VINDICATED.
Life at Russell had lost for the time being so much of its customary
gayety as to warrant Mrs. Turner's discontented descriptive of "poky."
With all but three or four officers absent on campaign; without even
letters or news from them; with Mr. Gleason's tragic fate and Mr. Ray's
romantic and mysterious connection therewith, there was too much of
solemn and shudder-inspiring element in the daily talk to render
conversation at all cheerful. All sorts of odd things had happened since
the death of that deserter, Wolf, and Mrs. Turner was at her wit's end
to make her conclusions fit together. She had by no means ceased to
jump,--that saltatory satisfaction at least remained to her,--but she
missed the mark so often as to seriously impair, for a while at least,
her confidence in her theories, and nothing but a series of serious
shocks could have achieved that result. She, too, had her sorrows, poor
lady, for her regimental companions in number eleven had shunned her
society to such an extent as to set the whole garrison talking about it,
though it took very little to accomplish that.
To begin with, Mrs. Truscott rarely went out at all, and had denied
herself to visitors on many occasions. Mrs. Stannard and Marion were all
the companions she cared to see much of, though, to Mrs. Turner's
incredulous wrath, Mrs. Wilkins was admitted on the very days when she,
herself, had called and penetrated no farther than the parlor. Mrs.
Wilkins had enjoyed--we use the term advisedly--a furious quarrel with
the wife of the commanding officer, and had driven that exemplary and
forgiving woman from the field in utter dismay. There had been no love
lost between them from the first, but Mrs. Wilkins had hotly resented
Mrs. Whaling's lamentations over Ray's prospective conviction and his
undeniable guilt, and had given the venerable black silk a dusting the
very day that Ray was carried off to prison. Then came the electrifying
intelligence that Wolf's dying confession had completely exonerated Ray,
and both Mrs. Whaling and Mrs. Turner had flown to Mrs. Stannard to
assure her that neither one of them could have believed in his guilt had
it not been for the other. Mrs. Whaling was positive that she had never
spoken of him except in the love and charity she would have used towards
her own son, and nothing but Mrs. Turner's accounts of his wildness and
dissipation would have shaken her faith in him for a moment. She had
always admired his frank and fearless character, and so had "the
general," who was heart-broken to think he had been so outrageously
imposed upon by Ray's enemies. Mrs. Turner vowed that she had really
loved Mr. Ray like a brother, but that Mrs. Whaling had told her of the
positive evidence the general had against him, and so what could she
think? Mrs. Stannard listened to both with uncompromising and decidedly
chilling silence, and each withdrew discomfited.
Colonel Rand spent much of the morning after Wolf's revelation in
overhauling papers with Colonel Whaling, but his visit to the ladies at
number eleven was of unusual length and cordiality. He left only in time
to see Ray and Blake a few moments in town before taking the eastern
train. It had been Mrs. Stannard's intention to drive thither to call on
Mrs. Rallston, but she was too late. Mr. Green's telegraphic message
from Denver had warned him that Rallston was delirious with fever, and
after the rapturous interview between brother and sister that followed
upon his return from Wolf's bedside, Ray had gently broken the news to
her of her husband's illness, and before the coming of train time on the
following day Rand had obtained telegraphic authority for him to escort
her to, and remain with her in, Denver. His release by the civil
authorities would have had about it something of the nature of an
ovation, when at noon on that day the full details of Wolf's confession
were "spread upon the records," but by ingeniously circulating the story
that he would return to the fort at sunset, Blake managed to throw the
public off the track. His arrest was suspended by the telegram from
division headquarters. Rand was ordered to come thither at once with his
documentary proofs of the falsity of the charges against Ray, and the
latter went quietly off to Denver with a ten days' leave, conducting his
sister to her husband's bedside. He saw no one at Russell before going,
but we have reason to believe that the plethoric missive he sent to Mrs.
Stannard derived much of its bulk from an enclosure that was not meant
for her eyes at all, and Blake went back to Russell to the lionizing he
deserved.
