"God helps those who help themselves," quoth Lieutenant Blake, on
hearing of the incident at Lanier's quarters, "but God help those who
help other fellows, unless 'the Old Man' likes it." Blake was but a
"casual" at Fort Cushing at the moment, summoned thither as a witness
before a general court-martial then in session, but there was nothing
casual in his friendship for Bob Lanier. Two years' campaigning in
Arizona and one in Wyoming had made these subalterns fast friends,
despite the difference of ten years in their ages and nearly twenty
"files" in rank, Blake being one of the senior and Lanier one of the
junior lieutenants of the regiment. Blake was no pet of the post
commander. Blake had a way of saying satirical things of seniors whom
he did not fancy, and Button was one of these. Blake should have
returned to his proper station the day after the dance, but, like
everybody else, so far as heard from, he had been held by the storm, and
therefore happened to be in the club-room at the store along toward
eleven o'clock on Tuesday, watching the distant deployment over the
southeastward slopes of the barren upland. Fully half the mounted force
of the garrison was on search for the paymaster's "outfit," and with
Blake stood half a dozen infantry officers and two or three of the --th.
To them, on his way to rejoin his searching troop, had entered big Jim
Ennis, Lanier's chum and classmate, and Ennis looked the picture of
smothered wrath. Half an hour previous he had been seen trotting up from
stables to the adjutant's office, summoned thither by the orderly of the
commanding officer. A few minutes later that same hard-worked orderly
had been seen sprinting to the surgeon's quarters, and Doctor Larrabee,
wrapped in furs and meditation, obeyed the summons, stood in the
presence of an irate commander not more than fifty seconds, came forth
wrapped in gloom, and took the short cut back of the major's house to
his own bailiwick at the hospital.
About the only officer not to put in an appearance that morning out of
doors, afoot, in saddle, or adrift in snow, was Lieutenant Lanier. About
the first officer Button wished to see was Bob, and about the last was
Blake. Yet such was the freakishness of Fate that the first man to hail
him, with ill-timed jocularity, was Blake, and the last of his officers
whom he was destined that day to set eyes on was Bob Lanier, whom
Schuchardt, in answer to the commander's summons, had earlier declared
unfit to leave his quarters.
If it had not been for the startling announcement about the paymaster,
Colonel Button would have fought that matter out with the doctor then
and there. First, however, he had to send forth his mounted men by
scores in search of the missing officer and party. This done, he had
once more summoned Schuchardt. Then he sent for Ennis, and had what they
termed a "red hot row."
In his exasperated frame of mind, Button had been ready to believe
almost any story at the expense of Lanier, and, such is the perversity
of human nature, it added to rather than diminished his wrath that his
revered senior surgeon should promptly corroborate the statements of
both Schuchardt and Ennis, and further assume personal and entire
responsibility for the episode of Saturday afternoon in Lanier's
quarters. That episode had started many a tongue, and one of Button's
henchmen, thinking to win favor at the fountain-head by mention of new
iniquity on the part of the culprit, had deftly enlarged upon it.
Snaffle, of course, was the fellow at fault, and he justified it on the
plea that Lanier was demoralizing two men of his troop. The story he
told was that Lanier had been carousing at his quarters with certain
enlisted members of the guard. When told of it Button was furious, so
much so that for the time he forgot about Sumter and the ladies of the
Sumter household, and the north dormer window of Sumter's quarters,
reported "stove in by the storm."
Nor had Sumter himself much time for domestic duties before the order
came for him and his troop to turn out to aid in the search. He found
the family fairly tranquil under the circumstances. He had sent a
messenger galloping out from town, to assure his wife of his safety,
when Tuesday's dawn showed the storm sufficiently abated. A devious
course the rider took, for the road was blocked in a dozen places, and
every ravine and hollow was packed to the brim with snow. But he bore
glad tidings and banished all anxiety on account of the husband and
father. Their anxieties now were mainly for Miriam, their guest.
