V.

Before seven o'clock that same morning Captain Chester had come to the

conclusion that only one course was left open for him. After the brief

talk with Sloat at the office he had increased the perplexity and

distress of that easily-muddled soldier by requesting his company in a

brief visit to the stables and corrals. A "square" and reliable old

veteran was the quartermaster sergeant who had charge of those

establishments; Chester had known him for years, and his fidelity and

honesty were matters the officers of his former regiment could not too

highly commend. When Sergeant Parks made an official statement there was

no shaking its solidity. He slept in a little box of a house close by

the entrance to the main stable, in which were kept the private horses

of several of the officers, and among them Mr. Jerrold's; and it was his

boast that, day or night, no horse left that stable without his

knowledge. The old man was superintending the morning labors of the

stable-hands, and looked up in surprise at so early a visit from the

officer of the day.

"Were you here all last night, sergeant?" was Chester's abrupt question.

"Certainly, sir, and up until one o'clock or more."

"Were any horses out during the night,--any officers' horses, I mean?"

"No, sir, not one."

"I thought possibly some officers might have driven or ridden to town."

"No, sir. The only horses that crossed this threshold going out last

night were Mr. Sutton's team from town. They were put up here until near

one o'clock, and then the doctor sent over for them. I locked up right

after that, and can swear nothing else went out."

Chester entered the stable and looked curiously around. Presently his

eye lighted on a tall, rangy bay horse that was being groomed in a wide

stall near the door-way.

"That's Mr. Jerrold's Roderick, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir. He's fresh as a daisy, too,--hasn't been out for three

days,--and Mr. Jerrold's going to drive the dog-cart this morning."

Chester turned away.

"Sloat," said he, as they left the stable, "if Mr. Jerrold was away from

the post last night,--and you heard me say he was out of his

quarters,--could he have gone any way except afoot, after what you heard

Parks say?"

"Gone in the Suttons' outfit, I suppose," was Sloat's cautious answer.

"In which event he would have been seen by the sentry at the bridge,

would he not?"

"Ought to have been, certainly."

"Then we'll go back to the guard-house." And, wonderingly and

uncomfortably, Sloat followed. He had long since begun to wish he had

held his peace and said nothing about the confounded roll-call. He hated

rows of any kind. He didn't like Jerrold, but he would have crawled

_ventre à terre_ across the wide parade sooner than see a scandal in the

regiment he loved; and it was becoming apparent to his sluggish

faculties that it was no mere matter of absence from quarters that was

involving Jerrold. Chester was all aflame over that picture-business, he

remembered, and the whole drift of his present investigation was to

prove that Jerrold was _not_ absent from the post, but absent only from

his quarters. If so, where had he spent his time until nearly four?

Sloat's heart was heavy with vague apprehension. He knew that Jerrold

had borne Alice Renwick away from the party at an unusually early hour

for such things to break up. He knew that he and others had protested

against such desertion, but she declared it could not be helped. He

remembered another thing,--a matter that he thought of at the time, only

from another point of view. It now seemed to have significance bearing

on this very matter; for Chester suddenly asked,--

"Wasn't it rather odd that Miss Beaubien was not here at the dance? She

has never missed one, seems to me, since Jerrold began spooning with her

last year."

"Why, she _was_ here."

"She was? Are you sure? Rollins never spoke of it; and we had been

talking of her. I inferred from what he said that she was not there at

all. And I saw her drive homeward with her mother right after parade: so

it didn't occur to me that she could have come out again, all that

distance, in time for the dance. Singular! Why shouldn't Rollins have

told me?"

Sloat grinned: a dreary sort of smile it was, too. "You go into society

so seldom you don't see these things. I've more than half suspected

Rollins of being quite ready to admire Miss Beaubien himself; and since

Jerrold dropped her he has had plenty of opportunity."

"Great guns! I never thought of it! If I'd known she was to be there I'd

have gone myself last night. How did she behave to Miss Renwick?"

"Why, sweet and smiling, and chipper as you please. If anything, I think

Miss Renwick was cold and distant to her. I couldn't make it out at

all."

"And did Jerrold dance with her?"