But the gloom at the garrison was dispelled perforce by the arrival of
troop after troop, company after company, from east, west, and south,
fast as cars could carry them,--all bound for the Black Hills to meet
and support Crook, who was reported fighting his way southward through
unknown regions and unknown numbers of the red men. Nothing had been
heard even by telegraph from the --th from any source whatever since the
steamer came down to Bismarck with sick and wounded, and the news that
they had pushed out again for the Little Missouri country the last of
August, and here it was beyond mid September. A whole regiment of
cavalry encamped for a day or two on the prairie, then marched
northward. Natty artillerymen from San Francisco dropped in to pay their
respects on their way to "the Hills;" not a day passed without the
arrival of strange officers, scores of men, and squadrons of horses.
Russell had suddenly blossomed into first rank as a great supply depot,
and in all the excitement of greeting the new-comers, and sending
messages and missives to the dear ones at the front, the pall of tragedy
was lifted from the post. Gleason and Wolf were, alike, wellnigh
forgotten.
And then with sudden thrill the news tore through the post, and flashed
over the wires in every direction, that a courier had ridden down from
the northern limits of the hills bringing despatches from Crook, and
announcing that, though half starved, ragged, and practically
dismounted, the followers of the Gray Fox had reached the Belle Fourche,
and would soon be able to push on to the agencies. They had dashed upon
the Sioux villages at Slim Buttes, capturing hundreds of their fat
ponies (and greedily eating many of them that very night), had found
the lodges crammed with the spoil of the Custer battle, had killed
several warriors and burned every ounce of Indian stores or provisions
they could not use, and had two days' ringing, spirited fighting with
Crazy Horse and his charging hosts among the fog wreaths and dripping
crags of those strange, picturesque upheavals; then burying their dead
and bringing away their wounded, they were once more within reach of
supplies, though it might be weeks before they could come home. "Another
battle and we not there," was Blake's sympathetic despatch to Ray at
Denver; but now the last seemed to be recorded. Another week and letters
might be expected. Another fortnight and it was known that all the
forces were concentrating at Red Cloud to disarm the disaffected bands
near the agencies. And then Blake and Ray, too, had both sped northward
again to join their regiment. Ray's affairs had been summarily settled
in this wise.
Rallston's illness had been severe, and Ray and Nell had been constantly
at his side. When the fever broke and consciousness returned, and the
patient realized where he was and who were his nurses, the man's remorse
and shame were something pitiable. Of him, as an impartial historian, it
is difficult to write, since long association with Stannard had forcibly
impressed his views as to Rallston's character. Perhaps we were as
reluctant to hear of his subsequent behavior and to believe in his
contrition as Mrs. Whaling with all her meek and lowly piety was to
conceive of Ray's innocence of the various charges laid at his door;
but, in the absence of proof to the contrary, we simply place before
the patient reader Nellie Ray Rallston's own statement: that her husband
emerged from that trying illness a very different man, that he humbly
begged Will's forgiveness and hers, and that when he was well enough to
be moved home he had grown so fond of Will that he could not bear to
have him out of his sight, and that he was rejoiced when orders came for
Will to go to Chicago, as it enabled him to travel with them as far as
Omaha. But you must remember, we feel bound to say, that she was of that
loyal loving Kentucky nature--singularly like her brother for that
matter--that having once given itself in its entirety to the service of
lover or friend, is apt to stick to it through thick and thin. We may be
pardoned--we worldlings--for doubting as yet the depth and sincerity of
Rallston's repentance. "When the devil was ill, the devil a saint would
be," etc. You know the application; but, for the time being, Mrs.
Rallston went home happier than she had been for ages.
And Ray went on to division headquarters at Chicago, wondering what on
earth was up now. He was still on leave, still clamoring to be tried,
that he might be cleared of those charges and allowed to rejoin his
regiment. His wound had healed, though he was still thin and worn, and
he could not bear to think that there might be any more fighting for the
dear old --th and he not there.