Mrs. Sumter had not half finished what she had to say concerning Miriam
when the summons came that called the captain forth to join the
searching squadron, but he had heard enough to increase the anxiety in
his fine, soldierly face. He went up with Mrs. Sumter and looked
critically over the damage to the window, in what had been Miriam's
room. She had moved, per force, to the front--to Katherine's--room
Saturday night, for toward sunset the storm-sash was torn out of the
north dormer, and the window blew in with a crash. By dark the room was
bank full of snow that Sergeant Kennedy and a brace of loyal troopers
had been shovelling out since seven that Tuesday morning, without making
any great addition to the huge drifts at the back. Front, flank, and
rear, most of the houses along the line were packed solidly to the
attic windows. On several the boys and girls were already coasting from
the peak of the roof down over the back yards, sheds, and fences and out
toward Larrabee's half-submerged hospital.
It was easy to see how and why the storm-sash had failed to withstand
the buffeting. In his frantic haste and panicky flight the intruder of
Friday night had wrenched a hinge from its fastening. The sash had
sagged at the windward end, and the rest was easy for rude Boreas.
"That sash is probably somewhere down in the back yard, sergeant,"
Sumter quietly remarked to faithful Kennedy. "It's under fifteen feet of
snow, but when it comes to tunnelling, look after it, see that it isn't
injured, and call me as soon as you find it."
Mrs. Sumter looked quickly at her lord. She well knew the reason of his
instructions.
"Did you show that scrap of lining?" she asked, a moment later, as they
stood alone before the parlor fire.
"They have it," was the answer. "I expect two of them out any moment."
And then had come the sudden summons to turn out, and with only brief
greeting to his daughter, and a hurried kiss and caress, Captain Sumter
had mounted and spurred away.
It must have been after twelve, for orderly call and mess had sounded in
front of the adjutant's office, when one of the hospital attendants came
floundering up the row from Lanier's, and made his way to Sumter's door,
a little note in his hand. He would wait, he said, for an answer, and
the maid bade him step inside while she ran up-stairs. Mrs. Sumter
answered her knock at the door of Miss Kate's room, into which the
damsels were now doubled. To the disappointment of that somewhat
volatile domestic, Mrs. Sumter closed the portal before proceeding to
open the missive, but her announcement, "From Mr. Lanier," caused Miriam
Arnold to sit bolt upright.
DEAR MRS. SUMTER [it read]:
I've been living since Saturday mainly on your kindness and that
delicious fruit. It was more than good of you to take such care of
your incarcerated sub, and I'm ashamed to have sent no earlier
thanks, but we've been banked in until this morning, and that
rascal striker of ours is missing. He hasn't been about the house
since Friday night. Like Barker's cow, he may have blown away. I
reckon they'll find him, her, and the paymaster's outfit snowed
under somewhere down toward Nebraska, safe, but possibly starving.
Schuchardt has gone with the command, so has Ennis, and I'm all
alone with nothing to read. If you have anything moral,
instructive, and guaranteed to soften the unrepentant sinner's
heart--something I could read with profit as well as
pleasure--_don't_ send it, but tell me how you all stood the storm
and how you are. It is so hard to get anything but admonition out
of "Shoe," and "Dad" is now more unreliable than ever.
I hope Miss Arnold is entirely recovered.
Yours most sincerely,
R. R. LANIER.
"The last thing a man mentions in a note is the first thing he wants
answered," said Mrs. Sumter sagely. "What shall I tell him for you,
Miriam?"
"Tell _me_ what is to be done to _him_," was the sole reply, as the girl
settled back dejectedly upon the pillows.
"I've tried to, child," answered her hostess kindly, patiently. "There
isn't a court in the army that would sentence him to more than a brief
confinement to limits, and reprimand." Yet Mrs. Sumter spoke with much
less confidence than on Saturday. Had not her husband _had_ to tell her
his application for leave was withdrawn, and why? Had not Doctor
Larrabee admitted to her that the colonel spoke of misdeeds far more
serious for which Lanier must suffer? Was there not, indeed, a story in
circulation, mainly in the Snaffle set, of a two-days escapade when the
regiment camped near Frayne, and then a financial transaction in which
Lanier had been involved--something growing out of an affair up on the
Yellowstone--something including that young civilian friend of his, the
collegian turned cowboy--Mr. Watson Lowndes?
