RIVALS
August came, but there was no sign of fighting. Beatrice was openly
skeptical, and said she did not believe there had been any declaration
of war, but she spent more of her time at Captain Franklin's than at
home.
Forsyth and the Mackenzies missed her keenly, even though she made
occasional visits across the river. Her real reason was her wish to
avoid Forsyth and Ronald; but both of them went cheerfully to the
Captain's on flimsy pretexts or on none at all.
Robert fell into the habit of making early morning calls on Lieutenant
and Mrs. Howard. Then, when Beatrice came out of the house to sit on
the porch, he could saunter over carelessly and spend an accidental
hour or so with her. Ronald was more direct and never hesitated to
pound vigorously at the door when he wanted to see Beatrice and had
the slightest excuse for going there.
The experience was new to the Ensign, who had come unscathed through
many a flirtation, and who had regarded love lightly, after the manner
of his kind. He had been the master of every situation so far, but at
last he had come face to face with something that made him weak and
helpless--as if he had been clay in the potter's hands.
No matter how hot it was, he led Queen patiently twenty times around
the Fort in the broiling sun, and never attempted to mount, even when
Beatrice was in the house. Moreover, though he would have scorned to
rub down his own horse, he often put finishing touches upon Queen's
glossy coat after she had been groomed. This gave him an opportunity
to go over to Captain Franklin's, still leading the horse, and ask
Beatrice how she liked her pet's appearance. Simple and transparent as
the device was, it never failed to win a smile for him, and sometimes,
too, the girl would linger to feed Queen lumps of sugar and gossip
with Ronald meanwhile.
She painted when she felt like it, and did a great deal of sewing,
both occupations being fraught with interest to Forsyth and Ronald.
Mrs. Franklin was often one of the group, and Katherine made no
attempt to efface herself.
They were all sitting on the porch in front of the Captain's house one
hot morning, when Ronald appeared with a bowl and a spoon. "Taste," he
said, offering it to Mrs. Franklin. Katherine followed her example,
then Beatrice, always eager for new sensations, helped herself rather
liberally. Robert also partook of the savoury stew.
"Pretty good," he said critically; "what is it?"
"It's poor old Major," replied Ronald, sadly; "the Indians cooked him
and let me have some of the remains."
Beatrice gasped and fled into the house. The other women had risen to
follow her, when the situation was relieved by the appearance of Major
coming across the parade-ground in full cry, with Doctor Norton in hot
pursuit.
"I couldn't hold him any longer!" shouted the Doctor.
"You brute!" exclaimed Mrs. Franklin.
Katherine went into the house to relieve Beatrice's apprehensions,
and they returned together to add to the torrent of reproach that
assailed the Ensign's ears. He was doubled up with unseemly mirth and
apparently did not hear.
"That just goes to show," he said, when the paroxysm had passed,
"how the mind influences the body. I had an argument with Doc this
morning, and I've proved my point. If he hadn't let Major go, you
would have thought you had eaten him and been miserable accordingly.
Rob said it was good, and, dog or not dog, the fact remains."
Beatrice turned pale as a horrible suspicion entered her mind. "What
is it?" she asked. "Upon your word and honour, what is it?"
"It's mutton stew," replied Ronald, conclusively, "made by Mrs.
Mackenzie this very morning for your own approaching dinner. She
kindly gave me some of it to keep me alive till noon. In fact, I
helped to make it."
"You're a wretch!" exclaimed Katherine.
"Just hear 'em, Doc," said Ronald, assuming a grieved tone.
"I'm not sure but what you deserve it," laughed Norton. "If I had
known what you were going to do, I wouldn't have tried to hold the
dog."
"It's really very interesting," observed the Ensign, thoughtfully. "It
shows what slaves of custom we are. Major is a medium-sized, woolly
animal, much better looking than a sheep, yet sheep is considered
eatable and Major isn't. Then, too, we eat cattle and draw the line
at horses--there must be many a good steak on Queen."
Tears came to Beatrice's eyes, but she said nothing, and Forsyth
warned Ronald with a look which was not noticed.
"Not that I think of eating her," resumed George, cheerfully; "I
wouldn't get any exercise if I did. I wouldn't miss leading that
beast around the Fort every morning for a fortune. It's the only
uninterrupted feminine society I have."