But Rand had taken Rallston's letters and some other papers with him to
Chicago, as directed, and the commanding general had seen in less than
no time what an outrageous case had been built up against a young
officer whose record up to date had been one that appealed to all his
sympathies. Ever since that daring night ride Ray had been an object of
the liveliest interest to the general,--himself the cavalry leader _par
excellence_ of his day,--and when Rand laid before him all the papers in
the case there was an eruption that made the rafters ring.
But when it came to cooling down and acting on the case, much as the
general might think Ray deserved a triumphant vindication at the hands
of a court, there were a dozen things to make it impracticable. To begin
with, the court had been ordered before it looked so black for Crook's
command and the Black Hills settlers, and all those infantry officers
who were on the original detail were now plodding up to Red Cloud. The
division was wellnigh stripped of everything but staff-officers, and if
a court _did_ meet, what a scoring it might give old Whaling and to his
own staff-officer, who took all that hearsay talk down around
Leavenworth and never gave Ray's friends a chance. It ended in the
general's impetuously directing that the court be dissolved, and that
Ray be ordered there post-haste. "I'll vindicate him!" he said.
And he did. Ray's pale, anxious face turned all sorts of colors when the
general jumped up from his chair and griped his hand like a vise, and
looked into his brave young eyes and said things to him that filled them
with tears and his soul with confusion. Ray had no words, but his heart
was full of a delight that none but soldiers know, and the lionizing he
got that day at division headquarters would have spoiled many another
fellow. The general could, indeed, "vindicate" him. He showed him the
draft of the letters sent to the regiment, and asked with a smile if he
didn't think _that_ would do as well as the "not guilty" of a court; and
that evening Ray took the westward train so as to stop over in Omaha one
night and see Nell, and then hurry on by the Union Pacific to Cheyenne.
His heart was bounding with hope, with pride, with gratitude and joy;
but through it all there was a sense of something strange and new to him
that tempered every feeling of exultation. He had been tried as by fire,
and humbled, softened, chastened by the fierceness of the flame. Even
bitterness and resentment seemed expelled from his soul. Ray was a
changed, a graver man. All that was truthful, gallant, loyal in his
nature was there yet, but the recklessness of the past was gone.
Many letters had come to him in the few days he had spent at Denver by
Rallston's sick-bed, and while Mrs. Stannard had frequently written to
tell him how they all were, and the colonel sent a courteously-worded
expression of his regret at the credence he had given to the statements
of a brother officer and what he termed the "misunderstandings" of the
summer, Ray was most touched at Warner's "solid" and earnest appeal to
be regarded as a friend and not as one of the opposition.
He answered promptly and cordially everything Mr. Warner wrote with a
single exception. The young adjutant was requested by Colonel Whaling to
put in a word or two for the Hibernian quartermaster whom Blake had cut
dead, and who was perturbed in spirit over the prospect of being
otherwise lacerated when Ray got back. Warner thought that the colonel
or the quartermaster himself should make the proper _amende_ in this
case, but the latter was a poor hand at epistolary expression, and the
former had long been a pronounced adherent of that "divine right of"
commanding officers which makes the adjutant the transmitter and medium
of all correspondence involving matters of delicate or diplomatic
import. If the result be successful, all right. It was written by
direction of Colonel So and So, and is presumably his own wording. If it
fail, then anybody can see that failure is due solely to the clumsy and
blockheaded manipulation of the adjutant.
Mr. Warner conveyed a hope that the quartermaster might be included in
the general amnesty, but to this Ray made no response. He drew the line
at those who had been unkind to Dandy.
And now he was hurrying back to Russell to conduct a large body of
recruits and horses up to "the Hills" to meet the regiment; and a party
of young officers had joined, many of them graduates of that very year's
class at the Point, young fellows whom Mrs. Truscott had known well but
a few months previous, when they wore the gray under Jack's tuition at
squadron drill and riding-hall work. Their regiments being in the field
on active campaign, they abandoned much of the leave of absence due them
and hastened to report for duty. Their services were most needed in
getting the recruits into shape, and here they were at Russell
enthusiastic at the prospect of seeing Captain Truscott again, devoting
themselves to the ladies at his army home, and eager to a man to see and
know Ray, whose name was on every lip, whom every man of them envied,
and who would arrive at noon on the morrow.
