Just at tattoo that evening Mrs. Miller was smitten with a sudden
desire to go over and see Nellie Bayard. The child hadn't been out of
the house, she explained, since "the Grays" started for the fray down
the Platte, taking Randall McLean with them. She longed to see her and
learn from her lips how matters were going at home. She wondered if
Nellie knew how her father was devoting himself to the Forrests; she
wondered if the gentle and obedient daughter would not rebel at the
idea of such a possibility as his becoming seriously attached to Miss
Forrest. She had indulged the major in one very plain and startling
dissertation on the subject of that young woman, from the effects of
which he was still suffering; but, worst of all, her motherly heart
longed to acquire, through Nellie's words, looks, or actions, some idea
as to whether she really cared for her pet among all the lieutenants.
Of course Nellie liked--but did she love him? Of McLean's deep-rooted
regard for the shy and sensitive little maiden, Mrs. Miller had not the
shadow of a doubt. Nellie had no one, she argued, to be a mother to her
in this troublesome time, and yet she was beginning to feel a species
of jealousy in the knowledge that the Bruces and the Gordons and other
good garrison people--maid and matron--had been seen going continually
to and from the doctor's quarters. Mrs. Miller thought she had a prior
claim on the confidences of the doctor's pretty daughter, and did not
relish it that others should possibly be before her. Oddly enough there
was no one calling on this night of nights; the major had been out,
ostensibly to attend to business at the office, but something told her
he was seeking information as to the array of circumstances pointing to
the fact that there was further evidence against Miss Forrest.
The bugles were sounding the call through the stillness of the early
summer night, though at Laramie summer seemed yet far away, when she
heard him coming heavily up the steps to the piazza. Well the good lady
knew by the very cadence of his footfalls just what mood possessed him.
It was slow, draggy, spiritless to-night; and, though he had almost
angrily and contemptuously checked her when she began the story of
these later revelations, her heart yearned over him now. She went down
to him, as he sat there looking drearily out at the twinkling lights
across the parade.
"Come, major," she said, addressing him, as was a fancy of hers at
times, by the formal army title instead of the Christian name. "Come;
I'm going over to the doctor's to see how Nellie is to-night; and, not
that I need an escort, I want your company. A glass of his old Madeira
will do you good, and he is always so glad to offer it. You are blue
to-night, and so am I. Come."
He resisted faintly. Hatton might be along any moment, and he had an
appointment with him, he said; but she speedily settled that by calling
the orderly, and telling him, should Mr. Hatton call, to come over at
once to Dr. Bayard's and let the major know. Then her obedient lord had
no further objections to urge, and he, too, had bethought him of the
doctor's Madeira and those incomparable Regalia Britannicas. Nowhere in
Wyoming were there cigars to match Bayard's, and it was easy to
persuade himself that he could so much better deliberate on the matter
in hand over the fragrance of the soothing Havana. Robert threw open
the door in hospitable Virginian style at sight of the commandant and
his wife, ushered them into the parlor, sent the maid up-stairs to
inquire if Miss Elinor could see Mrs. Miller; and then, true to his
Southern training, reappeared in the parlor with a decanter of wine and
some flaky "Angels' food" upon a silver salver. The doctor had gone to
the hospital, he explained, but would soon return. Then he vanished.
Miller smacked his lips over the Madeira, and smilingly admitted to his
better half that he believed there were some things on which "her head
was leveller than his."
For a reply she pointed to the hall-way.
"Come here just one moment. I want you to see where I stood, and how I
could view what was going on at the hat-rack out there."
Silently he stood by her side, glanced at the mirror, and noted the
reflection therein.
"It was just there his beautiful fur coat was hanging,--and the money
in its pocket," she said.
Then came the message from aloft, that, if Mrs. Miller would step
up-stairs, Miss Bayard would be glad to see her,--Miss Bruce was
already there; and so the major was left alone. He sat some five
minutes looking over an album or two, poured out and drank another
glass of wine, and bethought him that Bayard had told him if ever he
felt like smoking to go right into his study and help himself. Now was
the very time. A dozen strides brought him to the broad-topped
library-table littered with books, pamphlets, papers of all kinds, and
among them the inviting-looking brown box. Another moment, and,
ensconced in the big easy-chair, with a fragrant Regalia between his
lips and a late New York paper in his hand, the major was forgetting
the perplexities of the day. The reading-lamp he found lighted threw a
bright glow upon the paper in his hand, but left the apartment in
darkness. Out in the kitchen he could faintly hear the voices of the
domestics and the sound of crockery and glass in process of cleaning,
above-stairs the murmur of softer tongues. All in the front part of the
house on the first floor was silent. Presently, out on the parade the
bugler began to sound the signal, "taps," to extinguish lights, and at
the same moment Miller heard the click of the latch at the front door.
