Confessions, of various sorts, were the order of the day at Laramie
during the week that followed this important arrest, and then the
fortnight of accusation was at an end. Parsons, the deserter, led off
the day after his return to the post under escort of the little squad
sent down from Terry's troop to meet him at Cheyenne. He was stubborn
and silent at first, but when told by the corporal of the guard that
Celestine had "gone back on him the moment she heard he had a wife at
Denver, and had more than given him away," he concluded that it was
time to deny some of the accusations heaped upon his head by the
furious victim of his wiles. The girl had indeed obeyed his beck and
will, and shielded him even in the days of suspense that followed his
desertion; but no word can describe the rage of her jealousy, the fury
of her hate, the recklessness of her tongue when she found that he had
used her only as a tool to enrich another woman,--his lawful wife.
Parsons told his story to an interested audience as though he had
rather enjoyed the celebrity he had acquired, and Major Miller, Dr.
Bayard, Captain Forrest, and Mr. Roswell Holmes were his most attentive
listeners. He had been a corporal in the Marine Corps at the Washington
Navy-Yard, and had seen Dr. Bayard many a time. Reduced to the ranks
for some offence, he had become an officer's servant, and was employed
at the mess-room, where Bayard must have seen him frequently, as the
doctor rarely missed their festivities at the barracks. Here his
peculations began and were discovered. He deserted and got to St.
Louis, where he began to "barber" on a boat; got married and into more
trouble; fled to Denver and found people's wits too sharp for him; so,
leaving his wife to support herself as best she could, he ran up to
Cheyenne and enlisted in the cavalry. Doors and windows, desks and
trunks, were found lying open everywhere at Robinson; Celestine was
speedily induced to learn the business, and proved an adept. He warned
her she would be suspected, but she laughed and said she knew how to
hoodwink folks. They kept up their partnership at Laramie, he receiving
and hiding the valuables she brought him; but he was sure the doctor
had recognized him; he knew there was danger, and he was determined to
slip away the first chance that came, especially after securing the
diamonds. The Fetterman despatch gave him the longed-for opportunity.
Celestine was quieted by the promise that, as soon as the thing had
blown over and he was safe, he would get word to her where to join him,
send her plenty of money, and then they would be married and live
happily ever after. On the way back from Fetterman he stopped at an
abandoned hut near Bull Bend, where he had hidden his plunder on the
way up, stowed the money and jewels in his saddle-bags, then pushed for
Hunton's on the Chug; got safely by in the night, rode his horse hard
to Lodge Pole Creek, where he left him at a ranch and secured the loan
of another. Then keeping well to the west of Fort Russell and never
going near Cheyenne, he crossed the Union Pacific and made his way to
Denver. But there, to his dismay, the "Rocky Mountain" detective
officials were on the watch for him, and every precaution had been
vain. He was captured; Miss Forrest's diamonds, Mr. Holmes's amethysts,
and Mr. Hatton's pins were found secreted in his possession, though
most of the money was gone,--gambling,--and that was all. He never knew
that Mr. Holmes had tracked him all the way and rolled up a volume of
evidence against him.
Celestine, tiger-cat that she was, had at first filled the air with
shrieks of rage and loud accusations, first against Lachlan and then
Miss Forrest, but the Irish laundresses only jeered at her; and, when
the deserter was fairly back in the garrison and the circumstances of
his capture were made known, taunted her with having been victimized by
a man who had a wife to share the profits of her plundering. Once made
to realize that this was truth, she no longer sought to conceal
anything. She seemed bent only on heaping up vengeance upon him. 'Twas
he who corrupted her; he who taught her to steal; he who showed her how
to pick locks; he who told her to wear Miss Forrest's silk skirts and
steal her handkerchiefs and leave them where they would be found; he
who let her in to the doctor's the night of the dinner and stole the
porte-monnaie from the fur coat while she went up-stairs and took the
amethysts from Mr. Holmes's room. She wasn't afraid. If any one came
all she had to do was to say she had returned for something she had
lost when accompanying Miss Forrest. 'Twas he who told her to take some
of McLean's handkerchiefs and drop one in Mr. Holmes's room where he
would be sure to get it, "'cause Dr. Bayard wanted to get rid of Mr.