Mrs. Stannard's piazza was the scene of a levee this lovely, sunshiny
autumn afternoon. She was there with Miss Sanford and Mrs. Truscott, who
was reclining in a comfortable wicker chair, and vastly enjoying the
sunshine, the bracing air, and above all the merry chat of these young
troopers, and envying them their northward march. Would they not be with
Jack in a fortnight? Half a dozen of the "boys" were flocking around the
ladies, and Blake was there sprawling over the railing as was his wont,
and convulsing the assemblage every now and then with his outrageous
travesties and declamatory outbursts. Blake was in the wildest possible
spirits. He was bubbling over with fun and the milk of human kindness,
except for that poor devil of a quartermaster, at whom he scowled
diabolically whenever they met. He had forgiven Mrs. Turner, who was
quick to see where the "gang" had gathered that afternoon, and was early
on hand to lure the new victims. Already she was making a deep
impression on Mr. Corry, who was gazetted to her husband's troop, and
was fetching him farther into the meshes with every glance of her eyes.
And then came Mrs. Whaling, whom Blake hastened to meet, and with
elaborate genuflexions to usher into the circle, where she was speedily
seated and regaling the company with her views on the chances of the
campaign. It being the ardent desire of every cavalry lady in garrison
that the --th should be ordered thither for winter quarters, Mrs.
Whaling was full of information which "the general" had received from
confidential sources going to prove that a great infantry post was to be
established there, which he would command, while the cavalry remained in
the Hills until spring. Blake noted the silence among the young
officers and the anxious look in Mrs. Truscott's face (Mrs. Stannard had
long since ceased to be influenced by Mrs. Whaling's statements), and he
determined on a diversion. He felt morally certain that the only
"confidential" communication the veteran post commander had received
from any superior in a week was the stinging rap from division
headquarters anent the bungle he had made in Ray's affair, and on
general principles he felt that he couldn't let an opportunity slip.
"Oh, come now, Mrs. Whaling, don't crush all the hopes we had of
spending the winter with you here. 'Lady, you are the cruellest she
alive' if you will lead us to believe such ill report, and here we were
all rejoicing that Ray comes to-morrow."
"Oh! Mr. Ray, to be sure! and how delightful it is to think that he has
justified all our confidence in him! He returns like--a--the Bayard of
old; _the chevalier sans peur et--et_----"
"_Sans culotte?_" suggested Blake.
"Ah, yes; thanks! Mr. Blake. As though I _could_ have forgotten it for a
moment! Quite like the chevalier _sans peur et sans culotte_. Such a
knightly fellow as he always was!"
"Oh, Lord, yes! _All_ nightly, especially when the luck ran his way."
"Now, Mr. Blake, how you distort my meaning!"
"Madame, you do me wrong, notorious wrong! I did but echo the words you
spake a week agone. You marvel at my meaning. Nay, then, 'tis not less
strange and weird than the tongue in which you tell of his perfections;
less _bizarre_, if you _will_ have French."
"Mr. Blake, you tilt at wind-mills." ("Gad! that's neat!" quoth he,
_sotto voce_.) "I never said anything about a bazaar, though that
reminds me that every one of you gentlemen should go to town and do
something for the church before you leave. The fair has been going on
two days now, and not one of you has spent a cent there. And they so
need an organ----"
"Mrs. Whaling, tell them to have Jarley's waxworks, and you'll be Mrs.
Jarley--or Mrs. Partington; I'll be John or Ike,--I don't care
which,--and their fortune's made," said Blake, shaking with laughter;
so, too, was Mrs. Stannard behind the palm-leaf fan which concealed, at
least, her face. Miss Sanford, biting her lips, looked reproachfully at
Blake, and Mrs. Truscott hid her face in her hands.