There had been no footsteps that he could hear, and he thought he might
be mistaken. He listened intently, and presently click, click, it went
again. Odd, thought Miller. That is not the way a man enters his own
house, nor does it sound like the way an honest man enters any one
else's. Click, click, again, louder and more forcibly now. Some one was
plainly trying to open that door without attracting the attention of
the occupants. What if now he should be able to surprise the prowler?
What if this should, indeed, prove to be some one bent on larceny or
worse? Now was an excellent time. The doctor was known to be
away,--over at the hospital. Miss Bayard was known to be up-stairs,
confined to her room. Very probably the thief had watched the movements
of the post surgeon, knew he would be detained some time, and--there
were all those pretty nicknacks in the parlor. There was that handsome
silver in the dining-room (it was always in the doctor's strong box
under the bed at night). What more likely than that now was the time
selected by some sharp sneak-thief in the garrison to slink through the
shadows of the night to the doctor's quarters, slip in the front way
while the servants were all chattering and laughing in the kitchen in
the rear, and make off with his plunder? It was an inspiration.
Miller's heart fairly bounded at the thought. If the thief could enter
now, he could have entered before,--the night of the dinner. By Jove!
Did he not recall that sudden gust of cold air that swept from the hall
in the midst of the doctor's story? Click, click, snap! At it again,
and no mistake this time. Quickly and on tiptoe the major stole toward
the hall where he could see the front door. It was his hope, his belief
now, that the thief would speedily effect an entrance; and from the
darkness of his lair the major could see and identify him, let him in,
follow him on tiptoe to the dining-room, there seize and confound him
in the very act, and so, fastening the crime on some one guilty man,
dispel at once and for all the cloud of suspicion that hovered over a
woman's fair fame. Click, click, again. What was the matter? Would the
stubborn lock not yield? or was this a 'prentice hand, and his tools
unsuited to the job? In his wild impatience he could have rushed to the
door and hurled it open, but that would have only spoiled the game. He
could have caught his prowler, but proved nothing. No, patience!
patience! A burst of jolly Ethiopian laughter from the distant kitchen
drowned for a moment other sounds and possibly unnerved the operator at
the door. Did he hear quick, light footsteps hurrying away? There was a
broad "stoop" there, quite a wide veranda in fact, since the unsightly
wooden storm-door had been removed. For an instant he certainly thought
he heard scurrying footfalls. Not the steps themselves, but the creak
of the dry woodwork underneath them. He listened intently another
moment, but the attempt had apparently been abandoned.
Then--there it was again. Surely he heard a light footfall on the
steps,--on the piazza itself. He could bear the suspense no longer,
and, springing into the hall where the hanging lamp shed its broad
glare over every object, hurled open the door,--and recoiled in
mingling agony and horror. God of heaven! There stood Fanny Forrest!
"Major Miller!" she gasped, affrighted at his vehemence and the ghastly
look with which he greeted her. "How--how you startled me! Why, what
has happened? where were you going in such--why, major--what is the
matter?" and now there was something imperious in the demand.
For all answer he could only pass his hand over his quivering face in a
dazed, dumb sort of way a moment. Then, rallying suddenly, he stepped
forward, giving his head a shake and striving to be cool and calm.
"You are more startled than I, Miss Forrest. I never thought to find
you at that door."
"And why not me? I have not seen Nellie since her illness, and came
over at taps to inquire if she would not receive me a moment."
"Why--why didn't you ring?" he hoarsely asked.
"Ring! What opportunity had I? My foot had hardly touched the piazza
before the door opened in my face and revealed you looking--well,
pardon me, Major Miller--as if you had suddenly encountered a ghost."
"Do you mean you have only just come?" he asked.
"Certainly."
"And you saw no one? There was no one here as you came in the gate?"
"Not a soul,--stop a minute though,--there was something----"
"Pray, what are you talking about, Major Miller, and to whom are you
talking?" queried the voice of his better half at this very instant;
and before he could respond there came through the gate-way and up the
steps the debonair, portly doctor.
"What!" exclaimed Bayard. "Miss Forrest! Ah, you truant, we've been
wondering where you were, your sister and I. Ah, major!--Mrs. Miller.
Why, this is delightful! Now indeed am I welcome home! Come right into
my parlor, said the--but I'm no spider. Come, Miss Forrest, I know you
want to see my little girl,--I left Jeannie Bruce with her. Major, you
and I want a glass of Madeira and Mrs. Miller to bless the occasion,
and then we all want some music, don't we? Come in, and welcome."
And so, half urging, half pushing, half leading, the doctor swept his
trio of visitors into the parlor. Despite her start at Miller's
appearance at the door, despite his preoccupation and gloom, which
several glasses of the doctor's good wine failed to dissipate, Miss
Forrest remained after a brief visit to the invalid up-stairs and,
saying that she had promised Nellie, sang to them witchingly again and
again.
