VII

Another day went by. Major Scott and his clerk, under Larrabee's skilful

touch, were gradually regaining strength and beginning to answer

questions. At first their senses seemed dulled, as though they could not

shake off the frost that benumbed them. At first they could tell little

of the cause of the mishap. The ambulance was curtained in, even at the

rear, through which the two scared troopers had managed to slip to their

doom. Not until the snows melted in the spring, and the contents of the

ravines should be revealed, was it likely they would be heard of again.

The railway was still blocked. The wires were still down. Fort Cushing

stood isolated from the outer world, and no less than five of its

garrison were absent and unaccounted for: the two men detailed to drive

in with the paymaster, two bacchanalians who, being in town when the

storm broke, had dared each other to face the gale and tramp out, and

finally a young trooper named Cary, who had arrived with the same

recruit squad that brought them Rawdon, and had been on terms of

friendship, if not indeed of intimacy, with him. They had been together

that very Friday afternoon. In addition, whereabouts unknown, was

Sergeant Fitzroy, of Snaffle's Troop. "Absent with leave," said the

morning report. "Acting under the verbal instructions of the commanding

officer," said his captain.

Along toward dusk on Tuesday, others of the searching squadron, sent

afar down the valley, had come back, reporting that the ambulance mules

were found, huddled together, half starved and still half harnessed, in

a log shack or shelter to which their instinct had guided them after

their heels had made chopsticks of the running gear. The ambulance body

was snowed under somewhere and nowhere in sight. The driver, a civilian

employed in the Quartermaster's Department, had totally disappeared.

Scott, the paymaster; Thomas, his clerk; and Rafferty, Lanier's soldier

servant, or "striker" as then called, were still half dazed--Rafferty,

indeed, so much dazed that no coherent words had yet escaped him.

One more unfortunate, the driver of Foster's sleigh, was in trouble. Not

until two hours after the dance had he turned up with the missing

equipage, a cock-and-bull story, and a case of what the corporal called

"jag." He swore that, having got chilled through, waiting, he just

thought to get one hot whiskey at the store. Sentry Number Six said he'd

mind the team while the driver went in, and the next thing he knew

"they'd run'd away, hell for leather," and he, their driver, had to

follow two miles to Flint's Ranch, close to town, where he "might have

taken a nip or two more." It was his first offense and Foster forgave.

It should be remarked, however, that Number Six declared that it was not

he with whom the driver left the sleigh, but two "fellers," _i.e._,

troopers, who happened to be near the store. However, that did not seem

much to matter at the time.

And Fort Cushing was in unhappy frame of mind. Colonel Button was in

most inhospitable mood, and chafing because he could not communicate

with the general commanding the department. Mrs. Button was confined to

the house and denied to all but one or two intimates. Bob Lanier was

still in close arrest. No man could say what might be the result, for

Barker, the adjutant, declared he knew no more than they. "The Old Man

had something up his sleeve"--several somethings--against him, but was

confiding in no one, for he and Stannard were at odds over the matter;

he and Sumter were practically estranged because of it, and for the

first time in regimental history Button seemed to be giving all his

attention to Snaffle and men of his stamp and set. They were not more

than three or four in number. They had been rather tolerated than sought

in the past, but now the colonel seemed to have use for them alone.

And there was sorrow and estrangement at Sumter's. Never before, as Mrs.

Sumter declared, had Katherine ever had a secret from her mother. Now

there was a matter upon which it seemed she could not talk. Moreover,

Miriam Arnold was affected in precisely the same way. She shrank from

all mention of that mysterious affair of Friday night. Not only were

they unable to speak of it to Mrs. Sumter; they avoided it among

themselves.

It was now Wednesday, and there had been a procession of callers to

inquire for Miss Arnold. The girls felt that they _must_ dress and come

down and face them. "Are you sure you feel equal to it, Miriam?" was

Mrs. Sumter's anxious question.

"I am sure I do _not_," was the weary answer, "but all the same I must."

And, being a girl of pluck, and much ashamed of the breakdown of Friday

and Saturday, Miss Arnold made her effort, and did remarkably well so

long as people refrained from prodding her about her "strange

adventure," the alleged details of which, in exaggerated form, were

garrison property by this time. There could be no doubt, said nine out

of ten of the soldiery, it was the work of some sneak-thief in uniform,

in all probability that young swell Rawdon, who was gone. But among a

certain select few still another theory obtained, and Wednesday night

when Sergeant Fitzroy returned to the post and asked to see the colonel,

that officer, who was at dinner, sent answer that he would be at the

office at eight o'clock, and further sent word to Captain Snaffle to be

there at the same hour.