"Now, _Mr._ Blake!" protested Mrs. Turner, "you never have been in town
to church since your coming here, and it's shocking the way you officers
neglect it. I'm sure I've offered to drive you in with me a dozen
times."
"True, fair lady; but those eminently safe animals of yours take an hour
to traverse the intermediate league. I have to get up too early."
"But Mr. Ray went once; though, to be sure, Miss Sanford and Mrs.
Stannard brought that about."
"Oh, yes! and came home sold. He never would have gone only he heard
that the text was to be from the Sermon on the Mount, and he thought it
was some new wrinkle in cavalry tactics."
"Mr. Blake, you are simply outrageous!" "Wretch!" "Shocking!" and a
volley of like exclamations greeted this outburst. Mrs. Stannard rose
from her chair and shook her fan at him.
"You shall not teach so irreverent a doctrine here! Mr. Ray went gladly,
and was far more devout and reverential in church than some of the
ladies."
"Any man could be devout sitting next to Miss Sanford," he persisted;
but seeing no sign of levity in her face, and that her blue eyes were
bent upon him "in pity rather than anger," he abruptly changed his tone
to one of melodramatic gravity.
"'Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
I cannot stand and face thy frown.'
I'm not appreciated. I must betake myself to other fields. Ladies, when
I get in a gale it takes something sterner than feminine rebuke to stop
me. I'll away and see Mrs. Wilkins. She likes it. If aught I've said to
wound thee," he continued, bowing with hand on his heart in front of
Miss Sanford, "remember, Miss De Vere, in the words of your favorite
Tennyson,--
'The cold upon your old stone gates,
Is not more lyin' to you than I.'"
"Did you ever know such a rattlepate?" exclaimed Mrs. Turner, as the
long legs went striding down the row, and the young officers sat gazing
after him in wonderment.
"Never," replied Mrs. Stannard; "and yet he has as true a heart and as
tender a nature as almost any man I know. There was no fun in him while
Mr. Ray was in trouble; and no more devoted and loyal friend could he
find. I _like_ Mr. Blake, and always have liked him."
But Mrs. Whaling shook her head. "No right-principled young man could
speak so lightly of sacred things. Ah! here comes the orderly with the
mail." And as she spoke the trim young soldier entered the gate carrying
his budget of letters. Mrs. Whaling stretched forth her hand to take the
packet.
"Please, ma'am," said he, "I left yours at the colonel's, and my orders
is not to give the others to anybody but them as they belongs to."
"I will distribute them here, orderly," she replied, with a superior
smile, "as I know all these ladies and gentlemen and you do not." She
was determined to see who received letters and from whom, if a possible
thing, and she carried her point. Most of them were for the officers.
Nothing came as yet from the regiment. Mrs. Truscott received two or
three letters from the East, which were not handed her until the
self-appointed postmistress had scrutinized the superscriptions; so,
too, she inspected the bills and billets that came to the young subs,
and two letters for Miss Sanford,--one from New York, the other,
addressed in a bold, vigorous hand, was from Headquarters, Division of
the Missouri, Chicago. At this, through
"All her autumn tresses falsely brown,"
she shot sidelong daggers, indeed, as she passed it with significant
smile.
"I thought he'd write even though to-morrow would bring him here
himself," she said; and Miss Sanford bit her lip and colored far more in
indignation than in confusion; but, rallying like the little heroine
she was, and bent now on baffling the schemes of the wily interloper,
she quickly leaned forward and took the letter, glanced brightly at Mrs.
Stannard, and exclaimed, with all the delight and _naïveté_ of genuine
surprise,--
"Why, it _is_ for me, Mrs. Stannard! Now you shall not see a line of it,
for you would not show me yours." And then with provoking coolness,
while Grace gasped in admiration and astonishment, Marion opened and
read with beaming smile her letter from Ray,--the only one he had time
to write in Chicago.
