XX.

They were having a family conclave at Sablon. The furlough granted

Sergeant McLeod on account of wound received in action with hostile

Indians would soon expire, and the question was, should he ask an

extension, apply for a discharge, or go back and rejoin his troop? It

was a matter on which there was much diversity of opinion. Mrs. Maynard

should naturally be permitted first choice, and to her wish there was

every reason for according deep and tender consideration. No words can

tell of the rapture of that reunion with her long-lost son. It was a

scene over which the colonel could never ponder without deep emotion.

The telegrams and letters by which he carefully prepared her for

Frederick's coming were all insufficient. She knew well that her boy

must have greatly changed and matured, but when this tall, bronzed,

bearded, stalwart man sprang from the old red omnibus and threw his one

serviceable arm around her trembling form, the mother was utterly

overcome. Alice left them alone together a full hour before even she

intruded, and little by little, as the days went by and Mrs. Maynard

realized that it was really her Fred who was whistling about, the

cottage or booming trooper songs in his great basso profundo, and

glorying in his regiment and the cavalry life he had led, a wonderful

content and joy shone in her handsome face. It was not until the colonel

announced that it was about time for them to think of going back to

Sibley that the cloud came. Fred said _he_ couldn't go.

In fact, the colonel himself had been worrying a little over it. As Fred

Renwick, the tall distinguished young man in civilian costume, he would

be welcome anywhere; but, though his garb was that of the sovereign

citizen so long as his furlough lasted, there were but two weeks more of

it left, and officially he was nothing more nor less than Sergeant

McLeod, Troop B, ----th Cavalry, and there was no precedent for a

colonel's entertaining as an honored guest and social equal one of the

enlisted men of the army. He rather hoped that Fred would yield to his

mother's entreaties and apply for a discharge. His wound and the latent

trouble with his heart would probably render it an easy matter to

obtain; and yet he was ashamed of himself for the feeling.

Then there was Alice. It was hardly to be supposed that so very high

bred a young woman would relish the idea of being seen around Fort

Sibley on the arm of her brother the sergeant; but, wonderful to relate,

Miss Alice took a radically different view of the whole situation. So

far from wishing Fred out of the army, she importuned him day after day

until he got out his best uniform, with its resplendent chevrons and

stripes of vivid yellow, and the yellow helmet-cords, though they were

but humble worsted, and when he came forth in that dress, with the

bronze medal on his left breast and the sharpshooter's silver cross, his

tall athletic figure showing to such advantage, his dark, Southern,

manly features so enhanced by contrast with his yellow facings, she

clapped her hands with a cry of delight and sprang into his one

available arm and threw her own about his neck and kissed him again and

again. Even mamma had to admit he looked astonishingly well; but Alice

declared she would never thereafter be reconciled to seeing him in

anything but a cavalry uniform. The colonel found her not at all of her

mother's way of thinking. She saw no reason why Fred should leave the

service. Other sergeants had won their commissions every year: why not

he? Even if it were some time in coming, was there shame or degradation

in being a cavalry sergeant? Not a bit of it! Fred himself was loath to

quit. He was getting a little homesick, too,--homesick for the boundless

life and space and air of the broad frontier,--homesick for the rapid

movement and vigorous hours in the saddle and on the scout. His arm was

healing, and such a delight of a letter had come from his captain,

telling him that the adjutant had just been to see him about the new

staff of the regiment. The gallant sergeant-major, a young Prussian of

marked ability, had been killed early in the campaign; the vacancy must

soon be filled, and the colonel and the adjutant both thought at once of

Sergeant McLeod. "I won't stand in your way, sergeant," wrote his troop

commander, "but you know that old Ryan is to be discharged at the end of

his sixth enlistment the 10th of next month; there is no man I would

sooner see in his place as first sergeant of my troop than yourself, and

I hate to lose you; but, as it will be for the gain and the good of the

whole regiment, you ought to accept the adjutant's offer. All the men

rejoice to hear you are recovering so fast, and all will be glad to see

Sergeant McLeod back again."