A spell of sharp cold had followed the blizzard. The skies were dazzling

at night with the radiance and sparkle of the stars. The young people of

the garrison were out in force, rejoicing in the snow sports, the

moonlight, the exhilarating air. The men had made some famous slides

over at the bluffs, and the children along the officers' lines were

playing hide and seek, about the drifts and tunnels at the northward end

of the parade. They gathered in force about the office to cheer the

colonel as he came forth from a long conference, which left him so

absorbed he hardly noticed their gleeful salute. They pelted two prime

favorites who followed, with drooping head and woebegone visage, and

never once responded to the fun, and the youngsters asked one another

what on earth could have happened to Cassidy and Quinlan, who were

always so ready to frolic with them.

Then Captain Sumter had been sent for, and was admitted to a

five-minute talk with the colonel at his quarters, and came away with

grave and troubled face, to a ten-minutes conference with his gentle

wife that left her sorely worried and distressed.

"Ask Kate," he said, as once more he set forth into the night. "I've got

to tramp and think this over before I do anything further." And at that

moment Kate and Miriam had gone in to talk awhile with Mrs. Stannard. It

was best they should not stay home, subject to incessant interview.

It was just about quarter of nine. The lights at the office were still

burning, for the colonel had intimated that he might be back. Barker was

bending over some of the post papers and reports at his desk, and

wondering why on earth the colonel should be colloguing with Snaffle,

Crane, Sergeant Fitzroy, and sending for Cassidy and Quinlan. That was a

queer "outfit" of Snaffle's at best. It seemed odd that the most

pronounced "Britisher" in barracks, outside of the band, should be a

sergeant in the troop commanded by the nearest thing to an Irishman

among the captains. True, Fitzroy as stable sergeant was quite

independent, and, being very ambitious and zealous, had attracted the

attention of other captains, to wit, Canker and Curbit, rival troop

leaders, who each, at one time or other, had offered to make Fitzroy

first sergeant if he would transfer; but Fitzroy preferred to stay where

he was in "C," and it was easier to suggest than it was to assert the

real reason.

Barker was busy with these reflections when the colonel once more

entered and began pacing moodily up and down the room. The adjutant

rose, but at a signal resumed his seat and waited. He was, as he

whimsically described himself, "a relic of the previous administration."

In those days officers might serve long years on the staff and never

know an hour of company duty. Barker had been in the adjutant's office

under three different regimental commanders, and, as etiquette required,

had tendered his resignation to Button on that officer's promotion to

the colonelcy. Button as promptly and courteously replied that he hoped

Lieutenant Barker would consent to serve as right-hand man until he

reached his captaincy, which could not be very far off. But already

Button was repenting. "Barker is too much wedded to the old order of

things," said he. "Barker has his likes and dislikes" (a weakness the

colonel denied to himself), "and Barker's a little inclined to imagine

that nobody can run a regiment as Atherton did"--for which, at last,

there was this much foundation, that Barker thought, if he did not say,

that Atherton ran it much better than Button ever could hope to, and

Button instinctively knew and infinitely resented it. It must be owned

of Button that he hated the mere mention of his predecessor's name,

methods, and opinions. It was unlucky indeed, perhaps, that the views

of one of the former colonels had been recorded in black and white as

follows:

"In my opinion Lieutenant Lanier is one of the finest young officers in

the Cavalry."

Full fifteen minutes the colonel went striding up and down the long

apartment used for office, assembly, and school-room. Once in a while he

would turn across the hall and into Barker's smaller room, pause as

though half minded to speak, then turn out again. Twice he went to the

door, looking over across the glistening heaps and drifts, and letting

in a lot of cold air. Twice he muttered something about its taking

Snaffle and his sergeant an unusually long time to do a simple thing,

and at last, as the trumpeters were heard, with much stamping of feet

and blowing of hands, gathering for the old-time nightly "walk around"

that preceded tattoo roll-call, Button abruptly turned on his adjutant

and said:

"Barker, how long have you known Mr. Lanier?"

"Ever since he joined, sir."

"And you knew him in his cadet days?"

"As an instructor knows a cadet, yes, sir."

"And you told me you never heard of his writing to newspapers?"

"Never, sir," answered Barker, rising from his chair and facing his

commander. "And I repeat that I believe it impossible for him to have

had anything to do with those--inflammatory articles about the

campaign."

"You consider him absolutely square--above a lie--or a trick of any

kind?"

Barker faltered just one minute. What did the colonel mean by a trick?

