"Bob," said Mr. Ennis, sauntering in to his comrade's bedside the
following morning, "I'm instructed to pay you a kiss."
Lanier's bandaged head spun on the pillow. He had but one girl in his
mind.
"Wh--who?" he demanded.
Ennis threw his head back and laughed. "Nine times out of ten when a
fellow is asked, 'will you take it now or wait till you get it?' he's
wise to take it now. If _I'm_ any judge, I should say you'd better wait
till you can get it, which may be in less than a week."
"Ennis, if you can quit being an ass long enough to tell me what you
mean, and where you've been, I'll thank you. If you can't, I wish you'd
get out. _Ugashe!_" concluded Bob, with a lapse into Apache and the
pillow.
"Well, it probably isn't just the kiss you were thinking of--no more was
when I got it--but, Robert, my son and fellow soldier, it's my recorded
conviction that the most enviable member of the regiment this day of our
Lord is your twin trooper friend Rawdon. I saw him off on his wedding
tour, and he _didn't_ have on your clothes."
Lanier's head popped up in an instant--the one visible eye all eager
interest. "_Where_ were they married? _When_ did they get off? Was
Lowndes there?" were the questions that flew from his lips.
"Arena. On Number Six. Don't know," was the categorical answer. "Rawdon
brought the parson out from Omaha, and the Osborns gave her away. Of
Lowndes I've seen nothing since the night you staked him at Laramie, and
what I've heard of him you refused to listen to. Of that callow specimen
of the effete and ultra-refined Back Bay District you've long since had
my opinion. He's too good and gentle for this Western world of ours,
Bob, and he and his shuddering kinsfolk suffer too much by
contamination----"
"Oh, shut up, Dad! His people _did_ wire him that his mother was
desperately ill. They merely wanted to get him away from the campaign.
He'd been gambling, the pesky little fool, with some of the Rawhide
crowd, was all out of cash and dared not tell his guardian. That's all
there was to it. Soon's he gets his money he'll square up--thought
perhaps he _had_, since Rawdon had enough to marry on. Lowndes owed
_him_ ten times what he owed me, I reckon."
To them, thus engrossed in confidential chat, there suddenly entered the
two doctors. "Black Bill," the inspector, it seems, had given notice
that he must needs have speech with the culprit, if that bandaged,
blistered, and unprincipled young man were in condition to see him.
"Black Bill" and his host had been having a night of it. Button was in
high fettle over the amazingly truthful and unlooked-for articles in
the _Mail_, and as eager to know and reward their author as he had been
to apprehend and punish the earlier detractor. Button had begun to
"wobble," as Bill expressed it, in his spleen against Lanier until so
suddenly "braced" by the truculent stand of Captain Snaffle, whose
half-drunken words the previous night were by this time known all over
the post.
The matter was now in the hands of Colonel Riggs, however, and it was
his to determine what further action to take. Snaffle had named as his
witness Sergeant Fitzroy, Private Kelley (who, though drunk on duty, had
not been so drunk, said Snaffle and Fitzroy, that he could not recognize
an officer when he saw him), and the third witness, to the amaze of
Barker and the derision of Ennis, when told of it, was no less a person
than poor Tom Rafferty, Lanier's own "striker" and hitherto devoted
henchman. And to the consternation of Stannard, Sumter, and others,
Captain Snaffle had been able to back his words. Riggs sent for the two
availables, Fitzroy and Kelly, and the two had declared they could not
be mistaken; that they had heard Miss Arnold's scream, followed
instantly by the crash of glass. Fitzroy admitted that he was at the
moment at Captain Snaffle's back door; said he ran round to the Sumters'
gate; that he distinctly saw the figure of a man in a soldier's overcoat
and fur cap leaping and sliding down the roof, and that a moment later
he grappled with it in the dark woodshed, dropping his hold only when
angrily ordered to do so, the voice adding instantly, "I'm Lieutenant
Lanier." Kelly was ready to swear to practically the same facts, though
he "thought there was two of them," which, under the circumstances, was
not to be wondered at. Fitzroy declared that a moment later Rafferty
rushed to the spot, recognized the lieutenant, and by him was sternly
ordered to leave. As yet Rafferty was in no condition to affirm or deny.