Even Mrs. Maynard could not but see the pride and comfort this letter

gave her son. Her own longing was to have him established in some

business in the East; but he said frankly he had no taste for it, and

would only pine for the old life in the saddle. There were other

reasons, too, said he, why he felt that he could not go back to New

York, and his voice trembled, and Mrs. Maynard said no more. It was the

sole allusion he had made to the old, old sorrow, but it was plain that

the recovery was incomplete. The colonel and the doctor at Sibley

believed that Fred could be carried past the medical board by a little

management, and everything began to look as though he would have his

way. All they were waiting for, said the colonel, was to hear from

Armitage. He was still at Fort Russell with the head-quarters and

several troops of the ----th Cavalry: his wound was too severe for him

to travel farther for weeks to come, but he could write, and he had

been consulted. They were sitting under the broad piazza at Sablon,

looking out at the lovely, placid lake, and talking it over among

themselves.

"I have always leaned on Armitage ever since I first came to the

regiment and found him adjutant," said the colonel. "I always found his

judgment clear; but since our last experience I have begun to look upon

him as infallible."

Alice Renwick's face took on a flood of crimson as she sat there by her

brother's side, silent and attentive. Only within the week that followed

their return--the colonel's and her brother's--had the story of the

strange complication been revealed to them. Twice had she heard from

Fred's lips the story of Frank Armitage's greeting that frosty morning

at the springs. Time and again had she made her mother go over the

colonel's account of the confidence and faith he had expressed in there

being a simple explanation of the whole mystery, and of his indignant

refusal to attach one moment's suspicion to her. Shocked, stunned,

outraged as she felt at the mere fact that such a story had gained an

instant's credence in garrison circles, she was overwhelmed by the

weight of circumstantial evidence that had been arrayed against her.

Only little by little did her mother reveal it to her. Only after

several days did Fred repeat the story of his night adventure and his

theft of her picture, of his narrow escape, and of his subsequent visit

to the cottage. Only gradually had her mother revealed to her the

circumstances of Jerrold's wager with Sloat, and the direful

consequences; of his double absences the very nights on which Fred had

made his visits; of the suspicions that resulted, the accusations, and

his refusal to explain and clear her name. Mrs. Maynard felt vaguely

relieved to see how slight an impression the young man had made on her

daughter's heart. Alice seemed but little surprised to hear of the

engagement to Nina Beaubien, of her rush to his rescue, and their

romantic parting. The tragedy of his death hushed all further talk on

that subject. There was one on which she could not hear enough, and that

was about the man who had been most instrumental in the rescue of her

name and honor. Alice had only tender sorrow and no reproach for her

step-father when, after her mother told her the story of his sad

experience twenty years before, she related his distress of mind and

suspicion when he read Jerrold's letter. It was then that Alice said,

"And against that piece of evidence no man, I suppose, would hold me

guiltless."

"You are wrong, dear," was her mother's answer. "It was powerless to

move Captain Armitage. He scouted the idea of your guilt from the moment

he set eyes on you, and never rested until he had overturned the last

atom of evidence. Even I had to explain," said her mother "simply to

confirm his theory of the light Captain Chester had seen and the shadows

and the form at the window. It was just exactly as Armitage reasoned it

out. I was wretched and wakeful, sleeping but fitfully, that night. I

arose and took some bromide about three o'clock and soon afterwards

heard a fall, or a noise like one. I thought of you and got up and went

in your room, and all was quiet there, but it seemed close and warm: so

I raised your shade, and then left both your door and mine open and went

back to bed. I dozed away presently, and then woke feeling all startled

again,--don't you know?--the sensation one experiences when aroused from

sleep, certain that there has been a strange and startling noise, and

yet unable to tell what it was? I lay still a moment, but the colonel

slept through it all, and I wondered at it. I knew there had been a

shot, or something, but could not bear to disturb him. At last I got up

again and went to your room to be sure you were all right, and you were

sleeping soundly still; but a breeze was beginning to blow and flap your

shade to and fro, so I drew it and went out, taking my lamp with me this

time and softly closing your door behind me. See how it all seemed to

fit in with everything else that had happened. It took a man with a will

of his own and an unshaken faith in woman to stand firm against such

evidence."

