Late that afternoon the guard caught sight of a horseman loping rapidly
up the valley and heading for the bridge across the Laramie. Long
before he reached the post an orderly had notified the commanding
officer that a courier was coming,--doubtless from Captain Terry's
party, and Major Miller's appearance on his north piazza, binocular in
hand, and gazing steadfastly over the distant flats to the winding
trail along the river, was sufficient to bring strong representations
of every household into view, all eager to see what he was seeing or to
hear what he might know. Mr. Hatton came hurriedly over from "Bedlam,"
took his place by the major's side, and a peep through the same big
glasses. Then, after a moment's consultation, the two officers started
down the steps and walked briskly past the quarters on the east side,
merely calling, in answer to the many queries, "Somebody coming with
news from Terry!" and by the time they reached the old blockhouse at
the north end, the somebody was in plain view, urging his foam-flecked
and panting steed to a plunging gallop as he neared the Laramie. The
hoofs thundered across the rickety wooden bridge, and the rider was
hailed by dozens of shrill and wailing voices as he passed the
laundresses' quarters, where the whole population had turned out to
demand information. The adjutant had joined the commanding officer by
this time, and several of the guard had come forth, anxious and eager
to hear the news. No man in the group could catch the reply of the
horseman to the questioners at "Sudstown," but in an instant an Irish
wail burst upon the ear, and, just as one coyote will start a whole
pack, just as one midnight bray will set in discordant chorus a whole
"corral" of mules, so did that one wail of mourning call forth an
echoing "keen" from every Hibernian hovel in all the little settlement,
and in an instant the air rang with unearthly lamentations.
"D---- those absurd women!" growled the major, fiercely, though his
cheek paled at dread of the coming tidings. "They'll have all the
garrison in hysterics. Here, Hatton! run down there and stop their
infernal noise. There isn't one in a dozen of 'em that has any idea of
what has happened. They're howling on general principles. What the
devil does that man mean by telling his news before he sees the
commanding officer, anyhow?"
Meantime, straight across the sandy flats and up the slope came the
courier, his horse panting loudly. Half-way from "Sudstown" he was
easily recognized,--Corporal Zook, of "Terry's Grays," and a tip-top
soldier. Reining in his horse, throwing the brown carbine over his
shoulder and quickly dismounting, he stepped forward to the group and,
with the unfailing salute, handed his commander a letter.
"How came you to tell those women anything?" asked Miller, his lips and
hands trembling slightly, despite his effort to be calmly prepared for
the worst. "Don't you see you've started the whole pack of them to
yowling? I thought I warned you never to do that again, when you came
in with the news of Lieutenant Robinson's murder."
"The major did, sir; I had it in mind when I came in sight of those
Irishwomen this time, and wouldn't open my lips, sir. They are bound to
make a row, whatever happens. I only shook my head at them, sir." And
Corporal Zook, despite fatigue, hard riding, and dust, appeared, if one
could judge by a slight twinkle of the eye, to take a rather humorous
view of this exposition of national traits. Followed by two or three of
the guard, Mr. Hatton had obediently hastened to quell the tumult of
lamentation, but by the time he reached the nearest shanty the
infection had spread throughout the entire community, and--women and
children alike--the whole populace was weeping, wailing, and gnashing
its teeth,--and no one knew or cared to know exactly why. Having been
wrought up to a pitch of excitement by the rumors and rapid moves of
the past forty-eight hours, nothing short of a massacre could now quite
satisfy Sudstown's lust for the sensational, and, defrauded of the
actual cause for universal bewailing, was none the less determined to
indulge in the full effect. Poor Hatton had more than half an hour of
stubborn and troublesome work before he could begin to quell the racket
in the crowded tenements, and meantime there was mischief to pay in the
fort. No sooner did the Irish wail come floating on the wind than the
direst rumors were rushed from house to house. The courier had barely
had time to hand his despatches to Major Miller, and the major had not
had time to read them, when a messenger came post-haste for Dr. Bayard,
and stood trembling and breathless at his door while the punctilious
old major-domo went to call his master. Holmes was reading at the
moment in the doctor's library, and, at the sound of excited voices and
scurrying footfalls without, came forward into the hall just as the
door of Nellie's room was heard to open. Glancing up, he caught sight
of her at the head of the stairs,--her hair dishevelled and rippling
down over her shoulders and nearly covering the dainty wrapper she
wore.
"Mr. Holmes! please see what has happened?" she cried, with wild
anxiety in her eyes. "I hear such dreadful noise, and see men running
down toward the laundresses' quarters."
But there was no need for him to ask. The messenger at the door was
only too eager.
"Oh, Miss Nellie!" she called, sobbing, half in eagerness, half in
genuine distress. "There's such dreadful news! There's a man come in
from Captain Terry's troop, and they've had a terrible fight, and Mr.
McLean an' lots of 'em are killed. It's all true, just as we heard it
this----"
But here Mr. Holmes slammed the door in the foolish creature's face and
went tearing up the stairs, four at a bound, for, clasping the
balusters with both her little hands in a grasp that seemed loosening
every second, Nellie Bayard was sinking almost senseless to the floor.