The excitement of the fire had brought on a relapse, and the wild
Irishman was wilder than ever, "raving-like," as the steward said, in
the big post hospital.
And these statements, presently, did Colonel Riggs lay before Lieutenant
Lanier, in presence of Doctors Larrabee and Schuchardt, as well as
Lieutenant Ennis. "I've known you three years, young sir," said he, "and
I've believed in you from the first. I have reminded Sergeant Fitzroy of
his previous allegations against Trooper Rawdon, as to the scuffle and
assault, and, so far from showing confusion, Fitzroy promptly said,
'Certainly, that took place barely half a minute later and within ten
yards of the spot.' He says his whole idea first was to drive Rawdon
from the scene, and prevent his finding his officer in so humiliating a
plight. He says he sought in every way at first to shield the
lieutenant, but when all these other facts came out about the cap, the
clothing, the lieutenant's absence from his quarters, his lacerated
hand, etc., there was no help for it. He finally yielded to the pressure
of Captain Snaffle's questions and told the truth. Kelly miserably
admitted his knowledge of it and when Rafferty came to his senses, he,
too, was to be catechised."
"Now, Mr. Lanier, there's the situation. Do you care to say anything to
me, or would you prefer to take counsel?"
And Bob Lanier leaning on his elbow, looked quietly up in the colonel's
bearded face and answered:
"Colonel Riggs, I reckon both those men think they're telling the truth,
and I may have to prove they're not."
"Do you mean--you _were_ there?" queried old Riggs, in genuine concern.
"There, sir? Of _course_ I was there--quick as I could get there, but
not quick enough by any manner of means."
Riggs looked grave indeed.
"You say you may have to prove it was not you. Don't you _know_ you'll
have to--if these witnesses are further sustained?"
"Fully, sir, and when my need is known there will be witnesses for the
defense. The doctors tell me Rafferty may not come round in less than a
week. When the time arrives I'll be ready."
And that was the way it had to be left. That was the condition of
affairs when the eighth, and final, day of Lanier's close arrest
arrived. Longer than eight, according to law, the colonel could not keep
him in. Sooner than eight more, according to Larrabee, the doctors could
not let him out. Yet there came a compromise and a change. "The idea of
Bob Lanier spending Christmas in hospital!" said Mrs. Stannard. It was
not to be thought of. A sunshiny room on the ground floor of the major's
big house was duly prepared, and thither just before sunset on Christmas
eve our young soldier was piloted by Schuchardt and Ennis, making the
trip afoot across the rearward space, yet being remanded to a huge easy
chair and partial bandages immediately on his arrival.
"Black Bill," with his incomplete report, had gone back to Omaha to
further mystify the adjutant-general and to eat his Christmas dinner.
The order for the court-martial hung fire until the preliminary
investigation could be concluded. Fort Cushing set itself to enjoy the
sweet festival as best it might, while such a problem remained unsolved.
Veterinary Surgeon Mayhew had taken seven days' leave, an eastbound
train, and at three P.M. the day before Christmas came a telegram from
---- Arnold, Esq., of Standish Bay, Massachusetts, announcing that he
would leave forthwith for the West, bringing his sister with him. The
Sumters told Mrs. Stannard, and she told Bob Lanier.
It has been said that this young gentleman was an outspoken fellow, with
a hit-or-miss way of saying things when once his mind was made up, and
by this time it would seem he had made up his mind.
"Mrs. Stannard, if you think a girl could stand the sight of such a Guy
Fawkes as this, I would give much to speak ten minutes to Miss Miriam
Arnold."
"You're _not_ a Guy Fawkes," said Mrs. Stannard, with fluttering heart.
"You've lost something of your mustache and eyebrows, but very little of
your good looks. Only----"
"Only what?"
"Why, it's going to be so much harder to see her _now_ than it was
before--before she----" and Mrs. Stannard faltered.