And, though Alice Renwick was silent, she appreciated the fact none the

less. Day after day she clung to her stalwart brother's side. She had

ceased to ask questions about Captain Armitage and the strange greeting

after the first day or two, but, oddly enough, she could never let him

talk long of any subject but that campaign, of his ride with the captain

to the front, of the long talk they had had, and the stirring fight

and the magnificent way in which Armitage had handled his long

skirmish-line. He was enthusiastic in his praise of the tall Saxon

captain. He soon noted how silent and absorbed she sat when he was the

theme of discourse; he incidentally mentioned little things "he" had

said about "her" that morning, and marked how her color rose and her

eyes flashed quick, joyful, questioning glance at his face, then fell in

maiden shyness. He had speedily gauged the cause of that strange

excitement displayed by Armitage at seeing him the morning he rode in

with the scout. Now he was gauging, with infinite delight, the other

side of the question. The brother-like, he began to twit and tease her;

and that was the last of the confidences.

All the same it was an eager group that surrounded the colonel the

evening he came down with the captain's letter. "It settles the thing in

my mind. We'll go back to Sibley to-morrow; and as for you,

Sergeant-Major Fred, your name has gone in for a commission, and I've no

doubt a very deserving sergeant will be spoiled in making a very

good-for-nothing second lieutenant. Get you back to your regiment, sir,

and call on Captain Armitage as soon as you reach Fort Russell, and tell

him you are much obliged. He has been blowing your trumpet for you

there; and, as some of those cavalrymen have sense enough to appreciate

the opinion of such a soldier as my ex-adjutant,--some of them, mind

you: I don't admit that all cavalrymen have sense enough to keep them

out of perpetual trouble,--you came in for a hearty endorsement, and

you'll probably be up before the next board for examination. Go and bone

your Constitution, and the Rule of Three, and who was the father of

Zebedee's children, and the order of the Ptolemies and the Seleucidæ,

and other such things that they'll be sure to ask you as indispensable

to the mental outfit of an Indian-fighter." It was evident that the

colonel was in joyous mood. But Alice was silent. She wanted to hear the

letter. He would have handed it to Frederick, but both Mrs. Maynard and

Aunt Grace clamored to hear it read aloud: so he cleared his throat and

began:

"MY DEAR COLONEL,--

"Fred's chances for a commission are good, as the enclosed papers will

show you; but even were this not the case I would have but one thing to

say in answer to your letter: he should go back to his troop.

"Whatever our friends and fellow-citizens may think on the subject, I

hold that the profession of the soldier is to the full as honorable as

any in civil life; and it is liable at any moment to be more useful. I

do not mean the officer alone. I say, and mean, the soldier. As for me,

I would rather be first sergeant of my troop or company, or

sergeant-major of my regiment, than any lieutenant in it except the

adjutant. Hope of promotion is all that can make a subaltern's life

endurable, but the staff-sergeant or the first sergeant, honored and

respected by his officers, decorated for bravery by Congress, and looked

up to by his comrades, is a king among men. The pay has nothing to do

with it. I say to Renwick, 'Come back as soon as your wound will let

you,' and I envy him the welcome that will be his.

"As for me, I am even more eager to get back to you all; but things look

very dubious. The doctors shake their heads at anything under a month,

and say I'll be lucky if I eat my Thanksgiving dinner with you. If

trying to get well is going to help, October shall not be done with

before B Company will report me present again.

