IV

Just as the paymaster predicted, the wintry storm broke with the early

afternoon. A genuine blizzard came shrieking down from the mountain pass

to the northwest, charging madly through the post, blinding the eyes and

snatching the breath of the few hardy men who had to venture out of

doors, driving before it a dense white snow-cloud, sweeping clean the

westward roofs and prairie wastes, and banking up to the very eaves on

the lee side of every building. Even the sentries had to be severally

taken off post and lodged within. (Number Five, so it was reported, had

been blown bodily into the Snaffles' kitchen.) Even the commanding

officer's "orderly," who had barely managed to make his way back after

dinner, was now relieved. Only by hauling himself hand over hand along

the picket fence, and turning his back to the gale every ten seconds to

catch his breath, had he succeeded in returning to his post. Even stable

duty was abandoned, so far as grooming was concerned, for though the men

could readily be blown from barracks to their steeds, no power could

fetch them back for supper. Veteran first sergeants told off a stout

squad in each troop, and sent them with a sack-load of rations to

reinforce the stable sergeant and grooms, there to stay to feed, guard,

and water the horses. Unless the roofs blew away, and all were buried in

drifts, there was safety, if not comfort, in the sheltered flats below

the bluffs.

But the telegraph wires went with the first hour. The stage, of course,

couldn't be hoped to return from town, and, so far as getting news from

the surrounding universe was concerned, Fort Cushing might as well have

been in Nova Zembla. And the Sumters, three, with Miriam Arnold, had

set forth at noon, intending to intercept the east-bound express, and

the colonel's spirit was raging in sympathy with the storm, and in spite

of his wife, for some one had started a tale that Sumter and his

household had ostentatiously called upon Robert Ray Lanier, in close

arrest, in utter disfavor and inferential disgrace.

Now, while an officer in arrest may not quit his quarters under seven

days, and may not even thereafter visit his commanding officer unless

ordered, or his brother officers unless authorized by that magnate,

there is no regulation prohibiting other officers or their households

visiting him. Nevertheless, they who publicly do so lay themselves

liable to the imputation of sympathizing with the accused at the expense

of the accuser, and some commanding officers are so sensitive that they

look upon such demonstrations as utterly subversive of discipline, and

aimed directly at them.

And of such was Colonel Button, a brave soldier, a gentleman at heart, a

kind, if crotchety, commander, and a lenient man rather than a

disciplinarian. Much given, himself, to criticism of his own superiors

or contemporaries, he could not abide it that he should lack the full

and enthusiastic support, much less be made the object of the criticism,

of his officers or men. A vain man, was Button, and dearly he loved the

adulation of his comrades, high or low. Veteran Irish sergeants knew

well how to reach the soft side of "The Old Man." Astute troop

commanders, like Snaffle, saved themselves many a deserved wigging by

judicious use of blarney. Sterling, straightforward men like Major

Stannard, like Sumter, Raymond, and Truscott, of his captains--men who

could not fawn and would not flatter--were never Button's intimates. He

admired them; he respected them; but down in his heart he did not like

them, because they were, in a word, independent.

And during the long and trying campaign that began early in June and

closed only late in November, Button had made more than one error that

set men to saying things, and at least one blunder that had called for

rebuke. It was supposed at the time that the rebuke would end it, but,

to Button's wrath, and indeed that of most of his friends, the story

appeared in exaggerated form in many an Eastern paper. What made it

worse was that, as told in Boston, Philadelphia, and other far Eastern

communities, where the Indian is little known and much considered,

Button's interests were bound to suffer, for he was declared to have

butchered defenseless women and children in a surrendered village--a

most unjust accusation in spite of the fact that certain squaws and boys

had died fighting with their braves by night, when bullets could not

well discriminate. Button had but just got his promotion to regimental

command, and friends at court were working hard for his further

advancement to the grade of brigadier-general--a fact that hurt him in

an army so benighted as then was ours, in believing that generalships

should be bestowed only upon the seniors and service-tried among the

colonels. We have broadened much since then, and, as it was once said

that every French soldier carried the baton of a marshal in his

knapsack, so now may the silver star be hidden in the pocket of the

lieutenants of every staff department as well as those of the Fighting

Force. There are none who may not aspire.