Chloe, too, came running to her aid, and, between them, they bore her
to the sofa in her pretty room, and then the doctor reached them,
almost rejoicing to find her in tears, instead of the dead faint he
dreaded.
"How could I have been so mad as to bring her to such a pandemonium as
this?" was his exclamation to Holmes as, a moment later, they hastened
forth upon the parade. "Yes," he hastily answered, as a little boy came
running tearfully to him, to say that mamma was taken very ill and they
didn't know what to do for her. "Yes. So are all the women in garrison,
I doubt not; though they're all scared for nothing, I'll bet a dinner.
Tell mamma I'll be there just as soon as I've seen Major Miller. Here
he comes now."
The major, with his adjutant, and followed by his orderly, was coming
rapidly into the quadrangle as he spoke, and the two gentlemen hastened
forward to meet him. From half a dozen houses women or children were
rushing to question the commanding officer with wild, imploring eyes
and faltering tongues. He waved his hands and arms in energetic
gyrations and warned them away.
"Go back! Go back! You distracted geese!" he called. "It's all a lie!
There's hardly been a brush worth mentioning. Terry and his men are all
safe. Now, do stop your nonsense! But come with me, doctor," he quickly
added, in a lower tone. "Come, Mr. Holmes. I want you both to hear
this. It's so like Terry. D---- those outrageous Bridgets down there!
Did you ever hear anything like the row they raised? And all for
nothing."
"Has there been no fight at all?" asked Dr. Bayard.
"Yes,--a pretty lively one, too. McLean is shot and otherwise hurt, but
can't be dangerously so, for he wanted to go on in the pursuit. Three
horses killed and two troopers wounded; that's about the size of it,
but there's more to come. Doctor, I want two ambulances to go down at
once; and will send half a dozen men as guard. They can ride in them.
We have no more available troopers. Will you go or send your assistant?
You cannot get there much before ten or eleven o'clock, even if you
trot all the way. Better let Dr. Weeks go, don't you think so?"
"Whichever you prefer, major. Weeks has been devoting himself to Blunt,
though of course I could relieve him there. When could we get back?"
"Not before noon to-morrow. The wounded are 'way down at Royal's Ford,
where Terry had left them with two or three men, and pushed on after
the Indians with the rest. They tricked him, I fancy, and he isn't in
good humor."
By this time the quartet had entered the office, and there, handing the
despatch to his adjutant, and bidding the orderly close the door, the
major seated himself at his desk; invited the others to draw up their
chairs; produced a map of the Platte country and the trails to the
Sioux Reservation over along the White River, and bade the adjutant
read aloud. This the young officer proceeded to do:
"ON THE TRAIL, NEAR NIOBRARA, 10.30 A.M.
"POST ADJUTANT, FORT LARAMIE:
"SIR,--Reaching Royal's Ford before daybreak, we posted lookouts
and headed off the Indians, who appeared at dawn. In the fight
Lieutenant McLean, Sergeant Pierce, and Trooper Murray were
wounded; two Indians killed and left on the field; others wounded,
but carried off. After skirmishing some time at long range, they
drew off, and were next seen far down the Platte below the ford. I
started at once in pursuit, but had gone only four miles when we
discovered it was only a small band, and that the main body, with
considerable plunder, had got down to and were crossing the ford.
This led us to hasten back, and we have kept up hot pursuit to
this point. Now, however, the horses are exhausted, and we have
not even gained upon their fresh ponies, although they were forced
to abandon a good many horses they were driving away. As soon as
our horses and men are rested, I will start on return _via_ the
north bank. Please send ambulance, etc., for the wounded.
"Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
"GEORGE F. TERRY,
"_Captain Commanding_."
To this military and matter-of-fact correspondence the auditors
listened in silence.
"Not much about that to stir up such a bobbery!" said the major,
presently.
"How did you hear about McLean's wanting to join the pursuit?" inquired
Mr. Holmes. "Captain Terry seems to make rather slight mention of him
and the other wounded. I know enough of Indian-fighting to feel sure
there must have been some sharp work when they leave two dead on the
field."
"So do I," answered the major, "and that is why I inquired of old Zook
for particulars. He is the last man in the ranks to be exaggerative or
sensational, and as for his captain,--well, this despatch is simply
characteristic of Terry. He has a horror of anything 'spread-eagle,' as
he calls it, and will never praise officers or men; says that it must
be considered as a matter of course that they behaved well and did
their duty. Otherwise he would be sure to prefer charges. Now, Dr.
Bayard, if you will kindly send for Dr. Weeks I will give him his
instructions, and, meantime, will you make such preparations as may be
necessary?"
This the "Chesterfield of the Medical Department" could not but
understand as a hint to be off, and he promptly arose and signified his
readiness to carry out any wishes the commanding officer might have.