Mischief there had been, once or twice. Tricks had been played, and one

only this last summer during the campaign--a trick, too, that if truth

were told, Lanier should have known about. At least, it had been played

for his benefit, and had "pulled the wool" over the colonel's eyes.

"I consider him as square a man as I know, and utterly above a lie--of

any kind," was the final answer.

"And yet you hesitate. You know, or have heard--rumors," said Button

suspiciously.

"I have heard rumors and slanders, Colonel Button," was Barker's

probably injudicious reply, for he closed with "and so many of them that

I disbelieve nine out of ten."

"Well, here!" said Button impulsively, "here are you and Stannard and

Sumter--three of the 'old liners,' as you are called in your respective

grades--and I see plainly enough you three, and God knows how many more,

are tacitly condemning my attitude toward Lanier. You think, if you

don't say, that I have treated him with harshness and injustice--have

listened solely to his accusers and enemies. Now, I've had enough of

this! There is nothing that _requires_ a commander to show his hand to

his subordinates, but as matters stand in this regiment--Oh, come in,

Major Stannard. I sent for you purposely, and Sumter as well, to meet me

here at tattoo." (And at the moment, as the united force of field

musicians began the stirring strains of the old cavalry "curfew call,"

"The March of the Bear," the two seniors solemnly entered the presence,

removing their fur caps as they bowed to the commander.) "As I was

saying to Barker, as matters stand in this regiment, some half a dozen

at least of the men referred to as its 'representative officers' are

apparently resentful of my arrest of Lieutenant Lanier, and attribute my

course to pique, because he saw fit to show himself at the hop I

declined to permit him as officer-of-the-guard to attend. You think,

possibly, that because men like Captain Snaffle, Lieutenant Crane, and

one or two of that set have been in consultation with me, the matters at

issue are beneath your notice." (Here the three assailed officers

exchanged glances, but said not a word in protest, for the colonel went

impulsively on.) "They at least are loyal to their commander, and to the

best interests of the regiment. Now I mean to show you. Mr. Barker,"

said he impressively, "go to Lieutenant Lanier and say that I desire his

presence here at once."

And Barker took his cap and cape and departure without a word.

Down the line in the moonlight the snow heaps were sparkling as though

crusted with brilliants. The black square of the field music was

trudging out across an acre of the parade swept clean by the recent

gale. The children, in laughing little groups, were returning from their

hour at the slide, and here and there from the deep cut or tunnel in

front of each officer's doorway dark muffled figures were emerging, and

striding away toward the barracks--subalterns en route to the companies

to supervise roll-call.

Just as Barker neared Stannard's, at the head of the row, two cloaked

and hooded forms hurried forth, and Barker almost collided with them.

"Oh, good evening, Miss Kate! Good evening, Miss Arnold!" was his

embarrassed greeting. Then, with attempt at jocularity for which he

later could have kicked himself: "I'm just in time to see you home, and

head off hobgoblins and hoboes." No wonder the two walked the faster and

gave but perfunctory replies.

"Indeed, I beg pardon," he blundered on. "I'm just bound for Lanier's.

Any message?"

"You might say we wish him speedy deliverance," answered Kate Sumter,

with unlooked-for spirit and effect, for the adjutant, in dismay at his

own awkwardness, darted swiftly ahead, shouting, "Hold on, Steve!" to an

officer with whom he would rather not have wasted a moment's time.

Indeed, poor Barker was sore distressed. He could not help hearing

scraps of the talk that had passed at the office between the colonel,

Snaffle, Crane, and certain summoned enlisted men, Fitzroy, Cassidy, and

Quinlan among them. Even that poor devil who had been on duty Friday

night as sentry on Number Five had been marched into the awful presence

of the commanding officer, and ordered to tell who gave him the whiskey

that had been his undoing--even promising immunity from punishment; but

he was Irish and true to his faith and his friends, even they who had

betrayed him, and he'd die first, he said. Never would he "sphlit on the

best feller in the foort."

And Barker had heard many things that pointed to Lanier--so many that

his heart seemed to stop as he entered the door, and sank at sight of

the trouble in the face of the young soldier sitting there in conference

with Ennis and Doctor Schuchardt.

Silently Lanier heard the summons. There was no reason why he should

not go, said the doctor. "The air will do you good," he added, "and

we'll be here when you come back."

Five minutes sufficed to reset the bandages and get him into his furs.

Ten minutes more and, for the first time since Friday evening, the

accused officer stood in the presence of his colonel, with three tried

and trusted comrades near to see him through.