Even as she strove to assure Miss Arnold, for the twentieth time, that a
military arrest was far more portentious in sound than in effect,
something in Kate's determined silence and Miriam's insistence added to
the effect of these rumors. Could it be that the boy had confided to the
daughter, hitherto his stanch friend and ally, that which he dare not
confide to her, his captain's wife? Could this account for the fact
that, though it was impossible to conceal his love for Miriam, he never
yet had owned it to her--to her to whom it was now obvious that the
avowal would mean so much--so very much?
Then another thing weighed heavily upon the brave heart of this loving
friend and mother. Never had she known her child to be so silent, so
strange, as now. Ever since Friday night she seemed to avoid all mention
of the affair, to shrink from the subject--she who had ever been
frankness itself--she who had never had a thought the mother did not
share. She had become fitful and nervous. She seemed oppressed with some
secret. In the long hours of their enforced confinement, with the lamps
burning on the ground-floor by day as well as by night, Mrs. Sumter had
pondered much over the result of her husband's investigations. Although
Miriam's desk was open and its contents lay scattered on the table,
nothing was missing, even to the packet of ten-and twenty-dollar
"greenbacks" in its secret drawer. If robbery had been the object of the
intruder, he had neglected his opportunity, or else been frightened off
in time. If robbery was not his object, then what could it have been?
The house was deserted at the moment of his entrance, that was now
settled, for first the cook and then "Maggie" had owned to having run
over to Mrs. Snaffle's kitchen for a moment, and the probability was,
they stayed the best part of the evening. The lights had been left
turned low in the upper and lower halls, in the kitchen and the
captain's den. Army doors were seldom locked or bolted. Any one could
enter, front or rear. A marauder, if such he was in this instance, might
have been there from tattoo at 9.30 until discovered some two hours
later, and been there undisturbed.
But why should the situation so strangely affect her daughter? Could it
be that she, too, cared for Bob Lanier? The thought for the moment made
the mother's heart stand still.
She was writing her reply to his note, when Maggie again appeared. "Two
gentlemen to see the captain, mum," and Mrs. Sumter hurriedly closed the
note and went below-stairs to meet them. She knew well who they were and
why they had come. A branch office of the Rocky Mountain Detective
Agency had been maintained long months at the great and growing railway
station. They had been summoned by her husband, and that was enough.
Yet she shrank from meeting them, shrank from the thought of the
questioning that must ensue. They might ask to speak with Kate, even
with Miriam, but they did not. They asked to be shown the room, with the
storm-battered dormer, by this time emptied of its load of snow. They
asked to see Miriam's desk. Yes, the lock had been forced and by a big
knife. They begged that Mrs. Sumter would not mention that to any one
but the captain yet awhile. They were confident he would soon return.
They smiled at the idea of the paymaster being held up and robbed in
broad daylight by any gang in their neighborhood. They admitted that
many questionable characters were in town--there always _were_ toward
the holidays, and just now, of course, the town was overcrowded--three
big trains still stranded there.
While they were yet at their work, there came sounds of stamping feet at
the front door, and in came Sumter, stiff from cold, but brimful of
energy.
"Found Scott and his clerk, at least," he cried. "'Most dead and half
frozen! The driver's gone, I fear. He was blown or pitched off. The
mules ran away before the gale. Those inside the ambulance were
helpless. Two dropped off behind and are lost. The thing finally
capsized and went to pieces, and they managed to reach a little cattle
shack, two miles south of town. They've found Lanier's striker,
too--what's left of him."
By this time Kate had come down-stairs, and with pallid face was
listening dumbly to her father's words. She seemed hardly to heed the
presence of the strangers. Not until the captain had emerged from his
furs and stood robust and ruddy, yet a little short of breath, did she
lay her hand upon his arm and ask her question.
"Have they found Rawdon?"
"Rawdon? No, not a sign of him anywhere!"
"Is that the young fellow that those sergeants have been hunting for?"
asked one of the detectives. "We managed to find out about him. He was
in town early as three o'clock Friday, and he left on Number Six that
night."
"Do you mean to tell me," said Sumter, gazing blankly at the speaker,
"that he wasn't out here when--this--happened?"
"Not unless he had wings! That train leaves at 11.40." Whereupon Kate
Sumter slowly withdrew her hand, then turned away.