A CORNERED RAT.
Far away to the northwest this night, close under the shoulders of the
Big Horn Mountains, a regiment of cavalry has gone into bivouac after a
day's march through blistering sun-glare and alkali. Hour after hour,
with strained, aching eyes, they have been watching the
gradually-nearing dome of Cloud Peak, still glistening white though this
is August. Around the blunt elbow of the mountains, two days' march away
to the north, they expect to find the Gray Fox and all his men eagerly
awaiting their coming. A courier from the front has brought them tidings
that the Indians are in force all over the country west of the Cheetish
group. Another courier has galloped after them from Fetterman, leaving
there last night, and he brings strange news.
During the long, dusty, burning day Captain Webb and Mr. Gleason have
joined the command and reported for duty. To the disgust of the young
second lieutenant commanding Wayne's troop in his absence, the colonel
directs Mr. Gleason, the senior lieutenant now for duty, to assume
command of it for the campaign. Captain Truscott has no objections. He
prefers not to have Mr. Gleason with his own troop, and Stannard is glad
to get him out of his battalion. Very few men are glad to see Gleason,
though nearly all the officers go to him for letters and news. They
bring a small packet of mail, and on the way Gleason has made himself
very interesting to Webb, and has easily gathered from that
simple-minded gentleman that there was an awkward tableau at Truscott's
when he went there to say good-by. "Confidentially," Gleason had let him
understand that he had seen only one of many symptoms that had given
much food for talk at Russell; that to his, Gleason's, bitter regret he
feared Mrs. Truscott had not been as discreet as she should with a
fellow like Ray, who was--well--had Webb heard anything of that horse
board business, etc.? It was so easy,--it _is_ so easy,--more's the
pity, to say so very much in saying very little, when the good name of
man or woman is at stake. Long before they got to the regiment Webb was
convinced that he had seen very much more than he really did at Russell,
and he had heard a volume of gossip that, after all, he could not have
asserted was told him by Gleason, yet had been most deftly suggested.
Gleason was deep. He knew that they brought with them the mail of the
last stage reaching Fetterman for three days. Further news would not be
apt to come by letter for a week, by which time the regiment would
probably be hotly engaged, and he himself called back by telegraphic
order as an important witness before the court. This latter probability
he mentioned to no one. He meant to be grievously surprised and
disgusted when the orders came recalling him, and until then his cards
had to be carefully played. None of the ladies at Russell who knew him
at all had intrusted him with letters. All theirs had gone by mail or by
Captain Webb, but when the mail was opened at Fetterman, Gleason
promptly offered to carry forward anything there might be for the
officers of his regiment, and on the way this was carefully assorted. He
had met Stannard and Truscott with beaming cordiality, saying, "Ah! you
well knew I would not come without letters from _your_ better halves,"
and fumbling in inner pockets as though they had been stored there ever
since leaving Russell.
It was not until late that afternoon that Major Stannard received from
Webb the message sent by his good wife, and he was pondering in his mind
what it could mean, when at sunset Truscott strolled over from his troop
to see him. Gleason by this time was being very sociable with the
colonel and Mr. Billings.
"Have you anything from Mrs. Stannard later than the letter you spoke of
this afternoon, major?" asked the captain, whose face was somewhat
anxious.
"Why, yes, Truscott; Webb brought me a message that he said Mrs.
Stannard gave him at the last moment, to the effect that she would have
a long letter for me by next mail, and to be sure and get it. It seems a
little odd."
"My last is a pencilled note from Mrs. Truscott, written but a few
moments before the stage started. She says she sends it out to Fetterman
by the driver, and I suppose our old 'striker' easily got him to take
it; but she speaks of being far from well, nervous, etc., and that Mrs.
Stannard is such a blessing to her,--so constantly with her. I wish
there were something more definite. She writes three pages for the
purpose of telling me not to be anxious, and the very nervousness and
tremulous style give me some cause for worry."
"Why, in my letter Mrs. Stannard speaks of Mrs. Truscott as being so
bright and well, and of their having such good times together, and being
so charmed with Miss Sanford. It hardly seems there could have been so
sudden a change in one day."
But there had been, as we know, and a change as sudden was coming to the
current of events in the harmonious --th. Just after dark a courier on
jaded horse came riding in from the south. He brought telegraphic
despatches to the colonel and one to Major Stannard. The latter read his
by the light of his camp-lantern, gave a long whistle of amaze and
disgust, and sung out for Truscott as he rolled from under his blankets.
