THE SECOND IN COMMAND
"Kit," said the Lieutenant, pacing back and forth moodily, "I wish I
were in command."
"I wish so, too, dear," responded Mrs. Howard, dutifully.
"Anybody with half an eye can see what is going to happen here, if
there isn't a change."
"What change do you mean, Ralph?"
"Any kind of a change," he snapped angrily. "We've got a figure-head
for a Captain and the men haven't the faintest idea of military
training. There's no reason for postponing drill on account of bad
weather--the men haven't been out for over a week now, just because
it's cold. The Captain sits by his fire, studying tactics and making
out imaginary reports, while his men are suffering for discipline--and
clothes," he added as an afterthought.
"What can Captain Franklin do about their clothes?"
"What can he do? Nothing, it seems; but I could. I'd send a man to
President Madison himself, if there was no other way. Look at us! We
look like Washington's army at Valley Forge!"
The Lieutenant brushed away an imaginary speck on a very shabby
uniform. "I'm sorry I entered the army," he went on. "Look at this
post, on the edge of nowhere, with about forty men to defend it. I
doubt if we have more than thirty in good fighting trim--the rest
are worse than useless. All around us are hordes of hostile savages,
ready to attack any or all of us on the slightest provocation, and we
cannot make even a display of force! No target practice, for fear of
wasting ammunition; no drill, because the Captain is lazy; clothes
like beggars--idleness, inaction, sloth! Three six-pounders and thirty
men, against thousands of bloodthirsty beasts! Things were different
at Fort Wayne!"
"Ralph," said Mrs. Howard, quickly, "please don't say that to me
again. I have told you twenty times how sorry I am that I asked you
to arrange to be transferred. I tell you once more that we will go
wherever and whenever you please, to Fort Wayne, Detroit, or even
Fort Mackinac. If there is an army post in the United States where
things are run to suit you, please get a transfer to it. You will hear
no complaints from me. I wanted to be near my mother--that was all."
"Was that all?" he sneered. "I have thought otherwise. You talk like a
fool, Kit. You seem to think it's the simplest thing in the world to
get a transfer. Do you expect to see a messenger ride in at the gate,
with an order from the War Department, or shall I go over and tell the
Captain that we leave for Fort Wayne this evening?"
Mrs. Howard moved her lips as if to speak, then thought better of it
and remained silent. He stood at the window for a long time, with his
back to her.
"You don't seem very sociable," he said at length, "so I guess I'll go
out for a bit, especially as I see your friend coming. I never like
to intrude." With this parting fling, he left the house, carefully
avoiding Doctor Norton, who was crossing the parade-ground.
From where she sat, Mrs. Howard could see her husband, erect and
soldierly, making his way to the offices. During the first two years
of their married life, she had been very happy, but since they came
to live at Fort Dearborn, he had been subject to occasional outbursts
of temper which distressed her greatly.
Her face, always expressive, was white and troubled when she opened
the door for the Doctor. He understood--he always did. He was one of
the few men who are not dense in their comprehension of womankind.
They talked commonplaces for a little while, then he leaned forward
and took her cold hand in his.
"Something has bothered you," he said kindly. "Tell me and let me help
you."
"You couldn't help me," she answered sadly; "nobody can."
Doctor Norton was not more than thirty-five, but his hair was
prematurely grey, and this, together with his kindly manner, often
impelled his patients to make unprofessional confidences. Like many
another woman, too, Mrs. Howard was strong in the face of opposition,
but weak at the touch of sympathy.
"It's nothing," she said. "Ralph is cross nearly all the time, though
I don't believe he means to be. He has been that way ever since--ever
since the baby died."
She turned her face away, for the little grave in the hollow pulled
piteously at the mother's heartstrings when the world went wrong.
"He has always blamed me for that," she went on. "One of the reasons
why I wanted to live here, instead of at Fort Wayne, was that I might
have my mother to help me take care of the baby. She knew more than I
did; was wiser and more experienced in every way, and I thought the
little lad would have a better chance. Instead, as you know, he took
cold on the way here and did not get well, so his father has never
forgiven me."
