One more witness appeared before this informal court that memorable day,
and with him, as prearranged, the tall, elderly civilian who had arrived
with Stannard and his party from the East. Mr. Arnold came in, hat in
hand, bowing gravely and profusely, with a very puzzled look in his
face.
"Thank you for coming, Mr. Arnold," said Riggs, with bluff civility.
"You have met these gentlemen--Colonel Button, Mr. Barker, Mr. Lanier,
Captain Sumter." He pointedly omitted Snaffle, to whom, none the less,
Mr. Arnold bowed as ceremoniously as to each of the others who had risen
at his entrance. "Pray take this chair, sir. As I have explained to you,
Mr. Lowndes, your nephew could not be compelled to testify before a
military court, and need not make public admission here of what he told
us at Rawdon's demand during our journey hither. I hope this is fully
understood."
Mr. Arnold cleared his throat and beamed benevolently about him. The
occasion seemed propitious, and a moral lesson appropriate, and he
began:
"My unhappy nephew realizes, with, I trust, genuine contrition, that he
has been the cause of grave trouble, not only to us, his kindred in the
East, but--er--to you military gentlemen in the West. He has, prompted,
as we must admit, by Mr.--Mr. Rawdon, made a clean breast of his
lamentable conduct, and has promised Mr. Rawdon to repeat every word of
it--er--to Colonel Button, but, as his----"
"Then we'll waste no time," said Riggs impatiently. "We'll have him in,
and I can catch the afternoon train. Orderly, call Mr. Lowndes."
"Er--I was about to remark," proceeded Mr. Arnold, "that if
any--er--suit for damages, or--er--recovery of money should be in
contemplation, we desire----"
"Don't fear, sir. Nobody's going to sue for damages. What we want is the
quashing of all charges against this young gentleman, who has been made
to suffer abominably. Ah, come in, Mr. Lowndes. Sit down, sir. You have
met everybody here. Now, as speedily as possible, we'll finish this
matter, and in four hours we'll be off for home."
It was but a dejected specimen of a college-bred man that sank into the
chair in front of Riggs and faced him with pallid cheek and somber eyes.
One look he gave at Bob Lanier, a furtive, forlorn glance, which met no
recognition whatsoever. Lanier looked him over with indifference that
bordered closely on contempt, but gave no other sign.
"Mr. Lowndes," said Riggs abruptly, "there is no need of going over the
entire story. I'll ask you to answer certain questions. Who was your
earliest friend in this regiment?"
The dreary eyes turned once more toward Bob, and the nervous hands
started the slouch hat in swifter revolution.
"Mr. Lanier, sir."
"How came that?"
"I knew he was of my college fraternity before I entered college, and I
showed him my pin and certificate."
"That insured a welcome, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir. He--he made me at home in his quarters--and tent."
"Shared the best he had with you--home, food, drink, even clothes and
money, I'm told."
The flush deepened in the dejected face.
"It is all true, sir."
"Yet you quarrelled with him during the campaign."
"Yes, sir."
"Why?"
"I lost money gambling, and he wouldn't lend me any more."
"Did you ever pay what he had lent you?"
"Not--yet, sir."
"Even after your quarrel did he not aid you?"
"Yes, at Laramie. I didn't seem to have any friend left by that time,
and had to go to him for help when they wired me to come home."
"In point of fact, he enabled you to get one hundred dollars at
Laramie?"
"Yes. I gave my note and he gave his word."
"What did you do with the money?"
"Tried to win back some that I had lost, at poker, and lost most of what
I had raised. I suppose I'd have lost all of it if Rawdon hadn't caught
me playing and pulled me out."
"You owed him still more?"
"Nearly two hundred dollars, sir."
"Did you go home?"
"I couldn't; I had only enough to bring me to Cushing, and they wouldn't
send me any more. I had to go to the ranch and stay."
"Did you try to earn any money?"
"Yes, sir, writing about the campaign. Rawdon lost his position because
he didn't send what they wanted, so I thought I might. The editor didn't
know me, and asked for references, so I sent my stories to--to Mr.
Arnold and my aunt. She often wrote for the papers."
"Is that the way the Boston and other papers came to publish those
scandals at the expense of Colonel Button?"
"She dressed them up a good deal and made it worse than I described,"
faltered Lowndes.