So Button believed it of Sumter that he and his, on the way to the

railway station, went in and condoled with Bob Lanier, and doubtless

vituperated him, the commander, when in point of fact no one of their

number had seen, or spoken with, Bob. Sumter merely left a big basket

filled with fruit, and a little note with friendliness, from Mrs.

Sumter, then sprang into the curtained escort wagon, and was whisked

away.

Then came the storm, and then a Sunday and Monday in which no man went

either way between the fort and town. And then a third, in which the

gale went down, and the garrison first dug itself out, and then

tunnelled in to the colonel's, the adjutant's office, and other

submerged quarters, and on the morning of that third day Captain Sumter,

in snow-covered furs, reported his return in person to his post

commander, and explained that he had been storm-bound at the station in

the meantime.

It was then barely nine o'clock. Guard mounting, the first held since

Saturday, was just over. The morning reports, the first rendered since

Saturday, were just in, and the staff and company officers for the first

time since Saturday were beginning to gather at headquarters and to

compare notes. All had much to tell. Stannard's wood-pile, Snaffle's

storm-shed, and Barker's cow had blown away. Somebody had just reported

Sumter's north dormer window "torn out by the roots," which moved

Button to say:

"I hope your quarters sustained no damage in your absence."

"I do not know, sir, I came direct to the office to report."

"Ah, true; your household started before the storm."

"Only started, sir. They went no farther than the surgeon's quarters,

where we learned the train was six hours late. I had--business--in town,

and went on. They remained."

"Then the ladies have not gone East?"

"Neither they nor any one else, since early Saturday morning. The road

is blocked."

"The paymaster, too? He went in right after luncheon."

"I cannot say, sir. I neither saw nor heard of him about the station. It

is crowded with people. Three trains are stalled there, unable to go

either way, and now--with your permission, colonel----"

"Oh, certainly, certainly, Sumter. I didn't wish to detain you. I hope

you'll find the ladies well." Whereat the captain withdrew, giving place

to the quartermaster who had hurried in, an anxious look in his eyes.

That he should have numerous losses and damages to report was to be

expected; that he should appear in the least concerned was not. A

faithful and loyal staff officer was Horton, but one of the most

philosophic, if not phlegmatic, souls in the service. It took nothing

short of a national disaster seriously to disturb his equanimity;

therefore at sight of his face the colonel was almost instantly on his

feet.

"Can I have a sergeant and twenty men at once, sir, armed and mounted?

The ambulance with the paymaster never reached town."

"Order them out at once, Mr. Barker," was Button's instant answer,

turning to his adjutant, who went out like a shot. "What time did they

start?"

"About two Saturday afternoon. It was blowing a gale then and the snow

so thick we lost sight of them within a hundred yards. Major Scott

declined an escort; said he and the clerk and the two men inside were

more than enough. He had only three thousand dollars left and thought

that too little to tempt anybody. Everybody knew he was just back from a

long pay trip--not going--yet they have disappeared utterly. I had men

ride the length of the creek valley 'twixt here and town, and there

isn't a sign of them."

The silence in the office was oppressive. Men looked at each other in

dumb consternation.

"How did you learn they hadn't reached town?" demanded Button.

"Sergeant Fitzroy just came out. He'd been in there with Sergeant

Stowell to help find Rawdon, he said. Major Scott had a section engaged

in the Pullman for Omaha, and Fitzroy says he never claimed it--says he

searched every stable for the ambulance, but there was no sign of it,

and he says there was a gang of half a dozen toughs that had been

hanging about town for a week, and they've cleared out. I'd like to go

and get into riding rig, sir."

"Go, and I'll have a troop out after you if need be." Then turning to

his adjutant: "Barker, have Sergeant Fitzroy sent for at once."

Another moment and a trig, well-groomed soldier, florid-faced, muscular,

yet burly in build, stepped briskly in and "stood attention." His right

eye and cheek were still heavily bruised and discolored. His nose was

somewhat swollen. The colonel had looked upon him with sombre eyes the

night of the dance. It annoyed him that a non-commissioned officer

should have taken such a time and place to offer a complaint. He still

disapproved. Moreover, he had given Sergeant Fitzroy no authority to go

as volunteer aid to Sergeant Stowell.

"How did you happen to be in town, sergeant?" was the abrupt demand.

Fitzroy colored to the brows, but the answer was prompt:

"I understood the colonel to say 'find him,' referring to Trooper

Rawdon, Friday night, and I went in Saturday morning thinking to help.

