Three days slipped away without noticeable changes in the situation at
Laramie. It was late on Tuesday evening when the courier rode away with
his despatch, and on Wednesday afternoon the wire from Fetterman
flashed the tidings of his safe arrival there and the prompt
transmission of the packet in pursuit of the escort that had left for
the north at morn. Miller breathed more freely, as did his good wife,
as now the onus of this great source of distress would be shifted to
other shoulders. "A family affair of much importance--no less than the
more than probable connection of one of his household with a series of
extensive thefts--demanded that Captain Forrest, if a possible thing,
be sent hither at once," was the burden of the major's letter, and he
knew that, if a possible thing, the general would find means of
ordering the captain in on some duty which would give no inkling of the
real nature of the ordeal awaiting him. Thursday afternoon, late,
Parsons was to start on his return, would probably rest or camp at the
deserted huts of the ranchmen at La Bonte, possibly at the "Lapperell,"
as the frontiersmen termed the little stream the French trappers had
years before named _La Prele_, and should reach the fort some time
Friday evening, though there was no hurry and he had full authority, if
he saw fit, to rest his horse another night at Bull Bend or anywhere he
pleased. No one in authority was giving that matter a thought, but it
was exactly that matter that kept Roswell Holmes on the watch at
Laramie when he would rather have gone away. To his keen eyes it was
evident that, despite all Bayard's efforts to appear jovial and
courteous as ever, he was in sore perplexity. Nellie, too, was again
keeping her room, and Jeannie Bruce, with white face and red-rimmed
eyes, was the only companion she really welcomed. Thursday night had
come, and the letter he was to have handed in for McLean's benefit and
peace of mind was still withheld. Any hour might enable him to speak
positively, whereas now he could only theorize. Meantime, Mrs. Miller
assured him that the young officer who "had been temporarily set back
by the bad news from Mr. Hatton" was doing very well under the
influence of better tidings. On Thursday morning a despatch from the
stockade brought the welcome information from Dr. Weeks that Hatton's
rugged constitution seemed proof against the enemy; he was gaining
again.
Meantime, not a word did Miller, Bayard, or the adjutant breathe of
that conference with McLean, and neither Mr. Holmes nor Miss Forrest
could form the faintest idea of what had taken place. They had their
theories and had frankly exchanged them, and what caused Mrs. Miller
infinite amaze and the garrison a new excitement was this growing
companionship between the Chicago millionaire and the "Queen of
Bedlam." Thrice now had they been seen on the gallery _tete-a-tete_,
and once, leaning on his arm, she had appeared on the walk. To the
ladies there was no theory so popular as the one that she was setting
her cap for him in good earnest now that Nellie Bayard was confined to
her room; and when Mrs. Miller met him she longed to speak upon the
subject. She could well-nigh thank any woman who could draw this
formidable rival away and leave the ground to her wounded and
deeply-smitten lieutenant; but could she see him becoming entangled in
the toils of Miss Forrest, knowing what she did of that young woman's
dreadful moral affliction? There was no way in which she could warn
him. She had pledged her word to the major that not a whisper should
escape, and though Mrs. Bruce had managed to derive from a
conversation with her that Captain Forrest had been sent for, it was
accomplished by that feminine device, now so successfully imitated by
the so-called interviewers of the public press, of making assertions
and hazarding suggestions which could not be truthfully denied. The
lady longed to take Holmes into her confidence,--and could not; and
Holmes longed to ask her what allegations had been made against McLean
and how he had borne them,--yet dared not. Both to him and the Queen
of Bedlam that was the explanation of the simultaneous gathering, at
the quarters of the young officer, of the commandant, surgeon, and
adjutant. Holmes boldly inquired of the doctor what had taken place,
asserting that he was interested in McLean and wanted to help him, if
he was in trouble; and in great embarrassment the doctor had begged to
be excused from reply. He would not deny that McLean was in
trouble,--in grave trouble,--but there was nothing tangible as yet.
Nothing was to be said or done until--well, until he was much better
and able to be about.
Friday afternoon came, warm, sunshiny, and delightful. At four o'clock
the doctor's carriage--an open, easy, old-fashioned-looking
affair--rolled out of the garrison with Nellie Bayard and Jeannie Bruce
smiling on the back seat, while Bayard himself handled the reins. There
was a vacant place beside him, and, just as he possibly expected, Miss
Forrest came out on the gallery and waved her hand and smiled cordial
greeting to the two girls. Instantly he reined in his eager horses,
almost bringing them upon their haunches, and called up to her:
"This is the best piece of luck that has befallen me since I came to
Laramie. I've caught you when you could not be engaged. Do come and
join us, Miss Forrest! I'm taking my little invalid out for a drive in
the sunshine, and it will do you, too, a world of good. Do come!"