McLean and would believe nothing against Miss Forrest;" 'twas he who
tried to pick that latch again and get in and steal the doctor's
silver, but was interrupted by Miss Forrest's coming, and had just time
to slink away on tiptoe around the corner of the house; 'twas he who
gave her keys to open Miss Forrest's trunk and showed her how to pick
the lock of the little box that held her diamonds, and he who bade her
lose one of McLean's handkerchiefs behind the trunk. Oh, yes! She was
ready to swear fire, murder, and treason against him--her scoundrelly
deceiver. In one short day this precious pair had succeeded in saddling
each other with the iniquities of the garrison for a month back, and
all other suspicions were at an end.
But there was still another feather in Mr. Holmes's cap. He had known
these Denver detectives for years and had placed much valuable business
in their hands. He had munificently rewarded every man who had been
efficient in the present chase and capture; had had the pleasure of
restoring to Miss Forrest in a new case and well-repaired setting the
diamonds of which she had been despoiled, and then he sought McLean.
"Did you ever get a little card I left in your drawer one night while I
was here with Mr. Hatton?" he asked.
McLean looked up in eager interest. "A card?--yes, but never dreamed it
was from you. Indeed I thought--I was told--it came from an entirely
different source, and it has puzzled me more than words can tell you."
"It was perhaps a piece of officiousness on my part, but we were in a
peculiar state just then with all these thefts going on. I stowed it in
one of your handkerchiefs while Hatton was out. What did you do with
it!"
"Burned it--long ago. I couldn't understand at all. It said that one
who had been as hard pressed as I was--pecuniarily, I supposed--wanted
to be my friend, and----"
"Yes, that's about it! I suppose you couldn't see your way clear to
accepting help from me----"
"I didn't know it was your card or your writing. No initials appeared.
The card was otherwise blank, and Hatton and I--well--there's no sense
in telling the absurdity of our beliefs at that time. We were all at
sea."
"Let all that pass," said Holmes, with a grave smile on his face. "The
man that hasn't been a fool in one way or another in this garrison
during the last month or so is not on my list of acquaintances, and I
think I know myself. What I want now is a description of Sergeant
Marsland. One of my Denver friends thinks he has spotted him as a swell
gambler down at El Paso."
And so, that night, a full pen-picture of the lamented
commissary-sergeant was wired to Denver. Two days later a special
detective was speeding southward; and though Roswell Holmes had left
Fort Laramie and gone about his other affairs long before the result
was known, and long before the slow-moving wheels of Wyoming and
military justice had rolled the two later culprits before the courts,
it was his name that came up for renewed applause and enthusiastic
praise when the telegraph brought to the commanding officer the news
that a "rich haul!" had been made on the far-away Texan frontier.
Marsland and over one thousand dollars had been gathered in at "one
fell swoop."
Then came July, its blazing sunshine tempered by the snow-cooled
breezes from the mountain-peaks, and its starry nights made drowsy and
soothing by the softer melody of the swift-rushing Laramie. The roar
and fury of the May torrents were gone and with them the clouds and
storms of human jealousies and suspicions. The crowded garrison had
undergone a valuable experience. The social circle of the post had
learned a lesson as to the fallibility of feminine and masculine--judgment.
Bruce was slyly ridiculing Miller because of his surrender to the
views and theories of his better half, and, even while resenting
verbally the fact that he had been excluded from all participation in
the momentous affairs of the early summer, was known to be devoutly
thankful in his innermost heart that he had not been drawn into the
snarl. Bruce was hand in glove with Captain Forrest now, who, having
set his house in order and silenced the querulous complaints of his
wife at the loss of Celestine, was eager to get back to his troop.