Then we couldn't get back, sir."

"My order was to the sergeant-of-the-guard, not to you," interposed

Button curtly. "Sergeant Stowell was sent and that was enough."

"Sergeant Stowell was looking for a man in uniform, sir, and had never

seen Rawdon except in trooper dress, and would never perhaps have known

him."

"Then how should you?" was the sharp query.

Fitzroy started. "I--had known him longer, sir, and much better. I--had

occasion to reprimand him once or twice, and knew him and his--pals, if

the colonel will pardon me--as none of the others knew him. There was

that young civilian, Lowndes, that went along with us and got into

trouble, and--there were others. In fact, if the colonel will pardon me

again, sir, I do not hold a high opinion of Trooper Rawdon, and if the

colonel were to investigate, it's my belief he could trace many a

disloyal trick--and tale--to that man. What's more," and now the

speaker's tone betrayed undue and most unprofessional excitement, and it

seemed as though he had quite forgotten himself and his official

surroundings, for he finished with voice querulous and upraised, "if

Paymaster Scott came to grief he has nobody to blame but his pet and

himself----"

"No more of that, sir," broke in the colonel angrily, "unless you are

ready to prove your words."

"Give me two days and half a chance, Colonel Button," was the confident

answer, "and I'll do it."

V

As Captain Sumter said, the ladies had gone no further than the

surgeon's quarters that memorable Saturday, and with Sumter's full

consent they had not gone even that far. Friday afternoon he had wired

his protest to the father of Miriam Arnold, and with startling emphasis

the reply had come early Saturday morning: "I repeat that I desire my

daughter to return at once." It angered this honest gentleman and

soldier. The tone was abrupt, if telegrams can be said to have either

tone or manner, but that "wire" settled the matter. Miriam said she must

obey, and nothing short of Doctor Larrabee, senior surgeon of the post,

had prevailed against her decision. He himself had met the covered

vehicle at his gate, and with calm but forceful courtesy had insisted

on their alighting. "Your train is half a day late," said he. "You'll be

wiser waiting here than at the frowsy station. Besides, I wish to see

this young woman again." So saying, he fairly lifted Miss Arnold from

the fur-robed depths of the dark interior, and deposited her on the

wind-swept path. "Run in," said he, then similarly aided Mrs. and Miss

Sumter. Their hand luggage and wraps came next, and Sumter drove away,

saying he'd be back to them in abundant time for the train--which he

was, though not until Tuesday morning. It was Thursday before the road

was open or the telegraph again at work.

Less than half an hour the trio spent under the doctor's hospitable

roof. Before two o'clock the wind had increased to a gale. The snow was

driving swift and hard. "I checked you just in time," said he. "There'll

be no train either way this night." And so by two o'clock, and just as

the paymaster was driving away down the front of officers' row, Mrs.

and Miss Sumter, with Miss Arnold, escorted by the two medical officers,

were struggling across the open space between the surgeon's houses and

the rear fence of the long line, and presently entering the back gate at

Sumter's.

It was an odd arrangement, somewhat peculiar to frontier stations of the

day. The enclosure of Fort Cushing was diamond-shaped. The entrance gate

was at the eastern apex. The hospital and surgeons' quarters stood on a

line with this gate, their front perpendicular to the long axis of the

diamond. Their "rear elevations," therefore, were not far from officers'

row. From the front of Sumter's house, around by way of the main gate to

the doctor's door--the first to the left (north) of the post

traders's--was quite a walk. From back door to back door, however, it

was less than two hundred paces. "We are near neighbors," Doctor

Larrabee had been saying, "though my wife thinks it a long walk on a

windy day. I could reach you day or night, almost in a minute. As for

Schuchardt and Bob Lanier, they could talk to each other out of their

back windows this morning, but you couldn't hear a bugle across there

now."

"Is he sitting up?" Mrs. Sumter inquired. "I thought, from what we

heard, Doctor Schuchardt was trying to keep him in bed."

"He won't stay," was the brief answer. "I doubt if he slept a wink last

night."

But Schuchardt was even less communicative. In answer to Mrs. Sumter's

appeal, that young but gifted physician had looked perturbed, and

finally answered: "Mr. Lanier's hurt is more mental than physical,

therefore the more difficult for me to reach."

"You've seen him this morning?"

"Twice, Mrs. Sumter, and I'm going again as soon as we've seen you

home."