"Before she saw me playing Saint Somebody or other at the back window,
and screamed? Nobody knows _I_ heard it except you, and you won't tell.
Moreover, it isn't about _that_ that I have to speak."
Mrs. Stannard's bonny face showed instant disappointment.
"There's--there's another matter," said Bob, with trouble in his tones.
"I so hoped----" faltered that arch match-maker.
"So did I, Mrs. Stannard," said downright Bob, "but not with charges
hanging over my head. First I've got to meet the enemy."
And yet he wished to see and speak with Miriam, who not once had set
foot out of doors since the night of the fire, whose sweet face flamed
at every recurring thought of that incident, whose self-betrayal covered
her with shame and confusion indescribable, who would give years of her
young life if she could only escape from Fort Cushing and hide herself a
thousand miles away. But not until that stern puritanical father should
arrive was leaving to be thought of. A week agone and the tidings of his
coming would have filled her with dread; now she heard them with relief.
Father coming--and Aunt Agnes! Aunt Agnes, who never before had been
west of the Hudson. Aunt Agnes, whose forebears had warred against
witchcraft and woodcraft, against village crones and forest children,
against helpless old women and stealthy young savages--all without mercy
when delivered into their hands! Was it in partial reparation for the
rapine, the swindling, and stealing dealt out by her Pilgrim forefathers
to the Indian of the East that Aunt Agnes had become the vehement
champion of the Indian of the West? President of a famous Peace Society
was she, and secretary of the Standish Branch of the Friends of the Red
Man, a race whom the original and redoubtable Miles had spitted and
skewered and shot without stint or discrimination. And now was Aunt
Agnes hastening westward with her brother, to reclaim their one ewe lamb
from the wolf pack of the wilds, and incidentally to see for herself
something of the haunts and habits of the red brother in whose behalf,
these last six months, her voice had been uplifted time and again. It
was the year of a great Indian war. The blood of hundreds of our
soldiery had been shed, without protest from these of Puritan stock, but
they shuddered at thought of reprisals. Aunt Agnes coming to Cushing!
Aunt Agnes to meet the colonel and his "red-handed horde of ruthless
slayers!"
No wonder the Christmas day that dawned for Miriam Arnold in that
stirring Centennial year bade fair to be the gloomiest of her life. Yet
who can tell what a day may bring forth?
Sumter came in, cheery and laughing, for the late family breakfast.
Guard-mounting was long over, but he had been detained by the colonel.
"It is almost comical," said he, "to see Button's delight in those
letters in the New York papers. He's as curious now to know the author
of those as he was furious at the supposed author of the others."
"What others?" faltered Miriam Arnold, her eyes filling with strange
apprehension, her face visibly paling.
"Some bitter attacks on him that appeared in the Boston and Philadelphia
papers about that night surprise of Lone Wolf's village--the one he
accused Mr. Lanier of having started."
"Accused--Mr. Lanier!" And Miriam Arnold, with consternation in her
voice, was half rising from the table.
"I had thought it best to say nothing to you about it, Miriam dear,"
said Mrs. Sumter gently. "You had so many worries."
"But Mrs. Sumter! Captain!" interrupted Miriam, wild-eyed. "Do you mean
Colonel Button accused Mr. _Lanier_ of those letters?"
[Illustration: "BUT DO YOU MEAN COLONEL BUTTON ACCUSED MR. LANIER OF
THOSE LETTERS?"]
"That was the backbone of his grievance against Lanier," said Sumter
gravely, and intently studying her face. "Why?"
"And he didn't--deny it? Didn't--tell what he knew?"
"Denied it, yes, but refused to tell what he knew--said it came in such
a way he could not tell. Why, Miriam, what do _you_ know?"
For a moment it looked as though she were on the verge of hysterical
breakdown. Kate sprang to her side and threw an arm around her, but with
gallant effort she regained self-control.
"I know _just_ who wrote those wicked stories, and I told Mr. Lanier;
and I know--and I'm ashamed I ever _had_ to know--who first told them."