At this juncture, Beatrice went into the house and slammed the door
emphatically.
"Our diet here seems to be somewhat restricted," continued Ronald,
apparently unmindful of his decreasing audience,--"cow and sheep,
sheep and cow, with an occasional piggy rift in the cloud. Birdie
eats dog whenever he can get it, and look at him--he's got as much
endurance as any five of us, and I'm not sure but what he's better put
together than I am."
"Yes, he is," put in Katherine, with caustic emphasis; "and he's
better company, also. Come in," she continued, to Mrs. Franklin.
Ronald gazed after the retreating figures in pained amazement.
"Well, what do you think of that?" he asked mournfully. "You fellows
probably don't notice it, because you're not sensitive to such
things; but, to my mind, which is more finely organised, it's a
delicate intimation that we're not wanted. Let's move along."
"'Delicate' is good," commented the Doctor, as they walked away. "I
call it rather pointed, myself."
"Strange, isn't it," remarked Ronald, impersonally, "how some people
fall into line with the expressed opinions of others!"
"Ronald," said the Doctor, with mock admiration, "I don't think I ever
met a man with so much fine tact as you have. Your unerring choice of
happy subjects stands by itself--alone and unapproachable."
"Run along to your medicines, you old pill-roller," retorted the
Ensign; "I want to talk to my cousin Robert."
Norton laughed and turned away, but he felt his isolation keenly, none
the less. Lieutenant Howard was barely civil to him, as was natural
under the circumstances, and he dared not see much of Katherine.
Captain Franklin was not particularly congenial, and Mrs. Franklin
had a vague distrust of him. She knew nothing more about the affair
than Katherine had told her in the winter, but she surmised a great
deal. Ronald had been the Doctor's mainstay, but since Beatrice came
to Fort Dearborn he had been conspicuous by his absence. Forsyth was
busy a great deal of the time, and the Doctor was left to intermittent
association with the Mackenzies and the dubious consolation of the
barracks.
It was true, as he often told himself, that his nature was one of
those foreordained to loneliness, but at times he hungered for the
companionship of his kind. Books were few upon the frontier, and
those few he knew by heart; so he scraped lint, made bandages, brewed
medicines, cultivated a certain philosophical turn of mind, and
wondered vaguely where and how it would end.
Ronald and Forsyth were walking aimlessly in the neighbourhood of
the Fort. The rigid discipline had somewhat relaxed, but no one was
permitted to pass the picket lines. The Indians only came and went as
they pleased, recognising no laws but those of their own making.
Ronald appeared to have something on his mind, and made disconnected
and irrelevant answers to Forsyth's observations. "Say," he
interrupted, at last, "how do you suppose we're ever going to get
anywhere?"
"What do you mean?" asked Robert, in astonishment.
"Why, Beatrice, you know," he said awkwardly; "you don't give me any
chance."
"I don't understand you," returned the other, coolly.
"Come now," said Ronald, roughly; "you know I'm no good at words, but
I don't get your idea. There's always a mob around wherever she is,
and if I get her to myself a minute you prance in as if you belonged
there. If you're always going to do that, we might as well hunt her up
now, tell her we both want to marry her, ask her to take her pick, and
end the suspense."
An amused light came into Robert's eyes. "Do you know," he replied,
"it's seemed to me the same way. If I get her to myself for a minute,
you make it your business to join us. This morning, now,--I was there
first, wasn't I?"
The Ensign's clouded face cleared. "I guess you were," he said slowly;
"honestly, do I do that?"
"I should say you did," answered Forsyth, with unexpected spirit.
"Since she moved away from Aunt Eleanor's, I haven't seen her alone
for ten minutes."
Ronald laughed heartily as the ludicrous element of the situation
dawned upon him. "I say, old man," he began, "we'll have to fix it
some way--divide her up into watches, you know, or something like
that."
Forsyth did not relish the way Ronald expressed it, but he caught the
idea and nodded.
"How'll we do it?" continued the Ensign. "We can't take her into our
confidence."
"Don't know," returned Robert, dully. "It doesn't make any difference,
really, for I haven't a chance with you."