And the moment they reached the rear storm-door, and their fur-hooded,

fur-mantled charges were safely within, Schuchardt excused himself,

Miriam Arnold's eyes following with a mute message that he felt, if he

did not hear.

But Larrabee lingered. Stamping and shaking off the snow, he followed

into the warm and cozy army quarters. Cook and housemaid both looked

astonished at the unexpected procession through the kitchen. Mrs.

Captain Snaffle's "chef"--like her mistress, of Hibernian

extraction--sprang up in some confusion from her chair and the cup of

"tay" over which the three had been chatting, as is the way of our

domestics at such times and places,--she had reason to know the mistress

of the house did not well approve of her, or of these frequent

visitations. "We shall probably dine at home," said Mrs. Sumter,

somewhat coldly, to her own retainers, and bestowing no notice upon

their visitor. "There may be no train till to-morrow;" and with that led

the way to the parlor.

Almost immediately, without waiting for the coming of the attendants

with their hand-bags, Miss Arnold fled up-stairs, followed, at a glance

from her mother, by Kate.

"You see how wretchedly nervous she continues," said Mrs. Sumter. "How

could we have let her go alone?"

"How should we let her go at all?" said Larrabee. "Indeed"--with a

glance from the clouding window over the storm-swept parade--"I repeat,

there will be no going anywhere for anybody just now. Has--has she--told

you anything, as yet?"

Mrs. Sumter was gradually emerging from her winter coat of furs. For a

moment she hesitated, then closed the door leading back to the

dining-room and returned to him as he stood there, warming his hands at

the great parlor stove then indispensable in our frontier homes. His

fine, intellectual face, in its silver-gray fringe of crisp curling

hair, was full of sympathy and interest. It was a face to confide in,

and all Fort Cushing swore by its senior surgeon. "Doctor," said she,

calling him by the title he best loved, "Miriam says she believes it was

all a mere delusion--a dream. She blames herself bitterly and--begs us

to think no more of it--to forgive her, but----"

"But?" and the kind dark eyes studied the gentle, matronly face.

"But--oh, why should I attempt to conceal it? You know, and we have

reason to know, she _did_ see some one--some one right there in her

room. Some one who went out like a thief, through the window, and down

the roof to the shed, and away in spite of sentries or--or anybody--some

one who was in there when they so unexpectedly got home. _You_ saw----"

"Yes, I saw the tracks in the fresh snow on the roof. I could see them

when I came hurrying over," murmured the doctor.

"Captain Sumter had the snow swept off before reveille. What was the use

of advertising it further? Mr. Barker and Mr. Blake saw it, too. They

hold it was some garrison sneak-thief, looking for jewelry. Yet not so

much as a ring, or a pin, was touched--only her desk."

"Did _she_ tell of that?"

"No, Kate was the first to see it. She flew up-stairs when she heard the

scream; found Miriam a senseless heap on the floor, the desk open on the

little table by the window, the contents scattered, the window up, and

somebody bounding and slipping away in the moonlight. Then she heard the

challenge and scuffle outside and thought the guard had him, and gave

her whole attention to Miriam, until Mr. Barker shouted from the lower

hall. Oh, yes, cook and Maggie both declare they were in their room,

but--I believe they were next door at the Snaffles'. I believe the back

door was left open for--whoever it was."

"And nothing is missing?"

"Nothing. He was frightened off evidently. But Captain Sumter wished to

have it all kept quiet until he could confer with the detectives in

town. He has a theory of his own."

She had lowered her voice, and now walked to the hall door, as though

listening for sounds from aloft, whither Kate and Miriam had vanished.

"Miss Kate has a level head," presently spoke Larrabee. "What does _she_

say?"

"Doctor, that is what troubles me! Kate won't say--anything. It's the

first time she ever kept a secret from me." And now tears of genuine

distress were welling in Mrs. Sumter's eyes.

It was half after two, and the wind was shrieking through the open space

back of the line, when Doctor Larrabee, bending almost double, managed

to fight his way homeward. Schuchardt, occupant of the adjoining set to

his own, had not yet returned. At Sumter's gate the senior surgeon

encountered the corporal-of-the-guard, nearly blind and well nigh

exhausted. He had been sent round to relieve the men on post and bid

them make the best of their way to the guard-room. He was even then

searching for Number Five, who had most justifiably, in fact,

involuntarily, taken refuge as previously explained. Had he not been

blown into the Snaffles' kitchen, he might, like Barker's cow, have been

blown away.