The tears came fast and her white lips quivered. "Don't, Katherine,"
he said. It was the first time he had called her by name, and she
noted it, vaguely, in the midst of her suffering.
"Don't, Katherine," he repeated. "All we can do in this world is the
thing that seems to us the best. We have no concern with the results,
except as a guide for the future, and sometimes, years afterward, we
see that what seemed like a bitter loss in reality was gain. Some day
you may be glad that you lost your boy."
"Glad? Glad I have lost my only child? Doctor, what are you thinking
of!"
"Of you. Whatever troubles you troubles me, also. You know that, don't
you?"
For an instant she was frightened, but his calm friendliness
reassured her. "Thank you," she returned, "you have always been good
to me."
"I shall always try to be. Nothing that comes to you is without
meaning for me, and you will always have at least one friend." There
was an eloquent silence, then the tension of the moment snapped, and
he released her hand.
"I'm silly," she laughed hysterically, wiping her eyes. "Have you any
medicine for silliness?"
"If I had, I should keep it for those who need it worse than you do. I
wish you would go outdoors more. Walk on the parade-ground and across
to your mother's,--those two places are certainly safe,--and when you
get tired of that, go over to Mrs. Franklin's. She's a nice little
woman and she needs cheering up, too. I have a suspicion, Mrs. Howard,
that the temperament which urges a man to be a soldier is very seldom
elastic enough to include the domestic hearth."
Katherine's face brightened, for she had not thought of that, and
the suggestion that others had the same trouble was not without its
dubious consolation.
For an hour or more he talked to her, telling her bits of news from
the barracks which he thought would interest her, and offering
fragments of philosophy as the occasion permitted.
"You're a tonic," she said lightly, as he rose to go; "the blues are
all gone."
"I'm glad of that. Now remember, when anything goes wrong, tell me.
Perhaps I can help you--at least I can try."
Half-way across the parade-ground he turned back to smile at her as
she stood at the window, and she waved a friendly hand in response.
It was at this unlucky moment that the Lieutenant left the offices,
having had high words with the Captain about the condition of the
garrison and the possibility of a war with England.
She was vaguely uneasy when he went out of his way to meet the Doctor,
but, though he spoke to him, he paused for scarcely an instant in his
rapid stride. He was pleasant enough when he came into the house, and
she thought that all was well.
He made no reference to their earlier conversation, but talked easily
and indifferently, with a mild desire to please, as is the way of a
man who is ashamed of himself.
"Wouldn't you like to go across the river?" he asked.
"Why, yes," she replied wonderingly, "I don't mind."
"Come on, then."
His dark, handsome face was still pale, and the lines of weakness were
distinct around his mouth, but Katherine's heart, leaping to meet its
desire, turned newly toward him, as a flower lifts its face to the sun.
"Poor boy," she said affectionately, putting her hand on his arm, "you
have lots of things to bother you, don't you?"
"That I do, Kit. I suppose you think I'm a brute sometimes."
"No, indeed," she answered, generously.
"You've been hard to get on with lately," he observed.
"Have I, dear?" She was surprised and conscience-stricken; the more so
because the possibility had not occurred to her. "I'm sorry," she said
after a little. "I'll try to do better."
"I don't think it's altogether your fault," he rejoined. "I've noticed
that you get cranky after Norton has been to the house, and I think he
has a bad influence over you." The Lieutenant tried to speak jauntily,
and failed.
"So, naturally," he continued, clearing his throat, "I've done as any
other man in my position would do. I've told him not to come unless
he's asked in his professional capacity, and to make those visits when
I'm at home."
"Ralph!" It was the cry of a hurt child, and every vestige of colour
fled from Katherine's face. She pressed her hands to her breast and
leaned against the stockade at the entrance to the Fort.
"Well?" he asked ironically, "have I broken your heart?"
"To think," she said slowly, "that you could be so discourteous to any
one, and especially to a friend who has been so kind to us as Doctor
Norton. I'm ashamed of you."
"Your actions, Katherine, only prove that I have taken the right
course. If I had any doubt before, I am certain now. You will oblige
me by avoiding him as much as possible."
He never called her "Katherine" unless he was very much displeased
with her, and they crossed the river without speaking. Howard hummed a
popular air to himself, with apparent unconcern.