"I need not tell you, my dear old friend, how I rejoice with you in

your--hum and haw and this is all about something else," goes on the

colonel, in malignant disregard of the longing looks in the eyes of

three women, all of whom are eager to hear the rest of it, and one of

whom wouldn't say so for worlds. "Write to me often. Remember me warmly

to the ladies of your household. I fear Miss Alice would despise this

wild, open prairie-country; there is no golden-rod here, and I so often

see her as--hum and hum and all that sort of talk of no interest to

anybody," says he, with a quizzical look over his "bows" at the lovely

face and form bending forward with forgetful eagerness to hear how "he

so often sees her." And there is a great bunch of golden-rod in her lap

now, and a vivid blush on her cheek. The colonel is waxing as frivolous

as Fred, and quite as great a tease.

And then October comes, and Fred has gone, and the colonel and his

household are back at Sibley, where the garrison is enraptured at seeing

them, and where the women precipitate themselves upon them in tumultuous

welcome. If Alice cannot quite make up her mind to return the kisses,

and shrinks slightly from the rapturous embrace of some of the younger

and more impulsive of the sisterhood,--if Mrs. Maynard is a trifle more

distant and stately than was the case before they went away,--the

garrison does not resent it. The ladies don't wonder they feel indignant

at the way people behaved and talked; and each lady is sure that the

behavior and the talk were all somebody else's; not by any possible

chance could it be laid at the door of the speaker. And Alice is the

reigning belle beyond dispute, though there is only subdued gayety at

the fort, for the memory of their losses at the Spirit Wolf is still

fresh in the minds of the regiment. But no man alludes to the events of

the black August night, no woman is permitted to address either Mrs.

Maynard or her daughter on the subject. There are some who seek to be

confidential and who cautiously feel their way for an opening, but the

mental sparring is vain: there is an indefinable something that tells

the intruder, "Thus far, and no farther." Mrs. Maynard is courteous,

cordial, and hospitable, Alice sweet and gracious and sympathetic, even,

but confidential never.

And then Captain Armitage, late in the month, comes home on crutches,

and his men give him a welcome that makes the rafters ring, and he

rejoices in it and thanks them from his heart; but there is a welcome

his eyes plead for that would mean to him far more than any other. How

wistfully he studies her face! How unmistakable is the love and worship

in every tone! How quickly the garrison sees it all, and how mad the

garrison is to see whether or not 'tis welcome to her! But Alice Renwick

is no maiden to be lightly won. The very thought that the garrison had

so easily given her over to Jerrold is enough to mantle her cheek with

indignant protest. She accepts his attentions, as she does those of the

younger officers, with consummate grace. She shows no preference, will

grant no favors. She makes fair distribution of her dances at the hops

at the fort and the parties in town. There are young civilians who begin

to be devoted in society and to come out to the fort on every possible

opportunity, and these, too, she welcomes with laughing grace and

cordiality. She is a glowing, radiant, gorgeous beauty this cool autumn,

and she rides and drives and dances, and, the women say, flirts, and

looks handsomer every day, and poor Armitage is beginning to look very

grave and depressed. "He wooes and wins not," is the cry. His wound has

almost healed, so far as the thigh is concerned, and his crutches are

discarded, but his heart is bleeding, and it tells on his general

condition. The doctors say he ought to be getting well faster, and so

they tell Miss Renwick,--at least somebody does; but still she relents

not, and it is something beyond the garrison's power of conjecture to

decide what the result will be. Into her pretty white-and-yellow room no

one penetrates except at her invitation, even when the garrison ladies

are spending the day at the colonel's; and even if they did there would

be no visible sign by which they could judge whether his flowers were

treasured or his picture honored above others. Into her brave and

beautiful nature none can gaze and say with any confidence either "she

loves" or "she loves not." Winter comes, with biting cold and blinding

snow, and still there is no sign. The joyous holidays, the glad New

Year, are almost at hand, and still there is no symptom of surrender. No

one dreams of the depth and reverence and gratitude and loyalty and

strength of the love that is burning in her heart until, all of a

sudden, in the most unexpected and astonishing way, it bursts forth in

sight of all.

