"Back in the corridor of the jail."
Curtis pondered the effect of this news on the tribe. "It's a little
difficult to eliminate violence from an inferior race when such cruelty
is manifested in those we call their teachers."
He sent for Ladue, who was deep in discussion of the evening's events
with Crow and Two Horns, and said to him: "Do not tell the wife of Cut
Finger of the death of her husband; wait till morning. What the sheriff
will do with the body I do not know. To-morrow say to her, 'All is over;
go with the agent.' It will do her no good to remain here. Good-night!"
* * * * *
It was hard to realize in the peaceful light of the following morning
that the little square had been the scene of so much cruelty and riot.
The townspeople came forth yawning and lax, and went about their duties
mechanically. Crow Wing and Two Horns, who would camp nowhere but on
the floor of Curtis's room, were awake at dawn, conversing in signs, in
order not to disturb the Little Father.
He, waking a little later, called to them in greeting and said: "Now all
is quiet. The white men are sorry. You are safe. Go to Paul's, eat and
get ready. We must start at once for the agency. Cut Finger did an ill
deed, and brought trouble on us all. Now he is dead, but good may come
out of it. Go, tell the little wife; be gentle with her; say to her I
wish her to go home with us."
Silently, soberly, the two redmen left the room, and Curtis dressed and
went at once to find Calvin. The boy looked up as Curtis entered and
cheerily called: "Hello, Major, I've had a lively dream. I dreamed there
was some gun-play goin' on out in the square and you and I were in it.
Was that right?"
"I've a sore place here on my shoulder that says you are. How do you
feel? Can you travel? If you can, I'll take you home in my buckboard."
"I can travel all right, but I haven't any home to go to. The old man
and I haven't hitched very well for a year, and this will just about
turn me out on the range."
"Well, come home with me, then; Jennie will soon have you all right
again; she's a famous nurse, and will look out for you till your mother
comes over, as she will. Mothers don't go back on their boys."
A curious dimness came into the bold, keen eyes of the wounded youth.
"Major, that'll suit me better than anything else I know."
"Very well, if the doctor says you can travel, we'll go along together,"
replied Curtis.
He was eager to see Elsie and was pacing impatiently up and down the
hall when Lawson met him, smiling, imperturbable. "Well, Captain, how
are you this morning?"
"Have you seen Miss Brisbane?"
"No; she is still asleep, I hope. The Senator is conscious, but in a
curious state; seems not to know or care where he is; his troubles are
over."
Even as he spoke a maid came from Elsie's room to say that her mistress
would breakfast in her own parlor, and wished both Mr. Lawson and
Captain Curtis to join her in half an hour.
Lawson, in discussing the events of the night, was decidedly optimistic.
"This outbreak will bring about a reaction," he said, with conviction.
"You will find every decent man on your side to-day."
"I hope so," responded Curtis. "But last night's mob made me long for my
Gray-Horse Troop."
When they entered the little parlor Elsie rose and passed straight to
Curtis without coquetry or concealment. "How is your wound? Did you
sleep?"
He assured her that he was almost as well as ever, and not till she had
convinced herself of the truth did she turn to Lawson. "Osborne, I can
never thank you enough for your good, kind help."
Osborne protested that he had done nothing worth considering, and they
took seats at the table--a subdued and quiet group, for Lawson was still
suffering from his loss, and the lovers could not conceal from
themselves the knowledge that this was their last meeting for many long
months. Elsie was a being transformed, so tender, so wilful, so
strangely sweet and womanly was she in every smile and in every
gesture.
They dwelt upon impersonal topics so long as Lawson remained; but he,
being ill at ease, hastened with his coffee, and soon made excuse to
withdraw, leaving them alone. For a moment they faced each other, and
then, with a wistful cadence in his voice, Curtis said, "Dear girl, it's
hard to say good-bye now, just when I have found you, but I must return
at once."
"Oh, must you? Can't you wait till we go--this afternoon?"
"No; I must be the first to carry this dreadful news to my people."
"You are right, of course; but I'll miss you so, and you need me. Say
you need me!"
"Need you! Of course I do; but you cannot stay with me and I cannot go
with you."
"I know, I know!" she sighed, resignedly. "But it hurts all the same."
"This tumult will die out soon," he went on, in the effort to comfort
her, "and then I can come on to Washington for a visit. I warn you I've
lost all my scruples; seventeen hundred million dollars are as straws in
my path, now that I know you really care for me."
"I don't feel rich now; I feel very poor. You must come to Washington
soon."
"I warn you that when I come I will ask hard things of you!" He rose and
his face darkened. "But my duty calls!"
She came to him and yielded herself to his embrace. "My queenly,
beautiful girl! It is sweet to have you here in my arms; but I _must_
say good-bye--good-bye."
In spite of his words he held her till she, with an instinctive
movement, pushed from his arms. "Go--go quick!" she exclaimed, in a low,
imperative voice.
Not staying to wonder at the meaning of her strange dismissal, he turned
and left the room without looking back.
Only after he had helped Calvin into the wagon, and had taken his seat
beside him, did the young soldier lift his eyes in search of her face at
the window. She was looking down upon him, tears were on her cheeks, but
she blew a kiss from her finger-tips, not caring if all the world were
there to see.