The trumpets were just sounding tattoo, and Stannard and other officers
had turned in early, preparatory to the start at four in the morning.
While waiting for Truscott's coming, the major could see that at the
colonel's tent there was also excitement and a gathering of several
officers. He had not long to wait. Truscott joined him in a few moments.
"I called you here because it was where we could talk unobserved. What
do you say to that?" And he handed him the despatch.
Truscott read without a word, and then stood there a moment earnestly
thinking, his lips firmly set, a dark shadow settling on life forehead.
The message was as follows:
"Ray arrested. Horse board charges cooked up here by Gleason.
Court ordered from Chicago. All staff or infantry officers.
Make Gleason name authorities before regiment.
"BLAKE."
Stannard had thrust his head forward and his hands into his
breeches-pockets.
"Now, isn't that simply damnable?" he asked.
"You do not believe Ray guilty, do you?" was Truscott's response.
"No, I don't," though there was hesitating accent on the don't. Stannard
hated to be thought unprepared for any trait in a fellow-man--good or
bad. "What can the charges be? Ray told me he had neither gambled nor
drank."
"Something has been received at the colonel's. Billings was there
opening and reading despatches when you called me." And Truscott nodded
thither.
"Come on. I'm going to see this thing through now," said Stannard, and
together they walked to headquarters.
The colonel, wrapped in his overcoat, was sitting up at the head of his
camp-bed noting with a pencil a few memoranda, while Billings was
reading aloud in a low voice some long despatches. Outside the tent were
grouped half a dozen officers, waiting for such news as the colonel
might give. Beyond them were the scattered and smouldering fires, the
rude shelter-tents of the men, the white tops of the army wagons; beyond
these the dark outlines of the massive hills; above them all the
brilliant, placid stars; around them the hush of nature, broken only by
the drowsing swish and plash of rapid, running waters, the stir of the
night wind in the scattered trees, the stamp and snort of some startled
troop-horse, the distant challenge of the night sentries. Something
important had come, and the group looked eagerly at Stannard and
Truscott as they approached.
"Have you heard anything?" was the question.
"I've got a despatch," said Stannard, gruffly; "but I want to see the
colonel before I speak of it." Then the colonel's voice was heard,--
"That you, Stannard? Come in here."
And the major passed into the tent. Presently he came out, took Truscott
by the arm and led him away.
"No use talking to him to-night. He has nothing but the official
despatches, and they look ugly for Ray. There are other things that
occupy him now, but what we want is to see Gleason right off. He is
ordered to return at once, and goes back in the morning. Come."
Over in the second battalion a sentry pointed out Gleason's tent.
Stannard scratched and rattled at the flap. No answer. "Gleason!" he
called. No reply. "He's shamming sleep, by gad!" growled the major,
between his teeth. "It's only fifteen minutes since Billings told him he
was to start back at daybreak. He wants to avoid us, and has his flaps
all tied inside. I'll have him out or bring his damned tent down about
his ears." And it was plain that Stannard was getting excited. An
officer came through the gloom. It was Captain Webb.
"Isn't this Gleason's tent?" called the major.
"Certainly. I left him there not half an hour ago," replied the captain.
"Wake him up. He's got to go back in the morning."
"Yes, sir. And that's just what I want to see him about. Hullo! you
there! _Gleason!_"
There came from within a snort, as of one suddenly awakened, a sleepy
yawn, an imbecile "Oh--ah--er--who is it?"
"It's me,--Stannard; and I want you," was the reply, all the more
forcible for being ungrammatic.
"Oh! One minute, major, and I'll be with you," called the inmate, as
though overcome with sudden access of joy, and presently he appeared,
half dressed.
"See here, Gleason, Captain Truscott and I have come to inquire what you
know of the charges against Mr. Ray. You are to go back at once, I'm
told, as witness against him. There won't be a soul there of his
regiment or his friends, for we know well you're not one, to speak for
him. By thunder! what have you against him?"
"I do not think this a matter on which I should speak at all, Major
Stannard, except to proper authority. The court will hear the evidence
in due season."
"Well, I mean to hear something _now_, Mr. Gleason, or, by the eternal!
I'll wake up the whole command to put the question. What you make one
believe is, that you are seeking to ruin Ray by getting him at a
disadvantage with all his friends away. Captain Truscott, what do you
say?"
And then Truscott spoke. As usual, he was master of himself and showed
no vestige of temper.