They had been down skating on the slough, a number of the youngsters and

the daughters of the garrison. Rollins was there, doing the devoted to

Mamie Gray, and already there were gossips whispering that she would

soon forget she ever knew such a beau as Jerrold in the new-found

happiness of another one; Hall was there with the doctor's pretty

daughter, and Mrs. Hoyt was matronizing the party, which would, of

course, have been incomplete without Alice. She had been skating hand in

hand with a devoted young subaltern in the artillery, and poor Armitage,

whose leg was unequal to skating, had been ruefully admiring the scene.

He had persuaded Sloat to go out and walk with him, and Sloat went; but

the hollow mockery of the whole thing became apparent to him after they

had been watching the skaters awhile, and he got chilled and wanted

Armitage to push ahead. The captain said he believed his leg was too

stiff for further tramping and would be the better for a rest; and Sloat

left him.

Heavens! how beautiful she was, with her sparkling eyes and radiant

color, glowing with the graceful exercise! He sat there on an old log,

watching the skaters as they flew by him, and striving to keep up an

impartial interest, or an appearance of it, for the other girls. But the

red sun was going down, and twilight was on them all of a sudden, and he

could see nothing but that face and form. He closed his eyes a moment to

shut out the too eager glare of the glowing disk taking its last fierce

peep at them over the western bluffs, and as he closed them the same

vision came back,--the picture that had haunted his every living,

dreaming moment since the beautiful August Sunday in the woodland lane

at Sablon. With undying love, with changeless passion, his life was

given over to the fair, slender maiden he had seen in all the glory of

the sunshine and the golden-rod, standing with uplifted head, with all

her soul shining in her beautiful eyes and thrilling in her voice. Both

worshipping and worshipped was Alice Renwick as she sang her hymn of

praise in unison with the swelling chorus that floated through the trees

from the little brown church upon the hill. From that day she was Queen

Alice in every thought, and he her loyal, faithful knight for weal or

woe.

Boom went the sunset gun far up on the parade above them. 'Twas

dinner-time, and the skaters were compelled to give up their pastime.

Armitage set his teeth at the entirely too devotional attitude of the

artilleryman as he slowly and lingeringly removed her skates, and turned

away in that utterly helpless frame of mind which will overtake the

strongest men on similar occasions. He had been sitting too long in the

cold, and was chilled through and stiff, and his wounded leg seemed

numb. Leaning heavily on his stout stick, he began slowly and painfully

the ascent to the railway, and chose for the purpose a winding path that

was far less steep, though considerably longer, than the sharp climb the

girls and their escorts made so light of. One after another the glowing

faces of the fair skaters appeared above the embankment, and their

gallants carefully convoyed them across the icy and slippery track to

the wooden platform beyond. Armitage, toiling slowly up his pathway,

heard their blithe laughter, and thought with no little bitterness that

it was a case of "out of sight out of mind" with him, as with better

men. What sense was there in his long devotion to her? Why stand between

her and the far more natural choice of a lover nearer her years? "Like

unto like" was Nature's law. It was flying in the face of Providence to

expect to win the love of one so young and fair, when others so young

and comely craved it. The sweat was beaded on his forehead as he neared

the top and came in sight of the platform. Yes, they had no thought for

him. Already Mrs. Hoyt was half-way up the wooden stairs, and the others

were scattered more or less between that point and the platform at the

station. Far down at the south end paced the fur-clad sentry. There it

was an easy step from the track to the boards, and there, with much

laughter but no difficulty, the young officers had lifted their fair

charges to the walk. All were chatting gayly as they turned away to take

the wooden causeway from the station to the stairs, and Miss Renwick was

among the foremost at the point where it left the platform. Here,

however, she glanced back and then about her, and then, bending down,

began fumbling at the buttons of her boot.

"Oh, permit me, Miss Renwick," said her eager escort. "I will button

it."

"Thanks, no. Please don't wait, good people. I'll be with you in an

instant."

And so the other girls, absorbed in talk with their respective gallants,

passed her by, and then Alice Renwick again stood erect and looked

anxiously but quickly back.

"Captain Armitage is not in sight, and we ought not to leave him. He may

not find it easy to climb to that platform," she said.