"Once, I think, and they had a talk out on the piazza,--just a minute. I

happened to be at the door, and couldn't help seeing it; and what got me

was this: Mr. Hall came out with Miss Renwick on his arm; they were

chatting and laughing as they passed me, but the moment she caught sight

of Jerrold and Miss Beaubien she stopped, and said, 'I think I won't

stay out here; it's too chilly,' or something like it, and went right

in; and then Jerrold dropped Miss Beaubien and went after her. He just

handed the young lady over to me, saying he was engaged for next dance,

and skipped."

"How did she like that? Wasn't she furious?"

"No. That's another thing that got me. She smiled after him, all

sweetness, and--well, she _did_ say, 'I count upon you,--you'll be

there,' and he nodded. Oh, she was bright as a button after that."

"What did she mean?--be 'where,' do you suppose? Sloat, this all means

more to me, and to us all, than I can explain."

"I don't know. I can't imagine."

"Was it to see her again that night?"

"I don't know at all. If it was, he fooled her, for he never went near

her again. Rollins put her in the carriage."

"Whose? Did she come out with the Suttons?"

"Why, certainly. I thought you knew that."

"And neither old Madame Beaubien nor Mrs. Sutton with them? What was the

old squaw thinking of?"

By this time they had neared the guard-house, where several of the men

were seated awaiting the call for the next relief. All arose at the

shout of the sentry on Number One, turning out the guard for the officer

of the day. Chester made hurried and impatient acknowledgment of the

salute, and called to the sergeant to send him the sentry who was at the

bridge at one o'clock. It turned out to be a young soldier who had

enlisted at the post only six months before and was already known as one

of the most intelligent and promising candidates for a corporalship in

the garrison.

"Were you on duty at the bridge at one o'clock, Carey?" asked the

captain.

"I was, sir. My relief went on at 11.45 and came off at 1.45."

"What persons passed your post during that time?"

"There was a squad or two of men coming back from town on pass. I halted

them, sir, and Corporal Murray came down and passed them in."

"I don't mean coming from town. Who went the other way?"

"Only one carriage, sir,--Mr. Sutton's."

"Could you see who were in it?"

"Certainly, sir: it was right under the lamp-post this end of the bridge

that I stood when I challenged. Lieutenant Rollins answered for them and

passed them out. He was sitting beside Mr. Sutton as they drove up, then

jumped out and gave me the countersign and bade them good-night right

there."

"Rollins again," thought Chester. "Why did he keep this from me?"

"Who were in the carriage?" he asked.

"Mr. Sutton, sir, on the front seat, driving, and two young ladies on

the back seat."

"Nobody else?"

"Not a soul, sir. I could see in it plain as day. One lady was Miss

Sutton, and the other Miss Beaubien. I know I was surprised at seeing

the latter, because she drove home in her own carriage last evening

right after parade. I was on post there at that hour too, sir. The

second relief is on from 5.45 to 7.45."

"That will do, Carey. I see your relief is forming now."

As the officers walked away and Sloat silently plodded along beside his

dark-browed senior, the latter turned to him:

"I should say that there was no way in which Mr. Jerrold could have gone

townwards last night. Should not you?"

"He might have crossed the bridge while the third relief was on, and

got a horse at the other side."

"He didn't do that, Sloat. I had already questioned the sentry on that

relief. It was the third that I inspected and visited this morning."

"Well, how do you know he wanted to go to town? Why couldn't he have

gone up the river, or out to the range? Perhaps there was a little game

of 'draw' out at camp."

"There was no light in camp, much less a little game of draw, after

eleven o'clock. You know well enough that there is nothing of that kind

going on with Gaines in command. That isn't Jerrold's game, even if

those fellows _were_ bent on ruining their eyesight and nerve and

spoiling the chance of getting the men on the division and army teams. I

wish it _were_ his game, instead of what it is!"

"Still, Chester, he may have been out in the country somewhere. You seem

bent on the conviction he was up to mischief here, around this post. I

won't ask you what you mean; but there's more than one way of getting to

town if a man wants to very bad."

"How? Of course he can take a skiff and row down the river; but he'd

never be back in time for reveille. There goes six o'clock, and I must

get home and shave and think this over. Keep your own counsel, no matter

who asks you. If you hear any questions or talk about shooting last

night, you know nothing, heard nothing, and saw nothing."

"Shooting last night!" exclaimed Sloat, all agog with eagerness and

excitement now. "Where was it? Who was it?"

But Chester turned a deaf ear upon him, and walked away. He wanted to

see Rollins, and went straight home.