Between Forrest and McLean, too, there had sprung up a feeling of
cordial friendship. Forrest had heard from his sister's lips the story
of how he and Hatton had burned her handkerchief and striven in every
way to shield her in his absence, and the cavalryman's heart warmed to
them more than he could express. To Miller and McLean he told the
story of his sister's differences with her uncle, pretty much in
effect as Mrs. Forrest told the doctor. It was Courtlandt's son she
would not marry because of his repeated lapses into inebriety, and
Courtlandt's bounty she would no longer accept since she could not
take the son. The registered letters she had mailed contained the
remittances the sorrowful old man persisted in sending her and she
persisted in returning. Dr. Bayard, too, had shown vast cordiality to
the stalwart cavalry brother, but Forrest seemed to share his sister's
views, and only moderately responded.
Poor Bayard! Again and again did he curse the cruel fates that had
exiled him to this outlying, barbarous, incomprehensible community.
Again and again did he bemoan the blunders he had made. In the
_eclaircissement_ that followed the arrest of Celestine and Parsons he
had striven to pose as the champion of Miss Forrest and to redouble
his devotions. There was no doubt of his devotion: the grandiose old
beau was completely fascinated by the brilliancy, daring, and
self-control of that indomitable Queen of Bedlam. After the first
shock and a few hours of solitude, in which she refused to see or talk
with anybody, Miss Forrest had emerged from her room in readiness to
welcome her brother on his arrival, and no one in all that garrison
could detect the faintest sign of resentment or discomposure in her
manner. If anything, she was rather more approachable to people she
could not fancy than at any time before, and, now that the Bruces and
Gordons and Johnsons and everybody seemed in mad competition to see
who could be most cordial and friendly with her, it speedily became
apparent that it was their offishness, not hers, that had kept them
asunder earlier in her visit. Mrs. Post had found her out, she proudly
asserted, just as soon as she came to live under the same roof with
her, and it was now her privilege to claim precedence over the others
of the large sisterhood. But all this sudden popularity of the young
lady in question was no great comfort to Bayard, who found it almost
impossible to see her alone. She would gladly have gone to spend hours
with Elinor, who was still far from strong, for "her Majesty," as she
was often playfully referred to, was disposed to be very fond of that
sweet-faced child; but Elinor seemed to shrink from her a little. She
feared that her father had really fallen deeply in love again, and if
so who could resist him? She admired Miss Forrest and could be very
fond of her, but not as a second mother. Another matter that stood in
the way of going thither was the fact that Bayard seemed to track her
everywhere, and the situation was becoming unendurable. One night, at
last, he dropped in at the Millers' when she was there, and promptly,
when she retired, offered to escort her home. She thanked him, took
his arm, walked slowly with him to the south hall of Bedlam, and there
bid him adieu. No one knows just what was talked of on that eventful
walk, but it was the last he ever sought with her, and for weeks
Bayard was a moody, miserable man. All Laramie swore he had proposed
and had been rejected, but no one could positively tell.
Elinor redoubled her loving ways from that time, and strove to cheer
and gladden him, but he was almost repellant. There was only one thing,
he declared to her, that made him wretched, and that was her attachment
to Mr. McLean. If she would only be sensible, and see how absurd that
was, he could smile again, but that was a matter in which his little
girl had decided as her mother had decided before her. Poor Bayard! To
revenge himself on his father- and mother-in-law he had wrested this
sweet child from their arms and brought her hither, only to see her won
away in turn, and, by all that was horrible, by an army lieutenant. He
had to admit that McLean was a gentleman, a splendid officer, without a
vice or a meanness, and, now that the stolen stores were replaced by
their money value, without a debt in the world; but he was poor,--he
was nothing, in fact, but what he himself had been when he won Elinor's
mother. McLean had spoken to him manfully and asked his consent, but he
rebuffed him, saying she was a mere child. McLean declared he would
wait any reasonable time, but claimed the privilege of visiting her as
a suitor, and this he would have refused, and for a few days did
refuse, until her pallor and tearful eyes so upbraided him that he gave
up in despair. Meantime she had poured out her heart to the loving
grandparents at home, and they took her part, and, almost to her
surprise, actually welcomed the news that she had a lover. The judge
wrote to Bayard (the first time he had so honored him since their
difference the previous winter), saying he knew "the stock" well and
expressing his hearty approval of Nellie's choice. As to her future, he
said, that was his business. It made no difference to him whether Mr.