"You will probably find Doctor Schuchardt at Lieutenant Lanier's

quarters," shouted Larrabee at the corporal, with kindly intent. "Take

Number Five in there and get thawed out. Tell him I think a nip of

whiskey advisable under the circumstances."

And thus it happened that two storm-beaten soldiers presently shoved

their way through Lanier's back gate and banged at the kitchen door.

Nobody answering, they presently entered, passed through that deserted

apartment, and, hearing voices further on, the corporal ventured into

the dark hallway leading through the little frame house, now fairly

quivering in the blast. Here he caught sight of two officers--big,

powerful men, in fur caps and canvas overcoats, just pushing forth

through the front door into the fierce blast without. One was Doctor

Schuchardt, the other Lieutenant Ennis, joint occupant with Lanier of

the tiny premises. As Corporal Cassidy later expressed it, he felt "like

I'd lost a bulging pot on an ace full." He couldn't run after and beg

them to come back, yet he and his comrades were stiff from cold and

almost breathless from exhaustion. Suddenly Number Five's carbine

slipped from his frozen glove and fell with a crash on the kitchen

floor. The next instant the voice of Lieutenant Lanier was heard.

"Who the devil's that?"

"Corporal Cassidy, sir. The post surgeon told me to bring Number Five

in here and thaw him out. We'd find Doctor Schuchardt. But the doctor's

just gone, sir, and----"

But by this time Mr. Lanier himself appeared in the hall, his feet in

warm woollen slippers, his hands in bandages. "Well, I should say! Come

right in here, you two. Pull off your gloves and get out of those caps

and things. Man alive"--this to Number Five--"why didn't you come

before? This is no time to stand on ceremony--or stay on post, either.

My striker's stormbound somewhere. I'd help you if I could, but I can't.

Help yourselves now, best you can; rub and kick all you want to; _dance_

if it'll warm you." And all the time he was crowding them up about a

roaring stove, where presently he made them sit while he bustled about

at a buffet in the adjoining room. "You'll have to help me, corporal,"

presently he cried. "One hand can't mix and pour and lift. There's

sugar; there's hot water on the stove; there's glasses and here's

whiskey. Mix it hot, and down with it!"

And so hospitably and heartily, after the manner of old frontier days

and men, the young officer administered to his humbler comrades;

cheered, and warmed, and insisted on their eating with their second

tumbler, and when in course of half an hour the two stood before him,

glowing, grateful, and resuming their buffalo coats and fur caps and

gloves, honest Cassidy tried to say his say:

"'D' Troop's fellers never can brag enough about their lieutenant, sir,

and though we don't belong to 'D' Troop, it hasn't taken this to tell us

why. If ever the time comes when me or Quinlan here can do the

lieutenant a good turn he'll--he'll know it."

After which they were gone, rejoicing in their new-found strength, yet

reaching the nearest barracks only after severe struggle, and, later

still, the crowded, suffocating guard-room,--where now some thirty men

were huddled in a space intended for twenty at most--where Cassidy and

Number Five were speedily telling to eager, appreciative ears their

unusual and rejoiceful experience.

"Well, ain't he the dandy lieutenant, though?" queried Casey, of "F"

Troop. "And did he give you yer new cap, too, Quinlan? Sure the wan you

marched on wid had the mange!"

Cassidy snatched it from his comrade's head. "Mother av Moses! If he

hasn't lifted the lieutenant's----" But he broke off short. One glance

he had given the band within. A sudden cloud swept over his face. There

was an instant of indecision, then he whipped his own cap from his head

and thrust it on Quinlan.

"I'm a liar," said he; "it's me own he's had."

"Then you wear two sizes, Jim Cassidy, an' both different." Quinlan had

pulled the headpiece down, and was staring in at the soft lining.

"What's this?" he began, when the corporal's fingers closed like a vise

on his arm.

"Shut up, Quinlan. The whiskey's gone to yer noddle. Come here!" And

Cassidy led him, wondering, to the barred corridor without and slammed

the door behind them. "Not a word do you whisper of this to any man, Pat

Quinlan," said he, never relaxing his grasp. "You heard what that

Cockney Fitzroy was swearin' to this morning? Sure--you'd never say the

word to back that whelp--an' harm the lieutenant!"