* * * * *
At Mackenzies', all was bustle and confusion. Indians hurried in and
out of the house, talking and gesticulating excitedly. The snow on
the path was worn as smooth as ice and Chandonnais was running to the
Agency building on the other side of the river.
"What is it?" asked Katherine.
"Dunno," said the Lieutenant, laconically.
When they entered, John Mackenzie was, as he expressed it, "pretty
nigh beat out." Robert had dismissed school, and was helping him as
best he could, though he was heavily handicapped at the start by his
ignorance of values and of the Indian tongue.
The space behind the counters was heaped high with furs. Deer hide and
moose leather, grey wolf, red and silver fox, muskrat, beaver and bear
skins were stacked waist deep around Forsyth and Mackenzie. Unwonted
activity was in the air, and the place was full of odorous Indians.
Black Partridge came in, bringing the skin of a gigantic black bear,
and a murmur ran through the room. Members of other tribes fingered it
enviously, and the Pottawattomie squaws openly boasted the prowess of
their chief.
Chandonnais came in from the Agency, with a huge ham under either
arm. He went back, laden with peltries, and when he returned, he was
rolling a fresh barrel of flour before him. His face was set in an
expression of extreme displeasure, for he was constitutionally opposed
to work.
"Can I help?" asked Lieutenant Howard.
"Wish you'd go over to the Agency, Ralph," replied Mackenzie, "and
bring over as many blankets as you can carry. Chan will go with
you--he's got to bring more bacon."
Mrs. Howard had long since retreated to the living-room. The door was
closed, but the tumult of the trading station resounded afar.
"Be careful, Rob," said Mackenzie, "that's a sheep skin dyed with
walnut juice. He tried it on you 'cause you're green." Turning to the
Indian, the trader spoke volubly, even after the would-be cheat had
grabbed his sheep skin and started for the door.
"This jawbreaker talk is tellin' on me," Mackenzie resumed. "This is
the first time they've ever come on me all at once this way. Mighty
sudden, I take it. It's early, too. Usually they do their tradin' on
the Q.T., one and two at a time, weeks before. They say this is the
last day of Winter and that to-morrow will be Spring."
Chandonnais and the Lieutenant returned, laden with bacon and
blankets. The half-breed wiped the sweat from his swarthy face with a
very dirty sleeve, and Howard made no further offers of assistance.
Instead, he went over to Forsyth, and began to talk with him.
"What's going on?" asked Robert, "do you know?"
Ralph shrugged his shoulders. "They haven't taken me into their
confidence," he replied, "but I suppose it's the annual pilgrimage."
"Where? What for?"
"Didn't Father John tell you? Every year they go up into Canada to get
their presents from the British. Damn the British!" he added, with
unnecessary emphasis.
"Oh," said Robert, thoughtfully. "In case of trouble, then, the
Indians are on their side."
"Exactly. Quite a scheme, isn't it?"
"It's a devilish scheme!"
"Be careful," warned Mackenzie, "some of 'em understand more English
than they let on."
The trading fever rapidly spread to the squaws. Those who were not
bringing furs for exchange and carrying provisions back to the camp
offered moccasins and baskets for sale. Mackenzie shook his head--he
had no use for anything but the skins.
Under cover of the excitement, much petty thieving was going on, and
it was necessary to keep close watch of the peltries, lest they be
exchanged again. The squaws kept keen eyes on the counters, making off
with anything desirable which was left unguarded. Chandonnais took a
place at the door, finally, to call a halt upon illegal enterprises.
Without the least knowledge of why he did it, Robert bought a pair of
moccasins. They were small, even for a woman's foot, and heavy with
beads. The dainty things appealed to him, suddenly and irresistibly,
and the price he paid for them brought other squaws, with countless
moccasins.
"Uncle John," he shouted above the clamour, "please tell them I don't
want any more moccasins!"
A few rapid words from Shaw-ne-aw-kee had the desired effect. "Don't
see what you want of those things," he observed; "they won't fit
anybody."
"Pretty things," remarked Howard, sauntering up. "Whom are they for?"
"I--I--that is, I don't know," stammered Robert. "I just wanted them."