McLean was rich or poor. That matter was one he could settle to suit
himself. It was a comfort to know she "had given her heart to a
steadfast, loyal, and honest man." And so, having stirred up his
son-in-law and made him wince to his heart's content, the old statesman
bade him stand no longer in the way, but tell the young gentleman that
he, too, would be glad to know him; and this letter, that evening, "old
Chesterfield" placed in his daughter's hand and then magnanimously gave
her his blessing. It was not to be shown to McLean, said the doctor,
but he did not tell her why. He was afraid the young fellow would read
between the lines and see what the judge was driving at when he spoke
of the loyalty and honesty of Nellie's lover.
Heavens! What billing and cooing there was at Laramie all that late
summer and autumn! How Jeannie Bruce blushed and bloomed when the
ambulance finally landed Mr. Hatton at her side, and he took his
limping but blissful daily walk in her society! How Nellie Bayard's
soft cheeks grew rounder and rosier as the autumn wore away, and how
her sweet eyes softened and glowed as they gazed up into the manly face
of the young soldier whom she was just beginning to learn (very shyly
and hesitatingly yet, and only when none but he could hear) to call
"Randall." Rapturous confidences were those in which she and Jeannie
Bruce daily engaged. Blissful were the glances with which they rewarded
Miss Forrest for her warm and cordial congratulations. Delightful were
the hours they presently began to spend with her; and dismal, dismal
was the old frontier post when October came and those three young women
with appropriate escort were spirited away together: Elinor to spend
the winter with her grandparents and make who knows what elaborate
preparations for the military wedding which was to come off in the
following May; Jeannie Bruce to pay her a long visit and indulge in
similar, though far less lavish, shopping on her own account; and Miss
Forrest to return to the roof of old Mr. Courtlandt, who begged it as a
solace to his declining years and fast-failing health. The doctor,
McLean, and Hatton went with the party as far as Cheyenne and saw them,
with their friends Major and Mrs. Stannard, of the cavalry, safely
aboard the train for Omaha, and then with solemn visages returned to
the desolation of their post to worry through the winter as best they
could. Telegrams from Omaha and Chicago told of the safe and happy
flight of the eastward travellers, and soon the letters began to come.
"What do you think?" wrote both the younger girls, "who do you suppose
was at Chicago to meet us but Mr. Holmes?"
"All's well that ends well!" quoth Mr. Hatton, one evening soon after,
as he blew a cloud of "Lynchburg sun-cured" tobacco-smoke across the
top of the old Argand and tossed McLean a Cheyenne paper. "Celestine
has gone to the penitentiary, and here's the sentence of the court in
the case of Marsland and Parsons,--five years apiece." "All's well that
ends well!" for those were glad and hopeful and happy hearts, as the
long, long winter wore away and another May-day came around; and the
sunshine danced on the snow crests of the grand old peak; and the
foaming Laramie again tossed high its brawling surges; and the south
wind swept away the few remaining drifts, searching them out in the
depths of the bare ravines and bringing to light tender little tufts of
green--the baby buffalo-grass: and one day there came a wild surprise,
and the ladies swarmed to Mrs. Miller's for confirmation of the news
that went from lip to lip,--the news that "her Majesty" had indeed at
last surrendered, and that Roswell Holmes had wooed and won "The Queen
of Bedlam."