more than one callow sub was heard to
say that there would be some sense in marrying, by George, if a fellow
could pick up a wife like Mrs. Frank. All the same the post soon learned
that the supposedly blest aide-de-camp breakfasted _solus_ on what he
could forage for himself before he mounted and rode over to his long
day's labor at Camp Merritt. Another thing was speedily apparent, the
_entente cordial_ between her radiant self and the Primes was at an end,
if indeed it ever existed. _She_, to be sure, was sunshine itself when
they chanced to meet at camp. The clouds were on the faces of the father
and daughter, while Miss Lawrence maintained a serene neutrality.
They were lingering in 'Frisco, still hopefully, were the Primes. The
detectives on duty at the landing stage the evening Stewart's regiment
embarked swore that no one answering the description of either of the two
young men had slipped aboard. Those in the employ of the sad old man were
persistent in the statement that they had clues--were on the scent, etc.
He was a sheep worth the shearing, and so, while Mr. Prime spent many
hours in consultation with certain of these so-called sleuth-hounds, the
young ladies took their daily drive through the park, generally picking
up the smiling Schuyler somewhere along the way, and rarely omitting a
call, with creature comforts in the way of baskets of fruit, upon the
happy Billy, whose limits were no longer restricted to his tent, as
during the first week of his arrest, but whose court was ordered to sit
in judgment on him the first of the coming week. Already it began to be
whispered that Armstrong had a mine to spring in behalf of the defense,
but he was so reserved that no one, even Gordon, sought to question.
"Armstrong is a trump!" said Billy to Miss Lawrence, one fair morning.
"He'll knock those charges silly--though I dare say I could have wormed
through all right; only, you see, I couldn't get out to find people to
give evidence for me."
"Do you--see him often?" she asked, somewhat vaguely.
"Armstrong!" exclaimed Billy, in open-eyed amaze. "Why, he's here with me
every day."
"But never," thought Miss Lawrence, "in the morning--when we are."
The eventful Monday was duly ushered in, but not the court. That case
never came to trial. Like the crack of a whip an order snapped in by wire
on the Thursday previous--three regiments, the --teenth regulars and the
"Primeval Dudes," Armstrong's splendid regiment among them--to prepare
for sea voyage forthwith. More than that, General Drayton and staff were
directed to proceed to Manila at once. Two-thirds of the members of the
court were from these regiments. A new detail would be necessary. The
General sent for Armstrong.
"Can't we try that case here and now?" he asked.
"Certainly," said Armstrong, "if you'll send for Canker that _he_ may be
satisfied."
And Canker came and listened. It was admitted that Gray had had a long
talk with the prisoner, took him his overcoat, newspapers, etc., but, in
extenuation, they were members of the same college society and their
social standing was, outside the army, on the same plane. Gray deserved
reprimand and caution--nothing more. As to the carriage, he had nothing to
do with the one that drove to camp that night. A man in the uniform of a
commissary sergeant giving the name of Foley (how Canker winced) had
ordered it at the stable and taught the driver "Killarney." Gray had
'phoned for a carriage for himself, hoping to get the officer-of-the-day's
permission to be absent two hours to tell his story in person to the
General, who was dining with the department commander. He never got the
permission, and the carriage went to the wrong camp. Lieutenant W. F. Gray
was released from arrest and returned to duty.
"I shall never be able to thank you enough," said he, sentimentally, to
Miss Lawrence, at the Palace that evening. They were strolling up and
down the corridor, waiting, as was Schuyler, for Mildred to come down for
the theater. Gray's curly head was inclined toward the dark locks of his
fair partner. His eyes were fastened on her faintly flushing face. They
made a very pretty picture, said people who looked on knowingly, and so
thought the officer in the uniform of a colonel of infantry, who, while
talking calmly to Mr. Prime full thirty yards away, watched them with
eyes that were full of sadness. How could _he_ see at that distance that
her eyes, clear and radiant, were seldom uplifted to the ardent gaze of
her escort, and were at the moment looking straight at him? How could he
hear at that distance the prompt response, given with an inclination of
the bonny head to indicate her meaning?
"There's where your thanks are due, Mr. Gray."
Quite a gathering of army folk was at the Palace that night. So many
wives or sweethearts were going home, so many soldiers abroad, and Mrs.
Frank Garrison, gay and gracious, passed them time and again, leaning on
the arm of Captain McDonald, a new devotee, while poor Cherry, with an
enamored swain from the Presidio, languished in a dim, secluded corner.
She had been recalled by parental authority and was to start for Denver
under a matronly wing on the morrow. Mrs. Frank had been bidden, and
expected, to go at the same time, but that authority was merely marital.
Up to this time not one army wife had been permitted to accompany her
husband on any of the transports to Manila, though one heroine managed to
get carried away and to share her liege lord's stateroom as far as
Honolulu. The General and his staff, with a big regiment of volunteers,
were to sail on the morrow, the other regiments as fast as transports
could be coaled and made ready.
Something in Mrs. Garrison's gay, triumphant manner prompted a
sore-hearted woman, suffering herself at the coming parting, to turn and
say: "Well, Mrs. Garrison, I suppose that after your husband sails you'll
have to follow the rest of us into grass-widowhood."
One thing that made women hate Margaret Garrison was that she "could
never be taken down," and the answer came cuttingly, as it was meant to
go, even though a merry laugh went with it.
"Not I! When the ship I want is ready, I go with it!"
But as she turned triumphantly away, the color suddenly left her cheek
and there was an instant's falter. As though he had heard her words,
Stanley Armstrong too had suddenly turned and stood looking sternly into
her eyes.