"Mr. Lanier," said Button presently, "I have sent for you in deference

to the sentiment in your behalf, entertained by officers of such

standing in the army as these gentlemen who are here present. I am free

to say that I have had grave reasons for forming a most unfavorable

opinion of your conduct, even of your character. It has been my

intention to forward charges of a serious nature against you, and to

urge your trial by general court-martial. But such is my regard for

these gentlemen, and the element they represent, that I stand ready to

abandon my views and adopt theirs on your simple word. Can I say more?"

There was a moment of silence. Then Lanier spoke: "It depends, sir, I

think, upon what you wish me to answer."

Button colored. Turning to his desk, he took from an envelope several

newspaper clippings. "You know what these are, doubtless, Mr. Lanier. Do

you care to say what part you took in their preparation?"

"I am glad to say I took no part," was the answer.

"No part at all? And you do not even know the author?"

Lanier's dark eyes never swerved from their gaze. "I took no part, sir.

I did not say--I do not wish to say--that I do not know the author," was

the calm reply.

"Then you admit, or permit me to infer, that you know him--a member of

this command, for no one else knew the facts--and, moreover, that you

shield him?"

"I am shielding no man, Colonel Button. I would not shield a member of

this command who wrote such wrong of it."

"Yet you know the author and you will not tell?"

"What little I know came in such a way that I _cannot_ tell," was the

resolute answer. Button's forehead furrowed deep and his voice trembled

with anger.

"Enough said--or refused to be said--on that head. We will go to the

next. Who personated you the night you left your troop at Laramie and

went, contrary to orders, to that frolic at the post?"

A look of amaze came into the young officer's face. The answer came

slowly, painfully:

"I took part in no frolic, sir. I went contrary to an order that had

held good while we were out on the campaign, but that we did not suppose

was binding there. I went to the post that night to help a fr--a man

who--who needed money for an immediate journey. No one personated me to

my knowledge."

"I have the written report of the officer-of-the-day, whom I ordered to

inspect your tent, that you were there asleep at eleven P.M.

Subsequently I learned that you were away from taps until nearly

reveille."

"You could have heard that from me, sir, and _why_ I was gone, if need

be." And now it was plain that Mr. Lanier was growing angry. This was a

point gained by the colonel. He tried for another.

"Officers who make comrades and intimates of enlisted men take chances

that----"

"Colonel Button!" interposed Lanier, hotly, "I protest----"

"Protest you may, but listen you shall," was the instant rejoinder. "It

is well known you interfered with a non-commissioned officer in the

proper discharge of his duty. That was last June, and it was in behalf

of that young man Rawdon. It is well known that you were hobnobbing

with other enlisted men here, and gave them drink and food in your

quarters on more than one occasion. It is well known you lent civilian

clothing to your protégé for his latest escapade----"

"Colonel Button--gentlemen!" cried Lanier, "this is beyond all right!"

Indeed, Stannard and Sumter were on their feet, in expostulation, but

the colonel's blood was up. Bang went his bell, and the orderly fairly

jumped into the room.

"Call Sergeant Fitzroy," said he, and in another moment Fitzroy stood

before them, a civilian coat and waistcoat hanging on his arm.

"Briefly now, sergeant, where did you get those?" demanded Button.

"From the room that Trooper Rawdon occupied in town, sir. It's the suit

he wore about town last Friday;" and so saying, he held them forth.

Lanier slowly took the coat, astonishment in his eyes; glanced at the

tag inside the collar, bearing the name of his own New York tailor; for

a moment he searched it within and without, then handed it quietly back.

"It is enough like mine to deceive anybody but--the owner," said he.

"Do you mean to tell me----" began Button indignantly.

"That this is not mine?" interposed Lanier. "Yes, sir, and that one very

like it will be found in my closet at home."

"Mr. Barker will go with you, and you will resume your confinement--in

arrest;" and Button, in his anger, was lashing himself to language his

hearers never forgot, and that some could hardly, even long months

after, forgive. "In _my_ time, as a young officer, nothing tempted one

of our members to violate an arrest, but you----"

Pale as death Lanier faced him.

"Surely, sir, a cry for help--that I thought might mean fire----"

"There was _no_ cry for help," interrupted the colonel. "There was no

sign of fire. Even if there had been, it should mean nothing to a man

of honor when ordered in arrest. That is the only creed of a gentleman."

And then, with the lone trumpet of the musician of the guard wailing its

good-night to the garrison--the sweet, solemn strain of "Taps"--the

adjutant led his stunned and silent comrade home.