"Er--let me explain, gentlemen," interposed Mr. Arnold, who had been
twitching in uneasiness. "My sister is of a very sympathetic nature, and
her heart has long been wrung by the injustice meted out to the Indian.
When this unhappy boy wrote those--er--descriptive letters she had no
reason to doubt their entire truth. Indeed, her conviction was that he
was concealing, or glossing over, worse things."
"He seems to have later supplied you with worse things, Mr. Arnold. For
instance, I will ask you what was his final explanation of his need for
money?"
"He begged me to send him two hundred dollars at once, saying he would
be disgraced if he could not pay Lieutenant Lanier, who had won it from
him at cards."
"Mr. Lowndes," said Riggs, "did Lieutenant Lanier ever win a dollar from
you?"
"Never, sir." And now the miserable head went down into the hot and
feverish hands, and the silence in the room became something oppressive.
Riggs let him rest a minute, then went on. "Now, then, in your own way,
tell us what happened that night of the 16th."
For a few seconds there was silence. Then, suddenly uplifting his head
and looking at no one, Lowndes desperately plunged into his narrative.
"I--I--was mad, I suppose, with debt and misery, and I began to drink.
Rawdon told me he _must_ have the money. My uncle had flatly refused to
send me more. I got desperate. There was left me only one way, and that
was through my cousin Miriam. I knew she was out here, and she--she had
always been my best friend in my troubles at home. We'd almost been
brought up together until they sent me out here. She didn't know where I
was. They didn't wish her to know. But I knew if I could see her she
would help me.
"Rawdon had changed into citizen's clothes in town, and I had pawned my
overcoat, so he lent me his cavalry overcoat and a fur cap, drove me and
Cary out to the fort, and left us at the store, promising to join him at
Doctor Mayhew's in an hour. We were chilled from the ride, and drank
more. Rafferty told me Mr. Lanier was officer-of-the-guard, and
everybody else was at the dance. We filled Rafferty up, for Cary'd made
up his mind he was going to Rawdon's wedding in 'cits' instead of
soldier clothes, and he was bent on borrowing a suit of Lieutenant
Lanier's, even though they would hardly fit him. He swore he'd return
them the next day, and Rafferty let him have them, and he put them on in
the lieutenant's back room. Then he and I went up the rear fence and
caught sight of Number Five--Trooper Kelly. Cary knew him and went ahead
to 'fix things' with him, as he said. Kelly had seen us come out of
Lieutenant Lanier's back gate, and was suspicious. Cary, to quiet him,
told him he was with Lieutenant Lanier--that we were helping Rawdon get
ready for his wedding. He made Kelly drink to Rawdon's happiness, and
drink three or four times, and finally left him with a half full flask
up the row toward Major Stannard's. Then we went to Captain Sumter's.
Kelly told Cary the servants were in at Captain Snaffle's. The door was
open. Cary watched below, while I hunted for my cousin's room. I found
it easily. I knew they had sent her money, and orders to come
home--uncle had written me as much. I found her desk. I knew it well of
old, and then, to my horror, I heard her voice, and in a second she was
in the room. She gave one awful scream, though I tore off my cap and
begged her to know me, but she fell in a faint. Others were coming. I
broke out of the back window, slid and scrambled down the roof to the
shed and so to the ground. I heard men come running, so I dove into the
coal-shed, where the sergeant grabbed me in the dark and I--had to make
him let go, and--said I was Lieutenant Lanier. Later I crawled through a
hole in the fence and started for the store, scared out of my wits.
Right at the next gate I crashed into two men, grappled and fighting.
We all three fell in a heap. I picked myself and cap up and ran again;
caught Cary at the store just jumping into a sleigh, and we lashed those
horses every inch of the way, left them at a ranch gate, and ran to the
station. The train was a few minutes late. Rawdon presently came, and he
took me to Omaha, as I begged him, for I didn't know what could or would
be done to me if I was caught. He, too, had to get away or be thrown
into the guard-house, and that--that's about all."
"You have that overcoat with you yet, I believe--that cavalry coat."
