THE VERGE OF A QUARREL
Brant's mind was a chaos of conflicting emotions, but a single abiding
conviction never once left him--he retained implicit faith in her, and
he purposed to fight this matter out with Hampton. Even in that
crucial hour, had any one ventured to suggest that he was in love with
Naida, he would merely have laughed, serenely confident that nothing
more than gentlemanly interest swayed his conduct. It was true, he
greatly admired the girl, recalled to memory her every movement, her
slightest glance, her most insignificant word, while her marvellous
eyes constantly haunted him, yet the dawn of love was not even faintly
acknowledged.
Nevertheless, he manifested an unreasonable dislike for Hampton. He
had never before felt thus toward this person; indeed, he had possessed
a strong man's natural admiration for the other's physical power and
cool, determined courage. He now sincerely feared Hampton's power over
the innocent mind of the girl, imagining his influence to be much
stronger than it really was, and he sought after some suitable means
for overcoming it. He had no faith in this man's professed reform, no
abiding confidence in his word of honor; and it seemed to him then that
the entire future of the young woman's life rested upon his deliverance
of her from the toils of the gambler. He alone, among those who might
be considered as her true friends, knew the secret of her infatuation,
and upon him alone, therefore, rested the burden of her release. It
was his heart that drove him into such a decision, although he
conceived it then to be the reasoning of the brain.
And so she was Naida Gillis, poor old Gillis's little girl! He stopped
suddenly in the road, striving to realize the thought. He had never
once dreamed of such a consummation, and it staggered him. His thought
drifted back to that pale-faced, red-haired, poorly dressed slip of a
girl whom he had occasionally viewed with disapproval about the
post-trader's store at Bethune, and it seemed simply an impossibility.
He recalled the unconscious, dust-covered, nameless waif he had once
held on his lap beside the Bear Water. What was there in common
between that outcast, and this well-groomed, frankly spoken young
woman? Yet, whoever she was or had been, the remembrance of her could
not be conjured out of his brain. He might look back with repugnance
upon those others, those misty phantoms of the past, but the vision of
his mind, his ever-changeable divinity of the vine shadows, would not
become obscured, nor grow less fascinating. Let her be whom she might,
no other could ever win that place she occupied in his heart. His mind
dwelt upon her flushed cheeks, her earnest face, her wealth of glossy
hair, her dark eyes filled with mingled roguery and thoughtfulness,--in
utter unconsciousness that he was already her humble slave. Suddenly
there occurred to him a recollection of Silent Murphy, and his strange,
unguarded remark. What could the fellow have meant? Was there,
indeed, some secret in the life history of this young girl?--some story
of shame, perhaps? If so, did Hampton know about it?
Already daylight rested white and solemn over the silent valley, and
only a short distance away lay the spot where the crippled scout had
made his solitary camp. Almost without volition the young officer
turned that way, crossed the stream by means of the log, and clambered
up the bank. But it was clear at a glance that Murphy had deserted the
spot. Convinced of this, Brant retraced his steps toward the camp of
his own troop, now already astir with the duties of early morning.
Just in front of his tent he encountered his first sergeant.
"Watson," he questioned, as the latter saluted and stood at attention,
"do you know a man called Silent Murphy?"
"The scout? Yes, sir; knew him as long ago as when he was corporal in
your father's troop. He was reduced to the ranks for striking an
officer."
Brant wheeled in astonishment. "Was he ever a soldier in the Seventh?"
"He was that, for two enlistments, and a mighty tough one; but he was
always quick enough for a fight in field or garrison."
"Has he shown himself here at the camp?"
"No, sir; didn't know he was anywhere around. He and I were never very
good friends, sir."
The lieutenant remained silent for several moments, endeavoring to
perfect some feasible plan.
"Despatch an orderly to the telegraph-office," he finally commanded,
"to inquire if this man Murphy receives any messages there, and if they
know where he is stopping. Send an intelligent man, and have him
discover all the facts he can. When he returns bring him in to me."
He had enjoyed a bath and a shave, and was yet lingering over his
coffee, when the two soldiers entered with their report. The sergeant
stepped aside, and the orderly, a tall, boyish-looking fellow with a
pugnacious chin, saluted stiffly.
"Well, Bane," and the officer eyed his trim appearance with manifest
approval, "what did you succeed in learning?"
"The operator said this yere Murphy hed never bin thar himself, sir,
but there wus several messages come fer him. One got here this
mornin'."
"What becomes of them?"
"They're called fer by another feller, sir."
"Oh, they are! Who?"
"Red Slavin wus the name he give me of thet other buck."