It was very brief, yet when 'twas finished she wished, with all her
heart, she could escape to her own room and read it once again, all by
herself. It was the first letter--in the least like it--she ever
received. It made her pulses bound, and it put her mettle to the test to
turn at once to conversation with the one youth who had received no
letter. It made her long for stable-call to sound that she might be
alone and read it again and again, and yet it was very, very simple and
direct. The trumpets rang their signal soon enough. The young cavalrymen
doffed their caps and scurried away. Mrs. Stannard, smiling knowingly,
said she would take a walk with Mrs. Turner, and then the two school
friends were left alone.
"Maidie, what does he say?"
"Let me read it quietly, Grace dear. I _couldn't_ there."
She had not seen him since sending that very, very outspoken letter the
afternoon after he was taken to Cheyenne, and the letter he had written
in answer to that was full of gratitude for her faith in him,--full of
assurance that with such words as those to cheer him he would bear his
further trials as became a man, but, until fully vindicated of every
charge, he would not return to Russell and could not hope to see her;
but, once freed from the odium of any and every allegation affecting his
integrity, he should come to thank her in person for the strength and
comfort her beautiful letter had given him.
And now--he was coming. He could not wait for his own arrival, since he
had to stop over one day. The instant he left the colonel's presence he
had asked for a desk in the aide-de-camp's room, had penned a few hasty
lines to her first of all, had hurried with them to the Rock Island
Depot, only a few squares away, that they might catch the mail just
starting, and she--she who had proved so gallantly her faith in him, be
the first to know of his complete vindication. Ray never wrote such a
letter in his life before:
"Only thirty minutes before the westward mail starts, and this
moment I have come unnerved and weak from the presence of the
general with the fullest vindication man could ask. In the
first glow of thoughtfulness my thoughts turn instantly to you.
May God bless you for the words that came to bless me in my
darkest hours! May He teach me to show you--I can never tell
it--the infinite value of your words to me! May He so guide my
future that, henceforth, my life shall prove worthy the trust
you placed in me! Until it has, in some measure, so redeemed
the past, I may not say more. Only this: you, before all the
world, I desire to know of my acquittal of every allegation.
To-morrow I shall hope to see you before we march, for I shall
go at once to the regiment. There may be little opportunity for
words even if I dared trust myself to speak. Last time, in
laughing talk, it was agreed that I should wear your colors;
but now, even your will would be powerless to prevent me, for
my heart and soul are pledged to them forever.
"WILLIAM P. RAY."
Nor did he mean to "say more" when writing that letter. He meant that
she--he did not care _who_ else--should know that the thought of her
friendship and faith had been his mainstay in the troubles which had so
suddenly involved his life and wellnigh wrecked him. He wanted her to
know, and he did not care who knew, that from this time forth he was her
knight, sworn to her service, and bound to her by a tie he could not
break if he would. Seldom as they had met, there had been from the first
a halo of romance about their association, and she had come to be, even
before he could realize it, the one fair woman in whom was centred the
fealty and devotion of his loyal nature. He dare not hope: he would not
expect that one like her could so soon, so unsought, unwooed, have
learned to look upon him as anything more than a friend whose loyalty to
Grace, her one intimate, and whose friendship for Mrs. Stannard had
conspired to make him an object of interest in their daily talk. With
the humility of true manhood he well knew that his name, clouded with
the recklessness and debts of his past life, was not one that he dare
lay at her feet; but this, too, he knew, and knew well, and would have
faced the world to own it as fearlessly as he faced a foe: he loved
her, and, as yet, could ask nothing in return.