"It's all I have had to wear, sir," was the rueful answer, as, rising,
he took the garment from the arm of his chair and laid it upon the
table, with the yellow lining of the cape thrown back, exposing a rent
or gash, whereupon Captain Sumter arose, took from an envelope a sliver
of yellow cloth, and fitted it into the gap. "This," said he, "I found
on the hook of the storm-sash, and this," he continued, laying beside it
a rusty sheath knife, "was later found under the snow, close under the
dormer window." Then turning the overcoat inside out, he displayed on
the back lining in stencil the name "Rawdon."
"And now," said Riggs, "we will hear the accused."
"It isn't necessary," began Button, turning in his chair. "I have heard
more than enough----"
"It _is_ necessary, Colonel Button, if you please, for my satisfaction
as investigator. Of course Mr. Lanier is not obliged to speak, but a few
matters remain to be cleared up. There is yet the time-honored problem
of 'who struck Billy Patterson,'" and Button subsided.
"The matter is quite simple," said Lanier. "I went direct from the
dancing room to my quarters, not even stopping for my overcoat. I was
chilled when I got there. The fire was low, and I went back to call
Rafferty. He didn't answer, so I had to lug in some fuel. His overcoat
hung in the kitchen and I put that on, and just as I opened the back
door there came the scream from up the row. Fire was the only thing I
thought of, and I saw others running toward Captain Sumter's as I
started from the back gate. Then a man rushed past me, going the other
way, and then the next thing somebody sprang out from Captain Snaffle's
back yard, tripped me, and I went headlong. I was on my feet in a
second, but he had me round the neck, ordering me to surrender. I
wrenched loose and let him have two hard ones, right and left, before he
clinched again. Somebody else collided with us. We all went down. The
last man was up first and ran away, with the first cap he could reach,
and I followed in an effort to overtake him, knowing by that time it
wasn't fire, but robbery. Then when I realized no life was in danger, I
remembered I was in arrest, dropped the chase, and went straight to my
quarters the way I came. Both hands were bruised and left badly cut. I
am sorry, of course, to have struck Sergeant Fitzroy, but the language
he used was vile, and it seemed to me the only way to convince him I was
_not_ Trooper Rawdon."
"Colonel Button, have you any questions to ask?" demanded Riggs, as
Lanier concluded.
"Why didn't you tell _me_ this?" demanded Button.
"I should have been glad to, colonel. Indeed, I tried to the last time I
was in the office," was the deferential reply.
"Well, gentlemen," said the colonel, as a parting shot, "between us we
seem to have stirred up a pretty kettle of fish." Yet in that culinary
maelstrom even Snaffle disowned either responsibility or complicity. He
always _had_ said Lanier was a perfect gentleman.
And so ended Bob's arrest and most of our story. Riggs went back with
his report that very afternoon. Rawdon lingered for a word with Cassidy,
Quinlan, and poor remorseful Rafferty; then followed, unhampered even by
his arch enemy Fitzroy, who slipped away to the stables three minutes
after the close of the conference. But he was not even there when, along
in the spring, Mr. and Mrs. Rawdon came out for a visit to Doctor
Mayhew. Like Rawdon, he had received his discharge. Unlike Rawdon, there
was serious objection to his reënlistment. Even Snaffle dare not "take
him on" again.
The snows lay long and deep in the ravines and hollows. It was not until
mid-May that the poor victims of the blast and blinding storm were
uncovered, and the bodies of the missing were found, save that of
Cary--Cary, who, having been given up for lost, turned up most
unexpectedly the very day that Fitzroy, applicant for reënlistment, was
summarily turned down. But Cary came not of his own volition. He marched
with a file of the guard. Cary's story was simple enough. Rawdon and
Lowndes had hardly got away on the train when Sergeant Stowell and his
party came searching. Cary hid. He was still half drunk. Some one told
him of Kelly's arrest, and charged him with that and with running off
the Fosters' sleigh. He dared not face the music. He forgot his precious
missive to Dora Mayhew until next day. Then the storm held him. Not
until the fire night did he summon up courage to sneak home. He had no
money left and could buy no more liquor. He stole into Lanier's back
door to return the civilian suit and recover the cavalry blouse and
trousers left hanging in Rafferty's room. He could hear the lieutenant
moving about overhead. He had to strike a light; he struck several
matches; found the clothes, slipped out of the "cits" and into his own.