But that night, despatches flashed in from Fetterman that gave the
major another turn. The telegraph operator himself came running up with
the message just as the party at the doctor's (considerably augmented
by this time by new-comers drawn thither by Miss Forrest's voice) was
breaking up for the night. Indians had appeared in great numbers along
the North Platte, threatening the road connecting the two posts, and a
train had been attacked and burned midway between them. Terry and his
hard-worked Grays were ready in an hour to take the trail, but there
were no young gallants to ride forth this time. Hatton, indeed, offered
his services, but was told he could not be spared. Morning brought
tidings that the war-parties were seen only seven miles away at
sunrise; and in the presence of the common foe the major, for the time
being, put aside the matter weighing so heavily on his mind, but not
for a moment could he forget her startled face as he threw open that
door. It was time indeed to look the situation squarely through and
through. It might be necessary to send for Forrest.
Another day brought with it a strong column of cavalry hastening up
from the railway at Cheyenne, and these troops were to be fully
provided with rations and ammunition before setting forth toward the
Black Hills, whither they were ordered. It was bustle and business for
everybody. The major said no more to Hatton on the subject of the
interrupted interview; but on the second day, as McLean was lying
languidly in his bed, listening to the sounds of hoofs and heels
without, and bemoaning his fate that he was to be bedridden here when
such stirring times were ahead, his soldier servant came noiselessly to
ask the lieutenant's permission to step out a little while to see some
friends in the cavalry. The attendant was seated in the front room, so
the permission was readily granted.
"Is there anything the lieutenant wants, sir, before I go?"
"Nothing except a handkerchief. Give me one of those silk ones in this
corner of the drawer. They are softer."
The man handed the topmost of the pile, and went noiselessly away.
McLean shook it open, and a card dropped out upon the coverlet.
Surprised, he picked it up and slowly read it, perplexity and then
symptoms of annoyance showing plainly in his face. Twice--thrice he
read it through. Then, stowing it under his pillow, he began to think.
Dr. Weeks came in before a great while to renew the dressing on his
wound, and asked him if he had not been talking too much.
"I haven't been talking at all. Why do you ask?"
"Pulse a little quicker than it was. What have you been doing?"
"Nothing--to speak of. What is there to do but read and think?"
"You mustn't get to fretting because you can't go out with every
expedition, Mac. We all know you'd like it, but you can't have your pie
and eat it. You can't get shot in one fight and expect to get into the
next. If you'll keep quiet here, I think I can put you in saddle again
in a month,--much quicker than I can poor Blunt; but you must be
patient, especially now that you'll miss Hatton. He goes out with the
train-guard to-night."
"Hatton! To-night?" exclaimed the invalid.
"There you go again, Mac! What a bundle of tow you are, to be sure; I
might just as soon touch a match to a magazine."
"Doctor, tell Hatton I want him,--must see him before he goes."
"Confound it, man, I told him to keep away. Why do you want him?"
"_Because I must_ see him. You'll have a crazy man on your hands if
you don't." And Weeks decided it best to let this headstrong
Highlander have his way.
That night, in his field-dress and all ready to start, Hatton gently
came to his comrade's bed-side.
"What is it, old man?" he asked. "Weeks told me first to slip away
without saying good-by,--I'll only be gone a week,--and then hunted me
up and said you wanted to see me."
McLean looked out in the front room.
"Send that man away for a while," he said.
"Now for it," groaned Hatton, between his teeth. "Something new, and
he's got hold of it. How in heaven am I to keep my story to myself?"
Obediently at a word from Hatton, the hospital attendant took his cap
and stepped outside. Then McLean put forth his hand and took that of
the senior lieutenant.
"Hat, you and I have been good friends, haven't we?"
"Always, Mac."
"I've something to ask you. Something I must know. You remember the
night we burned that handkerchief?"
"I should say so."
"Have you ever seen--have you ever known of her ever being in here--or
around here since?"
Hatton hesitated.
"Tell me, Hat."
"I can't tell you, Mac. There's been the devil to pay. Some other
things stolen. Miller's got hold of it, and, old man, I'm thankful I'm
going, for I'd have to tell what we know."
"Great God! and Forrest two weeks' march away,--least count! See here,
Hat! To-day I found something among my handkerchiefs--in a missing one
that was returned. Do you know how it got there?"
"Yes," slowly. "She herself gave it to me and asked me to put it
there."
"You don't mean it! How could she, without exciting more suspicion? She
must have known it would only make you connect her with what had
happened here."
"Mac,--old man; it's no use! I can't keep it back from you. Why! She
was reckless of anything I might think. It has gone far beyond
suspicion. It is certainty. She was on the watch the night Miller came
here for me. It was her dress--her steps you heard in the hall. It may
be kleptomania,--God knows; but whatever it is, she threw off all
disguise. She listened to Miller's orders that I should come to him at
tattoo; and then, the moment he was gone, down she flew to where I
stood there at the door, and implored me, Mac, as I would save her from
disgrace and ruin not to go--not to tell him."
"And she was not out of her mind?"
"She is as sane as you or I, Mac, except on that one thing."