But Miss Forrest's clear voice was heard in prompt and positive regret.
It was impossible: she had an engagement that would occupy her a full
hour, and while she thanked the doctor--thanked them all--for stopping
for her, it could not be. "I am so glad to see you out again, Miss
Nellie," she called. "Now, I shall hope to have you come and spend an
hour with me over here."
The doctor could hardly conceal his chagrin. Again he begged. Again his
offer was courteously but positively declined. Nellie gave but faint
response to Miss Forrest's greetings. Jeannie Bruce looked fixedly
away, and finally the horses received a sharp and most unnecessary
touch of the lash, and went bounding away from "Bedlam" in a style that
reflected small credit on the merits of the driver, and that nearly
bruised the backs of his fair passengers.
Reclining half dressed, in a big easy-chair, Randall McLean heard the
crash of the horses' hoofs and the whirr-r-r of the wheels on the
gravelly road in front, and demanded of the attendant an account of the
party.
"The doctor, sir, and the two young ladies--out for a drive."
McLean was silent for a moment. Mrs. Miller had gone home some time
before on household cares intent, and the doctor was by this time out
of the garrison. It left the patient master of the situation.
"Get this chair out on the gallery," he presently said, as he slowly
raised himself to his feet and leaned for support against the table.
"Put a robe and pillow in it. Then come back and help me out."
The soldier demurred and would have argued, but Mr. McLean silenced
him, and presently, in his best blue fatigue-coat and with a white silk
handkerchief around his neck and his fatigue-cap tilted over one eye,
the young officer, leaning on the attendant's arm, slowly made his way
into the open air and was soon comfortably ensconced in the big
arm-chair again. Several men of his company, smoking on the piazza of
the quarters across the parade, arose, put away their pipes, and came
over to stand attention and salute their popular lieutenant, and to say
how glad they were to see him able to sit up again. It touched McLean's
sad and lonely heart to see the pleasure and the trust and faith in
their brown, honest faces, and the tears came welling up to his eyes as
he held out his hand, calling them by name to step up on the gallery
where he could see them better and give each man a cordial though
feeble response to the hearty pressure of their brawny hands. Then he
bade the attendant, after a little chat about Mr. Hatton's condition
and the more hopeful news, to take them in and give them a drink of
Monongahela; but Corporal Stein promptly declined: he wouldn't have it
thought they came with that hope, when their sole wish was to
congratulate their young officer; and, though one or two of them, not
so sensitive as the corporal, doubtless took him to task at a later
moment, they one and all upheld him now. They would not go in and
drink, but presently returned to their barracks, comforted with the
reflection that they had done the proper thing.
Meantime, Miss Forrest had seen their approach, and, hearing the voices
on the lower gallery, readily divined that Mr. McLean must be sitting
up and taking the air. Five minutes after the men were gone, and as
that young gentleman was wondering about what time the carriage would
return, he heard a quick, light footstep along the wooden floor, the
rustle of feminine skirts, and almost before he could turn, the
cordial, musical voice of the Queen of Bedlam:
"Mr. McLean, how rejoiced I am to see you sitting up! This is simply
delightful."
For an instant he knew not what to say--how to greet her. Heavens! what
thoughts of that gloomy council went surging through his brain. He
tried to speak, tried to conceal his grievous embarrassment, but his
gaunt face flushed painfully and the thin hand he extended in
acknowledgment of hers was cold as ice. The nurse promptly brought a
chair, set it close by the side of the big arm-chair; then as promptly
vanished, as she gracefully thanked him and took it. This was a
contingency that had not occurred to McLean for an instant. His whole
idea had been to be where he could see Nellie's face, possibly receive
a smile and bow, possibly a joyous word or two on her return. He had
been able for the time being to forget all about Miss Forrest and the
part he had been compelled to play in surrounding her with that web of
evidence and suspicion, and now, at this most inopportune moment, here
stood this gracious and graceful girl smiling at his side.
For a few moments more it was she who did most of the talking; Hatton,
Captain Terry's Grays, and the fight down the Platte furnishing her
with abundant material for blithe comment and congratulations. His
constraint and solemnity of mien she attributed to physical suffering
combined with distress of mind over the charges she believed to have
been laid at his door; and, while avoiding all mention of that subject,
it was her earnest desire to show him by every trick of woman's
infinite variety and shade of manner that she had nothing but
admiration for his soldierly conduct, and trust and friendship for him
in his troubles. Poor Mac was but vague, unresponsive, and embarrassed
in his acknowledgments, and then--she noted how his eyes were
constantly wandering away up the road, and, with woman's quick
intuition, divined that he was out there for no other purpose than to
watch for the return of the doctor's carriage.