"Why didn't you tell me Miss Beaubien was out here last night?" was the

question he asked as soon as he had entered the room where, all aglow

from his cold bath, the youngster was dressing for breakfast. He colored

vividly, then laughed.

"Well, you never gave me much chance to say anything, did you? You

talked all the time, as I remember, and suddenly vanished and slammed

the door. I would have told you had you asked me." But all the same it

was evident for the first time that here was a subject Rollins was shy

of mentioning.

"Did you go down and see them across sentry post?"

"Certainly. Jerrold asked me to. He said he had to take Miss Renwick

home, and was too tired to come back,--was going to turn in. I was glad

to do anything to be civil to the Suttons."

"Why, I'd like to know? They have never invited you to the house or

shown you any attention whatever. You are not their style at all,

Rollins, and I'm glad of it. It wasn't for their sake you stayed there

until one o'clock instead of being here in bed. I wish--" and he looked

wistfully, earnestly, at his favorite now, "I wish I could think it

wasn't for the sake of Miss Beaubien's black eyes and aboriginal

beauty."

"Look here, captain," said Rollins, with another rush of color to his

face; "you don't seem to fancy Miss Beaubien, and--she's a friend of

mine, and one I don't like to hear slightingly spoken of. You said a

good deal last night that--well, wasn't pleasant to hear."

"I know it, Rollins. I beg your pardon. I didn't know then that you were

more than slightly acquainted with her. I'm an old bat, and go out very

little, but some things are pretty clear to my eyes, and--don't you be

falling in love with Nina Beaubien. That is no match for you."

"I'm sure you never had a word to say against her father. The old

colonel was a perfect type of the French gentleman, from all I hear."

"Yes, and her mother is as perfect a type of a Chippewa squaw, if she is

only a half-breed and claims to be only a sixteenth. Rollins, there's

Indian blood enough in Nina Beaubien's little finger to make me afraid

of her. She is strong as death in love or hate, and you must have seen

how she hung on Jerrold's every word all last winter. You must know she

is not the girl to be lightly dropped now."

"She told me only a day or two ago they were the best of friends and had

never been anything else," said Rollins, hotly.

"Has it gone that far, my boy? I had not thought it so bad, by any

means. It's no use talking with a man who has lost his heart: his reason

goes with it." And Chester turned away.

"You don't know anything about it," was all poor Rollins could think of

as a suitable thing to shout after him; and it made no more impression

than it deserved.

As has been said, Captain Chester had decided before seven o'clock that

but one course lay open to him in the matter as now developed. Had

Armitage been there he would have had an adviser, but there was no other

man whose counsel he eared to seek. Old Captain Gray was as bitter

against Jerrold as Chester himself, and with even better reason, for he

knew well the cause of his little daughter's listless manner and tearful

eyes. She had been all radiance and joy at the idea of coming to Sibley

and being near the great cities, but not one happy look had he seen in

her sweet and wistful face since the day of her arrival. Wilton, too,

was another captain who disliked Jerrold; and Chester's rugged sense of

fair play told him that it was not among the enemies of the young

officer that he should now seek advice, but that if he had a friend

among the older and wiser heads in the regiment it was due to him that

that older and wiser head be given a chance to think a little for

Jerrold's sake. And there was not one among the seniors whom he could

call upon. As he ran over their names, Chester for the first time

realized that his ex-subaltern had not a friend among the captains and

senior officers now on duty at the fort. His indifference to duties, his

airy foppishness, his conceit and self-sufficiency, had all served to

create a feeling against him; and this had been intensified by his

conduct since coming to Sibley. The youngsters still kept up jovial

relations with and professed to like him, but among the seniors there

were many men who had only a nod for him on meeting. Wilton had

epitomized the situation by saying he "had no use for a masher," and

poor old Gray had one day scowlingly referred to him as "the

professional beauty."

In view of all this feeling, Chester would gladly have found some man to

counsel further delay; but there was none. He felt that he must inform

the colonel at once of the fact that Mr. Jerrold was absent from his

quarters at the time of the firing, of his belief that it was Jerrold

who struck him and sped past the sentry in the dark, and of his

conviction that the sooner the young officer was called to account for

his strange conduct the better. As to the episodes of the ladder, the

lights, and the form at the dormer-window, he meant, for the present at

least, to lock them in his heart.

But he forgot that others too must have heard those shots, and that

others too would be making inquiries.