"Armitage? Oh, he'll come on all right," answered the batteryman, with

easy assurance. "Maybe he has gone round by the road. Even if he hasn't,

I've seen him make that in one jump many a time. He's an active old

buffer for his years."

"But his wound may prove too much for that jump now. Ah there he comes,"

she answered, with evident relief; and just at the moment, too, the

forage-cap of the tall soldier rose slowly into view some distance up

the track, and he came walking slowly down on the sharp curve towards

the platform, the same sharp curve continuing on out of sight behind

him,--behind the high and rocky bluff.

"He's taken the long way up," said the gunner. "Well, shall we go on?"

"Not yet," she said, with eyes that were glowing strangely and a voice

that trembled. Her cheeks, too, were paling. "Mr. Stuart, I'm sure I

heard the roar of a train echoed back from the other side."

"Nonsense, Miss Renwick! There's no train either way for two hours yet."

But she had begun to edge her way back toward the platform, and he could

not but follow. Looking across the intervening space,--a rocky hollow

twenty feet in depth,--he could see that the captain had reached the

platform and was seeking for a good place to step up; then that he

lifted his right foot and placed it on the planking and with his cane

and the stiff and wounded left leg strove to push himself on. Had there

been a hand to help him, all would have been easy enough; but there was

none, and the plan would not work. Absorbed in his efforts, he could not

see Stuart; he did not see that Miss Renwick had left her companions and

was retracing her steps to get back to the platform. He heard a sudden

dull roar from the rocks across the stream; then a sharp, shrill whistle

just around the bluff. My God! a train, and that man there, alone,

helpless, deserted! Stuart gave a shout of agony: "Back! Roll back over

the bank!" Armitage glanced around; determined; gave one mighty effort;

the iron-ferruled stick slipped on the icy track, and down he went,

prone between the glistening rails, even as the black vomiting monster

came thundering round the bend. He had struck his head upon the iron,

and was stunned, not senseless, but scrambled to his hands and knees and

strove to crawl away. Even as he did so he heard a shriek of anguish in

his ears, and with one wild leap Alice Renwick came flying from the

platform in the very face of advancing death, and the next instant, her

arm clasped about his neck, his strong arms tightly clasping _her_,

they were lying side by side, bruised, stunned, but safe, in a welcoming

snow-drift half-way down the hither bank.

When Stuart reached the scene, as soon as the engine and some

wrecking-cars had thundered by, he looked down upon a picture that

dispelled any lingering doubt in his mind. Armitage, clasping Queen

Alice to his heart, was half rising from the blessed mantlet of the

snow, and she, her head upon his broad shoulder, was smiling faintly up

into his face: then the glorious eyes closed in a death-like swoon.

* * * * *

Fort Sibley had its share of sensations that eventful year. Its crowning

triumph in the one that followed was the wedding in the early spring. Of

all the lovely women there assembled, the bride by common consent stood

unrivalled,--Queen Alice indeed. There was some difference of opinion

among authorities as to who was really the finest-looking and most

soldierly among the throng of officers in the conventional full-dress

uniform: many there were who gave the palm to the tall, dark, slender

lieutenant of cavalry who wore his shoulder-knots for the first time on

this occasion, and who, for a man from the ranks, seemed consummately at

home in the manifold and trying duties of a groomsman. Mrs. Maynard,

leaning on his arm at a later hour and looking up rapturously in his

bronzed features, had no divided opinion. While others had by no means

so readily forgotten or forgiven the mad freak that so nearly involved

them all in wretched misunderstanding, she had nothing but rejoicing in

his whole career. Proud of the gallant officer who had won the daughter

whom she loved so tenderly, she still believes, in the depths of the

boundless mother-love, that no man can quite surpass her soldier son.

[Footnote A: By act of Congress, officers may be addressed by the title

of the highest rank held by them in the volunteer service during the

war. The colonel always punctiliously so addressed his friend and

subordinate, although in the army his grade was simply that of first

lieutenant.]