Presently it came in sight, driving rapidly, and, recalling everything
that she had heard from Mr. Holmes in their recent talks of the
doctor's distrust and antipathy toward McLean, Miss Forrest quickly
arose and stepped to the end of the gallery. She had determined that
the young soldier should not be balked in so modest a hope as that of
seeing and being seen by the girl he loved. She felt assured that
unless he was signalled or checked in some way the doctor would drive
by "full tilt," and, with the quickness of thought, she had formed her
plan. The sight of Fanny Forrest, standing at the north end of the
gallery and holding aloft her white palm in the exact gesture of the
Indian and frontiersman signalling "stop," was enough to make him bring
the powerful team back on their haunches directly in front of the
steps, and, before a word could be said in explanation, there, flushing
feebly, was Randall McLean, striving to lift himself from his nest of
robes and pillows, and salute the lady of his heart.
Lachlan stepped quickly forward from the hall and, with him on one side
and Miss Forrest smiling on the other, McLean was half lifted to the
railing, where he could look right into the bonnie face he longed to
see. Nellie Bayard, sitting nearest him, flushed crimson at the first
glimpse at the tall, gaunt figure, and her little hand tightly closed
beneath the lap-robe on the sturdier fingers of Miss Bruce. A joyous
light danced only one instant in her eyes, and died out as quickly as
the flush upon her cheek at sight of Miss Forrest's supporting arm. Was
this, then, the engagement which prevented her acceptance of the
doctor's offer? Was this the way in which the hero of her girlish
dreams should be restored to her,--with that bewilderingly handsome and
fascinating New York girl at his side, almost possessively supporting
and exhibiting him? The sight had stung the doctor too, and the same
idea about the engagement seemed to flash through his head.
"This will never do, Mr. McLean," he sternly spoke, "you are in no
condition to venture out; I'll be over to see you in a minute. Get back
to your room as quick as you can." And with these words he whipped up
his team again, and the carriage flashed away. Nellie had not spoken a
word.
For a moment they stood there stunned. McLean gazed bitterly after the
retreating vehicle a moment, then turned with questioning eyes to his
silent companion. She, too, was gazing fixedly after the doctor's
little party, her color fluttering, her eyes glowing, and her white
teeth setting firmly. Then impulsively she turned to him:
"This is all my fault, all my stupidity, Mr. McLean; I might have
known. Forgive me for the sake of my good intentions, and depend upon
it, good shall yet come of this, for now I have a crow to pick with Dr.
Bayard, and I mean to see him before he sees you. Are you going in,--at
once?"
"Yes. There's nothing else to do," he answered, wearily, hopelessly,
wretchedly, as he slowly turned away.
"Mr. McLean!" she exclaimed, with sudden and irrepressible excitement
of manner. "Stop!--one moment only. There's something I must say to
you. Lachlan, please step inside the hall," she hurriedly continued.
"I'll call you in plenty of time before the doctor can get here. Now,
Mr. McLean, listen! I know something of your trouble. I know something
of the toils by which you have been surrounded, and how unjustly you
have been treated; but let me tell you that the very man you have most
feared is the man of all others who stands your steadfast friend. Look!
He's coming now. Coming fast, too--from the telegraph office. I almost
know what it is he brings. One more thing I must say while yet there is
time. I could not help seeing how your heart was bound up in Nellie
Bayard. Nay, don't turn away in such despair. I read her better than
you do, and I know you better than you think. I tell you brighter days
are near. Keep up a brave heart, Mr. McLean. Remember your name;
remember 'The race of Clan Gillian--the fearless and free.' I tell you
that were I a man I could envy you the truth I read in Nellie Bayard's
eyes. All is coming out well, and there's my hand and my heart full of
good wishes with it."
He took it wonderingly, silently. Good heavens! Was this the woman who,
through his testimony, stood accused of degrading crimes? Was it
possible that she could have been the criminal, and yet at the very
time could write those mysterious words upon the hidden
card--proffering aid and friendship? What manner of woman was this now
quivering with excitement at his side, her glowing eyes fastened on the
rapidly advancing form of Roswell Holmes? What meant she by speaking of
the man he most feared as his most steadfast friend?
Just as Major and Mrs. Miller with Dr. Bayard stepped upon the broad
gallery of Bedlam at its southern end and stopped in embarrassment at
sight of the group at the other, Mr. Holmes had bounded up the steps
and, placing in her hand a telegraphic despatch, held forth his own to
Randall McLean.
"Read it aloud!" was all he said, and eagerly she obeyed:
"CHUGWATER, Friday, 4 P.M.
"ROSWELL HOLMES, ESQ., Fort Laramie.--Parsons streaking it for
Cheyenne. Has plenty money. Close at his heels.
"DRAKE."