The Lieutenant laughed. "Oh, I see," he said. "Another case of
Cinderella's slipper?"
"Yes, we'll let it go at that," returned Forsyth. He had regained his
self-possession, but the colour still bronzed his cheeks.
When every possible exchange had been made, and every Indian had
been given a small additional present, the room became quiet again.
Black Partridge received a small silver ornament which Mackenzie had
made for him during the long winter evenings, with manifestations of
delight and gratitude.
"What's he saying, Uncle?" asked Robert.
"He's swearing eternal friendship for me and mine."
"Much good that does," said Howard, nonchalantly. "I'd trust a dead
Indian a damn sight sooner 'n a live one."
Black Partridge may have caught the gist of what had been said, but he
repeated his expressions of gratitude and his assurances of continued
esteem. The room, by contrast, was very silent after he went out.
"Lord!" sighed the trader. "What a day!"
Mrs. Mackenzie's voice sounded clearly in the next room. "Yes, dear,"
she said, "I'll tell him, and I'll explain it all. Don't you fret one
mite about it." Then the door opened and Mrs. Howard came in.
She talked with Forsyth for a few minutes, then turned to her husband.
"Shall we go home?" she asked, "or do you want to stay here for
supper?"
"Better stay," suggested Mackenzie, hospitably.
"No, we'll go," said Ralph. "Good-bye, everybody."
Neither spoke until they entered their own house again, then Katherine
put her hands on his shoulders and looked straight into his eyes.
"Ralph," she said, seriously, "can't you trust me?"
"I hope so," he returned, drawing away from her, "and as I've fixed it
now, I think I can."
"Ralph!" she cried, "you hurt me!"
"Look here," he exclaimed roughly, "I don't want any more of this. I
have trouble enough without your pitching into me all the time. This
is my house and you are my wife--please remember that."
"There's no danger of my forgetting it," she answered hotly.
"Come, Kit, do be reasonable. I don't want to quarrel."
She smiled cynically and bit her lips to keep back the retort that
struggled for utterance. "Whatever you do," her mother had said to
her, "don't quarrel with your husband. It takes two to make a quarrel."
Later, a semblance of peace was restored, but long after the
Lieutenant was asleep, Katherine lay, wide-eyed and troubled, with
bitterness surging in her heart.
From the window of her room she saw the late moon when it rose from
the lake, and soon afterward the clock struck three. Then a ghostly
pageant passed the Fort. Black Partridge was ahead--she knew his
stately figure in spite of the blanket in which he was enshrouded.
Behind him came more Indians than she had ever seen at one time,
silently, in single file.
The squaws brought up the rear, laden with baggage. The last one was
heavily burdened and was far behind. As she straggled along, the pale
moonlight revealed something strange upon her head and Katherine
recognised her own discarded summer hat of two seasons past. The
implied comparison made her laugh in a way which was not good to
hear--but no one heard.
Across the river another watcher was taking note of the departure
of the Pottawattomies, for Robert had found it impossible to sleep.
Physically, he was too tired to rest, and his mind was unusually
active. The dainty moccasins hung on the wall of his room and
something obtrusively feminine in their presence was, in a way,
disturbing, but not altogether unpleasant.
The young man was somewhat given to analysis and introspection, and
had endeavoured, unsuccessfully, to solve the freakish impulse which
led him to buy moccasins too small for any woman he knew. Further
questioning of self brought out the astounding fact that he would not
give moccasins to any woman he had ever met, even though these might
fit her.
The Indians passing the Fort were a welcome diversion, and he, too,
laughed at the one who followed the procession with more than her
share of baggage, but he missed the fine point in the matter of
millinery. "She looks like the one I bought them of," he said to
himself, "but I won't be sure."
The moon faded and grey dawn came up out of the inland sea. A ribbon
of light lay across the Fort and the pulses of the river stirred
beneath the ice. The blood came to his heart like the sap mounting in
the maples, and he felt a sudden uplift of soul. A bluebird paused
over the river for an instant, the crimson of its breast strangely
luminous against the sky, then from a distant thicket came the first
robin's cheery call, and he knew the Indians were right--that it was
Spring.