Holmes, too, arose and started for the door with his host and
entertainer, and, though the major called him back and asked if he
would not remain, he promptly refused, saying that he greatly wished to
accompany the doctor and see the preparations made in such cases.
But he tarried only a few moments with Bayard at the hospital, and when
the doctor strove to detain him he begged to be excused a little while.
There was a matter, he said, he wanted to look into before those
ambulances started. The post surgeon gazed after him in some wonderment
as the Chicagoan strode away, and tried to conjecture what could be
taking him back to the house at this moment. Nellie was not to be seen,
and he knew of no other attraction.
But Mr. Holmes had no idea of going to the surgeon's quarters. Over
near the block-house he saw Mr. Hatton with his little party returning
from their inglorious mission to Sudstown,--the lieutenant disgustedly
climbing the slope, while a brace of his assistants, the guards, were
chuckling and chatting in a low tone together, evidently extracting
more amusement from their recent duty than did the officer of the day.
Joining Hatton and allaying his anxiety by telling him the particulars
of Captain Terry's despatch,--supplemented by the information that
McLean's injuries were not considered serious,--Mr. Holmes asked
permission to send one of the men in quest of Zook, with whom he
desired very much to speak.
"He has gone to the stable, sir, to take care of his horse," said a
corporal of the guard.
"If you are in a hurry to see him, Mr. Holmes, perhaps the best way
would be to go to the troop stables. Yonder they are, down that slope
to the north. He must attend to his horse,--groom and care for him
before he can leave; and then, I fancy, he will be mighty glad of
something to eat. I'll send for him if you wish, and tell him to come
as soon as he's through his duties. Where will you have him call,--at
the doctor's?"
"No, I believe not. If it is all the same to you, would you mind my
seeing him at your quarters? I am greatly interested in this scout and
fight, and want to get his story of the affair. Terry doesn't tell
anything but the baldest outline."
"Certainly, Mr. Holmes. My room,--that is, McLean's, be it. The door is
open, and I'll be out of your way by that time. I'm going at once to
ask the adjutant to take my sword, and get the major to let me go down
for Mac."
"The ambulance is being put in readiness now. I'll go with you to Major
Miller's. What time can I best see the corporal?"
"Right after retreat roll-call, just after sunset, I should say. He
would like time to spruce up a bit and get supper."
"Then say nine o'clock. I must not leave my host alone at the
dinner-table, and I fear Miss Bayard will not be down."
"Is Miss Bayard ill?" asked Mr. Hatton.
"Hardly that! She was greatly overcome by the shock of hearing this
news as it was told her. Some idiot of a servant came rushing in, and
said a courier was back from Captain Terry's command and that Mr.
McLean was killed."
"And she swooned or fainted?" asked Hatton, with evident interest.
"Very nearly," answered Mr. Holmes, with grave face and eyes that never
flinched. "I think she would have fallen down the stairs, had she not
been caught in the nick of time."
"That will be something poor Mac will hear with comfort."
"Yes," was the decided answer, after an instant of silence. "Yes. It
would comfort me if I were in his place. Nine o'clock then, Mr. Hatton,
and at your quarters."
Before dark the ambulances got away, Dr. Weeks and the lieutenant going
with them on horseback. Cutting short a post-prandial cigar, Mr. Holmes
left the surgeon to sip his coffee in solitude when a glance at his
watch showed him that the hour of nine was approaching. Quickly he
strode over toward "Bedlam," and sprang up the low flight of steps to
the veranda. To his surprise, the hall-door was closed; he turned the
knob, but there was no yielding. Looking in through the side-lights, he
could see that a lamp was burning on the second floor, but that the
hall-lantern below had either been forgotten or its light extinguished.
Retracing his steps, he decided to go to the quartermaster and ask if
he could have the key, but before he had taken thirty strides up the
parade he remembered that Hatton had told him that the hall-door was
never locked and rarely closed. This struck him as odd, and he stopped
to think it over in connection with what he had just observed. Standing
there just beyond the southern end of the big, faded white rookery,
invisible himself in the darkness, he looked up at the lights in the
rooms occupied by the Forrest family, and wondered how the
self-possessed and handsome young lady, now occasionally alluded to as
the "Queen of Bedlam," had borne the day. The garrison was unusually
still; not a sound of mirth, music, or laughter came from the barracks
of the men; not a whisper from the quarters of the officers around the
parade. Somewhere, perhaps a mile away, out beyond the rushing Laramie,
a dog or a coyote was yelping, but all within the old fort was still as
death. Suddenly, from the northern end of the veranda, there came the
sound of a latch or lock quickly turned, a light footfall on the
creaking wooden floor, the swish and swirl of silken skirts, coming
toward him rapidly. He gazed with all his eyes, but could not discern
the advancing figure; so, struck by a sudden impulse, he sprang to the
veranda, up the southern steps, and almost collided with a woman's
form, scurrying past him in the darkness.
"I beg pardon, Miss For----" he began to say; but without a word, with
sudden leap the slender shape whisked out of reach of voice or hand and
vanished into the southern hall-way.