"Cheer up--you'll never get her if you mourn all the time. A girl
likes to have things lively. I know how you feel--I've often felt that
way myself; but I try to keep things going just the same. You have to
attract a woman's attention--it doesn't much matter how."
"I surmised you thought that this morning," remarked Forsyth, with
veiled sarcasm. He failed to mention the fact that, although he loved
Beatrice, her evident displeasure had made him unspeakably glad.
Ronald's face bronzed, but he seldom admitted the possibility of his
making a mistake. "We'll say," he began, "for the hypothesis, that
our chances are equal. Since she moved over to the Captain's you've
lost your unfair advantage. She goes across the river, of course, but
we'll set against that the fact that she's in the Fort the rest of
the time. Now, suppose we divide the day into three parts--morning,
afternoon, and evening. It's morning till noon, afternoon till six,
and evening till midnight. She mustn't lose her sleep, or she'll be
cross. We'll take turns. For instance, if I have the morning, you get
the afternoon, and I'll take the evening. The next day it will be your
turn in the morning and evening, and mine in the afternoon--see?"
"Suppose she doesn't come out?"
"That's as it may be. The fellow whose turn it is takes the risk. She
can do as she pleases--we simply agree to leave the field for the
other at the times specified, military and educational duties to the
contrary notwithstanding. That's fair, isn't it?"
"Yes, I think it is. Anyhow, it's better than we've been doing--it
will lessen the possibility of friction."
"Good thing," commented Ronald. "Many a time I've felt like taking you
by the collar and shaking you as a terrier shakes a rat."
"Me, too," laughed Forsyth. "Whose turn is it this afternoon?"
"I think it's mine. We were both there this morning, but you've
intimated that I didn't leave a pleasant impression, and I ought to
have a chance to set myself right, don't you think?"
"As you say--it doesn't make any difference to me."
"I'll have to get out pretty early some of the time," mused Ronald,
"and exercise the beast. I don't want to lose a precious hour doing
that."
"We might take turns--" suggested Forsyth, tentatively.
"We will not," retorted Ronald. "That's my job--she gave it to me
herself."
Forsyth went across the river and Ronald returned to the Fort. Each
was relieved because the matter was settled, for, as Robert had
indicated, there had been friction.
All through the long, hot afternoon Ronald kept a close watch upon
Captain Franklin's door. His knock met with no response, and Katherine
had long since gone home. Doctor Norton had attempted to talk with the
waiting swain, but found it unsatisfactory and retired gracefully.
Just before six o'clock Beatrice emerged. Her white gown was turned
in a little at the throat, and her hair hung far below her waist in a
heavy, shining braid, ending in a curl. Ronald's heart gave a great
leap as he went to meet her.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Over to Aunt Eleanor's. You spoiled my dinner and I'm hungry."
"I'm sorry," he said, with evident contrition; "will you forgive me?"
"You ought to do penance for it."
"I'll do anything you say, Miss Bee."
"Lead Queen twenty-five times around the Fort after sundown," she
said. "She'll be glad to get out again, and it won't hurt you."
Ronald smiled grimly as she went away, disregarding his offer to row
her across. "It's a hard service," he thought, "but I've enlisted and
I'll see it through. Thorny damsel; but oh, ye gods, she's sweet!"
Forsyth had made the most elaborate toilet his circumstances
permitted, and was prepared to make the best of his coming
opportunity. "Did you see George this afternoon?" he asked, with
feigned carelessness.
"I did not," returned Beatrice, with a toss of her head. "He nearly
broke down the Captain's door, but it was locked and nobody let him
in. He was talking with that precious dog of his when I came out, and
he offered to row me over, but I came by myself."
"I would have gone after you," said Robert, with ill-advised
eagerness.
"Thank you," she answered coolly; "but I'm not so old yet that I can't
row fairly well on still water."
That evening Forsyth had the felicity of sitting on the piazza, with
Beatrice beside him, while his rival dejectedly led Queen round and
round the Fort. His efforts at entertainment seemed to be unusually
happy and effective, though he was too obtuse to notice that she
laughed only when Ronald was in sight and, presumably, within hearing.
Mackenzie sat with them for a while, but soon went in. "You take the
first watch," he said to Robert, "and call Chan for the second. I've
got to get up early in the morning, anyway."