And yet, when Blake met him at the station next day, and they drove
rapidly out over the hard prairie roads, and he saw again the white
peaks in the south and the sunlight dancing over the distant slopes, and
the flag waving aloft over the dingy brown buildings of the post, and
his heart beat with eager joy at thought of seeing her again, of
touching that soft white hand and looking down into the depths of her
clear, truthful eyes, and studying the face that, lovely always, had
grown exquisite in beauty to him, he wondered how he could meet her, how
he _could_ speak to her, and control the longing to implore her to
overlook his past life with its follies and its sins, and let him prove
to her how strong and steadfast he could be if she would but bid him
hope. And then he set his teeth and tossed his head,--the old Ray-like
gesture,--and vowed that without a single word of hope she should see
how the faith of "one fair woman" had changed his whole life. He could
hardly answer Blake's eager, enthusiastic talk. He could hardly hear
what he was saying until he caught the words "To-morrow morning, four
hundred recruits, five hundred horses, and you go in command."
So soon, then? And yet 'twas what he had prayed for. He was eager to see
the dear old regiment again. He knew well how many faces of officers and
men would light up in welcome at his coming. In all the misery of the
past month he had almost forgotten that in July he was with them at the
front. How very far away that night ride seemed,--the ride that Wayne's
and Truscott's fellows at least had not forgotten! It made him think of
Dandy, and he questioned eagerly if Dandy were still there.
"Still there? You bet he is, Billy! Hogan's heart will break if you
don't say first thing that he looks better than he ever did in his
life."
"Why! How is it that Hogan has him again? I don't understand."
"Why? You can't go without a horse, man, and as commanding officer of
the whole crowd you would be entitled to your choice. I thought you'd
rather have Dandy, and so said. You can take another if you want to;
there are lots of them, and beauties. Now we're to go to Mrs. Stannard's
for dinner at once. Shall we stop and knock off the dust?"
They were whirling in at the fort gate, the gate through which he had
last driven a prisoner in the grasp of the law. The broad parade was
covered with squads of recruits drilling busily and with knots of young
officers, who looked eagerly at Blake and the dark-eyed young gentleman
in gray by his side. Along the row were many of the ladies of the
garrison and romping children, all of whom nodded and smiled and waved
their hands as they flashed by.
"Quick, Billy," said Blake, between his set teeth. "Out with you and
into the house, unless you want to be snared by Mrs. Turner. Oh, by the
Lord! Here she comes, and Mrs. Whaling, too. Scoot!"
And Ray sprang from the light wagon, and lifting his hat in salute to
the ladies who were hastening down the walk, he darted into the
house,--into the cool, darkened rooms which he had last seen when there
was not a spark of comfort, of hope, or love in a world of black
despair. And now, here was Hogan,--all joy and welcome and delight.
There lay the "swell" undress uniform, his cap and gloves and little
walking switch, all in readiness on the bed, and not until he became
accustomed to the dim light after the glare of the Wyoming sun, and the
mists of emotion had begun to clear away, could he see that Hogan's
blue-gray eyes were wet, and that he was ready to break down again with
sheer ecstasy. Ray laughed, the real old, joyous, ringing laugh again,
as he gripped the faithful Irishman's hand.
"Why, Hogan, old fellow. It's good to see you again; and so Dandy is
here, too, is he?"
"He is, sir, and it's he that'll be glad to have you on his back again.
Oh, murther! Did the lootenant tell ye how he dumped the quarthermasther
in the creek? He _didn't_?----"
"Come, Billy. No time to lose. Mrs. Stannard's waiting for you. She had
early dinner, as there's to be a farewell hop to-night, and I've seen
the colonel and you needn't report until afterwards. Come, man," called
Blake, hurrying in; and so Hogan's ecstasies were cut short, and in a
few moments more Mrs. Stannard's beaming face welcomed them at the door,
and both her hands were cordially clasping Ray's, and yet--somehow,
drawing him in and passing him along into the little parlor, while she
herself remained volubly chatting with Blake, who did not pass the
portals with any rapidity at all. Ray never could realize, much less
explain it, but in another moment he was standing in the little parlor,
and Marion Sanford, lovely in her grace and beauty, lovely in her shyly
welcoming smile, lovely in the soft flush that had mantled her bonny
face, was slowly rising from her chair to welcome him. All she said was
"Mr. Ray!" as with trembling hands he quickly seized the cool, white,
plump little member that was half extended to greet him, and--he could
not speak; he knew not what to say or do; he longed for the first time
in his life to kneel at a woman's feet and press her hand to his lips,
but that would be an unwarrantable demonstration in these conventional
days. He simply bowed low, held it one lingering moment in both
his,--she must have felt their eager trembling,--and then, without the
kiss for which his soul was longing, reluctantly let it go and looked
once into her eyes.