He was cold and numb. He knew there was liquor on the sideboard in the
middle room. The craze was on him, and he risked it. He struck more
matches and threw the burning stumps to the floor, drank his fill, then
stumbled away, intending to give himself up to his first sergeant for
absence without leave. Back round by way of the store and the east front
he went, but before he could reach the barracks came the appalling cry
of fire--Lanier's quarters! His doing beyond doubt, and now, in dismay
and terror, he fled from the post. Some ranch folk took him in next day,
and cared for him awhile, then sent word to the fort. Poor Cary had
Lanier to plead for him before his trial, but three months' hard labor
was the least the law would allow. He was still "doing time" when his
happier friend of college days came back with his sweet young wife.
By which time, too, another wedding was announced as near at hand. Only
two days did Mr. Arnold and Aunt Agnes allow Miriam in which to prepare
for the homeward journey, but it is safe to say that in that brief time
their views of frontier life and people had undergone marked amendment,
for they had found an old expounder of their faith in the post chaplain,
for one thing, and many surprising facts as to officers, men, and
Indians for another. There came a bright wintry afternoon, at the fag
end of the year, when the station platform held a lively little assembly
waiting for the east-bound express. The colonel and his wife were there,
the former by no means the blood-thirsty warrior of the elder's
imagination. The Stannards had come in, and the Sumters, Kate, and "Dad"
Ennis, the chaplain, and both doctors, and all these surrounded the
brother and sister and held them in cheery converse, while Bob and
Miriam sauntered, self-centred, away.
There was a sheltered, sunshiny little nook down the platform, between
the baggage and express sheds, with a high, board fence at the back, to
keep off the north wind and human intruders. They passed it twice in
their stroll, but the third time turned in--it was so good to get out of
the piercing wind--as well as out of sight.
What wonders a few days of delight will do for a girl! The pallor and
lassitude had gone. The soft eyes were brimming with bliss. The rounded
cheeks had regained all their bloom. The sweet, rosebud mouth seemed all
smiles and warmth and witchery, and Lanier's eyes were glowing as he
drew her to his heart and gazed down into the depths of those uplifted
to his.
"That brute of a train has been late for a week," said he, "but to-day
it comes on time. It is going to be a long, long wait for May. How does
papa seem to take it now?"
"Papa is quick to make amends when he has wronged--any one, and now he
_knows_."
"Well, so does Aunt Agnes, Miriam, yet _she_ doesn't approve."
"Well, Aunt Agnes, don't you know--she's different. She's a good deal
like other women I know. When she's placed somebody else in a false
position, she thinks that person ought to be very sorry for her, and
sympathize with her, for having been deceived and misled. She thinks you
ought to say how sorry _you_ are."
"How can I say I'm sorry when I'm so glad--_all_ glad?"
"Well, then, there's Cousin Watson, don't you know? He was always her
pet. He was brought up by a weak mother and a doting aunt, and she knows
you don't approve of him."
"Does she expect a man to approve of one who maligned him as Lowndes
maligned me?"
"You should see his earlier letters about you! Why, if I'd known
anything of them I would never dared to meet such a paragon."
"And yet, after all, he turned to and painted me black as an imp of
Satan. What had I done but good to him? I never took or won a penny of
his."
A moment of silence, then the fond eyes looked up.
"You won something he wanted and thought--_was_ his--he never had any
sense. Won't you try to forgive him--for my sake--Bob?"
His arms went round and folded her closely; his face bowed down to hers.
There was a wordless moment, then the sound of a distant whistle, of
nearer shouts of "T-r-a-i-n." The dark mustache, the unsinged side, was
sweeping very, very near the soft curve of those parted lips.
"What ransom will you pay?" he murmured. "I've not yet felt these arms
about my neck. I've kissed you, heaven be praised, but, Miriam, have
you ever kissed me?"
"T-r-a-i-n! Train, train! You'll be left!" again came the shrill
feminine appeals, and with them, approaching, unwelcome, unheeded
footfalls. With sudden, impulsive movement she threw her arms about his
neck and upraised her lips to his. One moment of silence, two seconds of
bliss, then "Dad" Ennis's voice, barely a dozen yards away: "Come forth
into the light, you wanderers!" There was barely time for Bob's fervent
words:
"If I couldn't forgive him after _that_, I'd deserve a dozen weeks'
arrest."