"All right, sir."
"Do you think there's any use of watching?" she asked, when the trader
had closed the door.
"Of course," answered Robert, promptly. "If we were all asleep, no one
would hear the gun and we might all be taken prisoners before we had a
chance to get to the Fort."
"Have you always watched out here?"
"Yes, a part of the night, ever since we knew war had been declared."
"It's lonely, isn't it?"
"It might be, but I always have something pleasant to think about."
Beatrice did not press the question further. "What time does the first
watch end?"
"Oh, along about midnight."
"I'll stay with you," said the girl impulsively; "I had a long sleep
this afternoon, and I'd love to help watch. May I?"
Robert's heart beat loudly, but he controlled his voice. "Of course
you may," he said.
When Ronald's task was finished, he led Queen into the Fort.
"Twenty-four," mused Beatrice. "He's skipped one, or else I didn't
count right."
"Twenty-four?" repeated Robert, inquiringly.
"Yes," she said. "He had to take Queen around twenty-five times
because he was bad this morning and tried to make me think I'd eaten
Major. I don't like things like that."
Robert laughed happily and felt an inexplicable generosity toward
Ronald. "You didn't count right," he assured her. "He never would
skip."
"Perhaps not--anyhow, I'll let it go."
* * * * *
The hours passed as if on wings, and both were surprised when the
deep-toned bell at the Fort tolled taps. The moon rose and a path of
gold gleamed on the water, rippling gently with the night wind.
"See," said Beatrice, softly, "it's always seemed to me as if one
might row along that path, when the moon is low, and go straight in.
When I was a child I used to think that I'd do it as soon as I got old
enough to manage a boat by myself. I wondered why nobody ever went
to the moon when it was so close, and I thought it would be a fine
thing if I could be the first one to go. I couldn't see any doors,
and concluded they must be on the other side; but I was sure I could
row around when I got there, and I never doubted for an instant that
the moon people would be delighted to see me. What strange fancies
children have!"
"You're only a child now," said Robert, huskily,--"a little, helpless
child."
"Helpless?" repeated Beatrice, with an odd little cadence at the end
of the rising inflection; "I've never been told that before. See how
strong my hands are!"
Laughing, she offered a small, white, dimpled hand for his inspection.
With an inarticulate cry he bent to kiss it, and she snatched it away,
much offended.
"You presume," she said, coldly. "Perhaps you think I'm like other
girls!"
"You are different from everybody in the world," he answered, in
a low, tender tone. "They are clay like the rest of us, only of a
finer sort, but you are a bit of priceless porcelain. You are made of
flowers and stars and dreams--of sunlight and moonlight, Spring and
dawn. All the beauty of the earth has gone to make you--violets for
your eyes, a rose for your mouth, and white morning-glories for your
hands. When you smile it is like the light of a midsummer noon; when
you laugh it is the music of falling waters; when you sing to yourself
it is like a bird in the wilderness, breaking one's heart with the
exquisite sweetness of it. Darling! darling!" he cried, passionately;
"no one in the world is like you!"
Beatrice was trembling, and for the moment was dumb. Robert stood
before her with his hands outstretched in pleading until, emboldened
by her silence, he leaned forward to take her into his arms, and she
moved swiftly aside.
"Very pretty," she said, with an effort, and in a matter-of-fact tone,
then she laughed. "I did not know you were a poet," she continued,
rising and shaking out her skirts,--"the moonlight has made you mad."
"Not the moonlight, sweetheart, but you!"
"Well, the two of us, then," returned Beatrice, lightly. "It's getting
late, and I must go."
"No!" he cried. "You said you would stay till the end of my watch!"
"That was before I knew you were a poet. No, I'm going back by
myself--good-night, and pleasant dreams!"
He untied the pirogue for her and helped her into it, his senses
reeling at the momentary touch of her hand; and when she crossed the
path of gold that lay upon the water, the light shone full upon her
flower-like face. The man's blood surged into his heart with rapturous
pain, as, exquisite, radiant, and unattainable, she passed through
the gate of the Fort and out of his sight. He stood there long after
she had vanished, shaken from head to foot by a passion as pure and
exalted as Sir Galahad might have felt for Elaine.