When the two had disappeared, Brant sat back thinking rapidly. There
was a mystery here, and such actions must have a cause. Something
either in or about Glencaid was compelling Murphy to keep out of
sight--but what? Who? Brant was unable to get it out of his head that
all this secrecy centred around Naida. With those incautiously spoken
words as a clew, he suspected that Murphy knew something about her, and
that knowledge was the cause for his present erratic actions. Perhaps
Hampton knew; at least he might possess some additional scrap of
information which would help to solve the problem. He looked at his
watch, and ordered his horse to be saddled.
It did not seem quite so simple now, this projected interview with
Hampton, as it had appeared the night before. In the clear light of
day, he began to realize the weakness of his position, the fact that he
possessed not the smallest right to speak on behalf of Naida Gillis.
He held no relationship whatsoever to her, and should he venture to
assume any, it was highly probable the older man would laugh
contemptuously in his face. Brant knew better than to believe Hampton
would ever let go unless he was obliged to do so; he comprehended the
impotence of threats on such a character, as well as his probable
indifference to moral obligations. Nevertheless, the die was cast, and
perhaps, provided an open quarrel could be avoided, the meeting might
result in good to all concerned.
Hampton welcomed him with distant but marked courtesy, having evidently
thought out his own immediate plan of action, and schooled himself
accordingly. Standing there, the bright light streaming over them from
the open windows, they presented two widely contrasting personalities,
yet each exhibiting in figure and face the evidences of hard training
and iron discipline. Hampton was clothed in black, standing straight
as an arrow, his shoulders squared, his head held proudly erect, while
his cool gray eyes studied the face of the other as he had been
accustomed to survey his opponents at the card-table. Brant looked the
picture of a soldier on duty, trim, well built, erect, his resolute
blue eyes never flinching from the steady gaze bent upon ham, his
bronzed young face grave from the seriousness of his mission. Neither
was a man to temporize, to mince words, or to withhold blows; yet each
instinctively felt that this was an occasion rather for self-restraint.
In both minds the same thought lingered--the vague wonder how much the
other knew. The elder man, however, retained the better self-control,
and was first to break the silence.
"Miss Gillis informed me of your kindness to her last evening," he
said, quietly, "and in her behalf I sincerely thank you. Permit me to
offer you a chair."
Brant accepted it, and sat down, feeling the calm tone of
proprietorship in the words of the other as if they had been a blow.
His face flushed, yet he spoke firmly. "Possibly I misconstrue your
meaning," he said, with some bluntness, determined to reach the gist of
the matter at once. "Did Miss Gillis authorize you to thank me for
these courtesies?"
Hampton smiled with provoking calmness, holding an unlighted cigar
between his fingers. "Why, really, as to that I do not remember. I
merely mentioned it as expressing the natural gratitude of us both."
"You speak as if you possessed full authority to express her mind as
well as your own."
The other bowed gravely, his face impassive. "My words would quite
naturally bear some such construction."
The officer hesitated, feeling more doubtful than ever regarding his
own position. Chagrined, disarmed, he felt like a prisoner standing
bound before his mocking captor. "Then I fear my mission here is
useless."
"Entirely so, if you come for the purpose I suspect," said Hampton,
sitting erect in his chair, and speaking with more rapid utterance.
"To lecture me on morality, and demand my yielding up all influence
over this girl,--such a mission is assured of failure. I have listened
with some degree of calmness in this room already to one such address,
and surrendered to its reasoning. But permit me to say quite plainly,
Lieutenant Brant, that you are not the person from whom I will quietly
listen to another."
"I had very little expectation that you would."
"You should have had still less, and remained away entirely. However,
now that you are here, and the subject broached, it becomes my turn to
say something, and to say it clearly. It seems to me you would exhibit
far better taste and discrimination if from now on you would cease
forcing your attentions upon Miss Gillis."
Brant leaped to his feet, but the other never deigned to alter his
position.
"Forcing my attentions!" exclaimed the officer. "God's mercy, man! do
you realize what you are saying? I have forced no attentions upon Miss
Gillis."
"My reference was rather to future possibilities. Young blood is
proverbially hot, and I thought it wise to warn you in time."
Brant stared into that imperturbable face, and somehow the very sight
of its calm, inflexible resolve served to clear his own brain. He felt
that this cool, self-controlled man was speaking with authority.
"Wait just a moment," he said, at last. "I wish this made perfectly
clear, and for all time. I met Miss Gillis first through pure
accident. She impressed me strongly then, and I confess I have since
grown more deeply interested in her personality. I have reasons to
suppose my presence not altogether distasteful to her, and she has
certainly shown that she reposed confidence in me. Not until late last
night did I even suspect she was the same girl whom we picked up with
you out on the desert. It came to me from her own lips and was a total
surprise. She revealed her identity in order to justify her proposed
clandestine meeting with you."