"Miss--Marion, I--_cannot_ tell you how glad I am to see you!"
Low-toned, heartfelt, eager, they were all he dare say. He meant to be
true to his resolve, and to prove his worth and his gratitude by
something better than words. And for once at least in his gallant
debonair life, Ray was mute and at a loss in a woman's presence. He was
indeed conquered,--heart and soul.
A delightful dinner they had, that little _partie carrée_; Mrs. Truscott
had declined, because she said one more woman would spoil it all, and
she wanted to write to Jack. And then Ray had to go and see the colonel
and have a long talk with him about the big command he was to take north
on the morrow, and to shake hands gravely with the embarrassed veteran,
and cordially and gladly with Warner, and to welcome the dozen handsome,
soldierly, enthusiastic young graduates, who came in a body to call and
pay their respects and tell their young commander how their recruit
companies were doing; and then there were a host of other affairs to
attend to, and an inspection of all the five hundred horses that were to
bear them northward in the morning, and afterwards the four hundred
recruits who were to go to the cavalry regiments with him. And then came
retreat parade, and the solemn dinner with the colonel and his amiable
better half, a dinner which seemed interminable, but which was as much a
duty as attending roll-call, and so it was late when he could get into
full-dress uniform and go over to the hop and see her once again.
Warner, lucky devil, was to be her escort, and the young officers would
have taken every dance but for the waltz he found courage to ask for at
dinner. How he rebelled at the idea of having to escort Mrs. Whaling!
Still, it was all part of his self-imposed penance, thought he, with a
grave, quiet smile, as Hogan was helping him to dress, and the strains
of the dance music came floating witchingly over the parade. He had only
time to see Dandy one moment, to pet and fondle him and praise his
beautiful condition (to Hogan's delight), and then, just as tattoo was
sounding, there came into the room the quartermaster's clerk with some
papers for his signature.
"What are these?" he asked in surprise. "Requisition for forage for one
private horse, the property of First Lieutenant William P. Ray, --th
Cavalry. Why, man! I own no horse."
"Them's the quartermaster's orders, sir. Lieutenant Blake got permission
to buy the horse. It's Dandy, sir, but he said as how it was yours, and
you'd sign the papers directly you got back. The forage was issued on
that understanding."
"Shure it's all thrue, sir," said Hogan. "Dandy was bought last week,
sir, and I thought as how Mr. Blake had told you."
Ray said no word more. His eyes were filling; he signed the papers,
finished dressing in silence, escorted Mrs. Whaling with entire
civility, and never heard a word she said though she talked volubly
every inch of the way; and once at the hop-room and he could break loose
from Mrs. Turner, who seized him to upbraid him for not stopping to
speak to her, and to tell him she had saved three dances expressly for
him, and she had such a host of things she wanted to tell him, and she
had been hearing such a host of things about him, etc., etc., he found
Blake and caught him by the sleeve.
"No dodging now, Blakey. _Who_ bought Dandy? Who gave him to me?"
"Well--dang it! _I_ did. Haven't I a right to?"
"No, old man; and, forgive my saying it, you and I cannot afford such
presents. What was he appraised at?"
"Oh, they fixed it low; because he was to be yours, you know. I got him
for two hundred."
"But, Blake, you hadn't ten dollars when I went away. I know full well
how much I owe you in this matter. Bless you, old man! But--the truth
now. You can afford to tell me when I say I _must_ know before it comes
to saying good-night to her. What had Miss Sanford to do with it?"
"Everything, Billy."