"The matter is very simple, Mr. Gleason. You are believed to be the
accuser of Mr. Ray at a moment when it is certain the regiment is going
to be so far away that its officers cannot be present at the court,--may
not even be able to communicate with it. If you decline to indicate what
you know to Major Stannard and me, who are his friends, the immediate
protest of the regiment against your conduct must go to headquarters
with the request that the court be held until we can appear before it.
More than that, in two days we will reach the general commanding the
department. Do you fancy he will permit Mr. Ray, of all others, to be
brought to trial without a friend to appear for him?"
Gleason saw he was cornered. What he hoped, what he expected, was to
make his escape and get back before any one learned of the charges. That
hope was frustrated. In his wrath and perplexity he resorted to the
invariable device of the cowardly and the low. He must divert their
sympathy for Ray into distrust of him, and before he had fully
considered his words they were spoken,--crafty, insidious, and
calumniatory.
"Captain Truscott, _you_ have spoken without threatening me, and I'll
answer you. All this time I've been striving _not_ to see, not to know
Mr. Ray's offences; but I was on the horse board. You were not. Ask
Captain Buxton to-morrow who and what Ray's associates were; but let me
say to you right here that I can no longer submit to seeing you
deceived. You call Ray your friend. No man can be a worse friend than he
who sets a whole garrison talking about an absent comrade's wife and the
notes she writes him, and who is discovered alone with her,--she in
tears, he burning a letter. Webb witnessed it. Ask him."
The last words were spoken with utmost haste, with upraised hand, with
trembling lips, for both Truscott and Stannard almost savagely sprang
towards him as though to cram the words down his throat. For an instant
Truscott stood glaring at him, not daring to speak until he could resume
his self-command; but in that instant poor, perturbed Webb broke into
speech.
"Oh, come now, Gleason, that's all an outrageous way of putting it, you
know. Of course I saw there was some little trouble. Mrs. Truscott had
written to Ray because she was all upset about something; she was
crying, you know, and Ray might have just happened in----"
"Never mind, Webb. Don't speak a word; of course it is all easily
explained. No man on earth is more welcome at my home than Ray, and my
wife is one of his warmest friends. What I have to say is to you," said
Truscott, turning fully upon his subaltern. "If I needed one further
proof to assure me that you were the lowest and most intriguing
scoundrel that walks the earth, you have given it this night. Gentlemen,
you are witness to my words." And with that he walked away.
"And _I_ say, Mr. Gleason, that if ever I lose a chance of showing you
up in your true colors before this regiment, may the Lord forgive me!
We're booked for the campaign now; but if you don't appear before that
court with credentials that would damn even an Indian agent it won't be
the fault of the --th Cavalry: and I mean to start about it to-night."
And he did. Old Stannard had a stormy interview with the colonel
forthwith, and stirred up Bucketts, the quartermaster, and Raymond and
Turner and Merrill among the captains, and even thought of rousing
Canker, but concluded not to; and they raked out their pencils, and when
the escort started back next morning with Mr. Gleason, the sergeant was
intrusted with a batch of letters to various staff-officers setting
forth in unequivocal terms Gleason's reputation as opposed to Ray's
brilliant and gallant, if somewhat reckless, record. Even the colonel,
inspired by Stannard's fiery eloquence, sent a few lines to the general
commanding the division, expressing the desire in the regiment that
there should be a suspension of proceedings against Ray until they could
get in from the campaign. Even Billings turned to at Stannard's urging,
and wrote personally to Ray and to the officer who was named as
judge-advocate of the court, and everybody felt glad to be rid of
Gleason as he rode homeward in gloomy silence. Everybody felt that he
would be powerless for harm, little dreaming how ineffectual those
letters would be as far as the present case against Ray was concerned;
little dreaming how his going was but the means of coiling still more
closely the folds of suspicion and dishonor around the gallant comrade
whom all so gloried in for his summer's work; little dreaming of the
days of doubt and darkness and tragedy that were to envelop those they
left behind at Russell; little dreaming that from them and from friends
at home there was coming utter isolation,--that before them lay days and
weeks of toil and danger and privation, of stirring fight, of drooping
spirits, of hunger, weakness, ay, starvation, wounds, and lonely death;
little dreaming that when next they reached a point where news from home
could come to them one-half their gallant horses would be gone, broken
down, starved, or shot to death; many of their own number would have
fallen by the way, and that of the bold, warlike array that rode
buoyantly in among the welcoming comrades in the camp of the Gray Fox,
only a gaunt, haggard, tattered, unkempt shadow would remain, when,
eight long weeks thereafter, there came to them the next sad news of
Ray.