"And hence you requested this pleasant conference," broke in Hampton,
coolly, "to inform me, from your calm eminence of respectability, that
I was no fit companion for such a young and innocent person, and to
warn me that you were prepared to act as her protector."
Brant slightly inclined his head.
"I may have had something of that nature in my mind."
"Well, Lieutenant Brant," and the older man rose to his feet, his eyes
still smiling, "some might be impolite enough to say that it was the
conception of a cad, but whatever it was, the tables have unexpectedly
turned. Without further reference to my own personal interests in the
young lady, which are, however, considerable, there remain other
weighty reasons, that I am not at liberty to discuss, which make it
simply impossible for you to sustain any relationship to Miss Gillis
other than that of ordinary social friendship."
"You--you claim the right--"
"I distinctly claim the right, for the reason that I possess the right,
and no one has ever yet known me to relinquish a hold once fairly
gained. Lieutenant Brant, if I am any judge of faces you are a
fighting man by nature as well as profession, but there is no
opportunity for your doing any fighting here. This matter is
irrevocably settled--Naida Gillis is not for you."
Brant was breathing hard. "Do you mean to insinuate that there is an
understanding, an engagement between you?" he faltered, scarcely
knowing how best to resent such utterance.
"You may place your own construction upon what I have said," was the
quiet answer. "The special relations existing between Miss Gillis and
myself chance to be no business of yours. However, I will consent to
say this--I do enjoy a relationship to her that gives me complete
authority to say what I have said to you. I regret having been obliged
by your persistency to speak with such plainness, but this knowledge
should prove sufficient to control the actions of a gentleman."
For a moment the soldier did not answer, his emotions far too strong to
permit of calm utterance, his lips tightly shut. He felt utterly
defeated. "Your language is sufficiently explicit," he acknowledged,
at last. "I ask pardon for my unwarranted intrusion."
At the door he paused and glanced back toward that motionless figure
yet standing with one hand grasping the back of the chair.
"Before I go, permit me to ask a single question," he said, frankly.
"I was a friend of old Ben Gillis, and he was a friend to my father
before me. Have you any reason to suspect that he was not Naida
Gillis's father?"
Hampton took one hasty step forward. "What do you mean?" he exclaimed,
fiercely, his eyes two coals of fire.
Brant felt that the other's display of irritation gave him an
unexpected advantage.
"Nothing that need awaken anger, I am sure. Something caused me to
harbor the suspicion, and I naturally supposed you would know about it.
Indeed, I wondered if some such knowledge might not account for your
very deep interest in keeping her so entirely to yourself."
Hampton's fingers twitched in a nervousness altogether unusual to the
man, yet when he spoke his voice was like steel. "Your suspicions are
highly interesting, and your cowardly insinuations base. However, if,
as I suppose, your purpose is to provoke a quarrel, you will find me
quite ready to accommodate you."
An instant they stood thus, eye to eye. Suddenly Brant's memory veered
to the girl whose name would be smirched by any blow struck between
them, and he forced back the hasty retort burning upon his lips.
"You may be, Mr. Hampton," he said, standing like a statue, his back to
the door, "but I am not. As you say, fighting is my trade, yet I have
never sought a personal quarrel. Nor is there any cause here, as my
only purpose in asking the question was to forewarn you, and her
through you, that such a suggestion had been openly made in my hearing.
I presume it was a lie, and wished to be able to brand it so."
"By whom?"
"A fellow known as Silent Murphy, a government scout."
"I have heard of him. Where is he?"
"He claimed to be here waiting orders from Custer. He had camp up the
Creek two days ago, but is keeping well out of sight for some reason.
Telegrams have been received for him at the office but another man has
called for them."
"Who?"
"Red Slavin."
"The cur!" said Hampton. "I reckon there is a bad half-hour waiting
for those two fellows. What was it that Murphy said?"
"That he knew the girl's real name."
"Was that all?"
"Yes; I tried to discover his meaning, but the fellow became suspicious
and shut up like a clam. Is there anything in it?"
Hampton ignored the question. "Lieutenant Brant," he said, "I am glad
we have had this talk together, and exceedingly sorry that my duty has
compelled me to say what I have said. Some time, however, you will
sincerely thank me for it, and rejoice that you escaped so easily. I
knew your father once, and I should like now to part on friendly
relations with his son."
He held out his hand, and, scarcely knowing why he did so, Brant placed
his own within its grasp, and as the eyes of the two men met, there was
a consciousness of sympathy between them.