A REMEMBRANCE OF THE PAST
Moylan must have had Miss McDonald in mind when he had stocked up with
food at Fort Dodge, and had therefore chosen all the delicacies to be
found at that frontier post. These were not extensive, consisting
largely of canned goods, which, nevertheless, made a brave show, and
were clearly enough not the ordinary fare of the border. Hamlin had to
smile at the array, but Molly handled each article almost with
reverence, tears dimming her eyes in memory.
"He--he bought these for me," she said softly, and looking across
reproachfully at the Sergeant. "It was the best he could do."
"I was not laughing at poor Moylan; only, I fear, he had a wrong
conception of a girl's needs on the trail. But I reckon our combined
appetites are equal to it."
"I do not feel as though I could swallow a mouthful."
"Under orders you will try. We have a hard day before us, young lady,
and some tramping to do afoot. I wish I knew where that horse I turned
loose last night has drifted to; into the bluffs, probably, where the
grass is green. He would be of some help just now. Try this, Miss
McDonald, for lack of something better. I yearn for ham and coffee,
but hardly dare build a fire yet. The smoke would be seen for miles
away."
"If we were across the river we could use the stage fire."
"Yes, but there is a wide river flowing between. Don't be afraid of
that trip," noting the expression of her face. "It will be easy enough
to cross back by daylight, now that I know where the danger spots are."
"I was not so terribly afraid last night; I hardly had time to realize
what was being done, did you?"
"Well, yes; it was risky business. Awfully treacherous bottom and I
was trusting to good luck."
The Sergeant ate heartily, speaking occasionally so as to divert her
mind, but for the most part, busily thinking and endeavoring to decide
his next move. He sat facing the river, continually lifting his head
to scan the opposite shore. There was probably a scouting detail
somewhere near at hand, either approaching from the east, alarmed by
the report of the fleeing stage crew, or else a detachment tracking
Roman Nose's warriors across those plains extending into the north.
The latter contingency was the more probable, judging from the Indians'
flight, and his own knowledge of the small reserve force left at Dodge.
Besides, ride as they might those two fleeing cowards of yesterday
could hardly have yet reached that shelter of safety and might not
confess the truth of their desertion even when they did arrive. A
pursuing force was the only real hope for escaping the necessity of a
hard tramp back over the trail. Well, the girl looked fit, and he
glanced toward her appreciatively.
In spite of the sad experiences of the past night she was a pleasant
spectacle, her eyes bright with excitement, her cheeks flushed under
the morning sun which flecked her dark, disordered hair with odd color.
Hers was a winsome face, with smiling lips, and frank good nature in
its contour. He was surprised to note how fresh and well she looked.
"Are you tired?"
"Not very. It seems more as though I had dreamed all this than
actually passed through the experience. Perhaps when I do realize, the
reaction will set in. But now I am strong, and--and not at all
frightened."
"Nor hungry?"
"It is hard to eat, but I am often that way." Her hand strayed to the
emptied haversack, and she turned it carelessly over, where it lay
beside her on the sand. "Why, this is an old Confederate sack, isn't
it? I hadn't noticed before; see, the 'C. S. A.' is on the flap."
"So it is; perhaps Moylan served in the South."
"I think not. I am sure this was never his, for he bought it at Dodge.
I remember he told me he would have to find something to carry our
lunch in." She pushed the flap farther back, then held it up to the
sunlight. "There are some other letters, but they are hardly
decipherable. I cannot read the first line at all, but the second is
somewhat plainer--'Fourth Texas Infantry.'"
Hamlin reached out his hand swiftly, and grasped the haversack,
forgetting everything else in suddenly aroused interest. The girl,
surprised, stared up into his face, as he closely studied the faded
inscription, his face expressing unconcealed amazement.
"Good God!" he ejaculated breathlessly. "It was Gene's. What can this
mean?"
"You--you knew the soldier?"
"Knew him? Yes," speaking almost unconsciously, his incredulous eyes
still on the inscription, as though fearful it might vanish. "That man
was either my best friend, or my worst enemy; under heaven, I know not
which. Why, it is like a miracle, the finding of this bag out here in
the desert. It is the clue I have been searching after for nearly five
years." He seemed to pull himself together with an effort, realizing
her presence. "Excuse me, Miss McDonald, but this thing knocked me
silly. I hardly knew what I was saying."
"It means much to you? To your life?"
"Everything, if I can only trace it back, and thus discover the present
whereabouts of the original owner."
"Was that your regiment, then--the Fourth Texas Infantry?"
He bowed his head, now looking frankly at her.
"Would you mind telling me your rank?"
"I became Captain of 'B' Company after the fight at Chancellorsville;
we served in Virginia under Massa Robert, and lost every commissioned
officer in that affair." He hesitated to go on, but she prompted him
by a question:
"And then what? What was it that happened? Don't be afraid to tell
me."
His gray eyes met hers, and then turned away, his lips pressed together.
"Nothing until the day we fought at Fisher's Hill," he said slowly.
"Then I was dismissed from the service--for cowardice."
"Cowardice!" repeating the word in quick protest. "Why, how could that
be? Surely your courage had been sufficiently tested before?"
"Cowardice, and disobedience of orders," he repeated dully, "after I
had been under fire almost night and day for three years; after I had
risen from the ranks and commanded the regiment."
"And you had no defence?"
"No; at least, none I could use; this man might have saved me, but he
did not, and I never knew why."
"Who was he?"
"My senior captain, detailed on Early's staff; he brought me the orders
verbally I was afterwards accused of disobeying. I was temporarily in
command of the regiment that day with rank as major. There was a
mistake somewhere, and we were horribly cut up, and a number taken
prisoners. It was my word against his, and--and he lied."
She took the haversack from him, studying the scarcely legible
inscription.
"'E. L. F.' Are those the letters?"
"Yes; they stand for Eugene Le Fevre; he was of French descent, his
home in New Orleans."
"You knew him well?"
"I thought so; we were at school together and afterwards in the army."
She looked across at him again, touched by the tender echo of his
voice; then leaned forward and placed one hand upon his.
"You have not spoken about this for a long while, have you?"
"No," his eyes lighting up pleasantly, "hardly thought of it, except
sometimes alone at night. The memory made me savage, and all my
efforts to ascertain the truth have proven useless."
"That is why you enlisted?"
"Largely; there is no better place to hide one's past than in the ranks
out here on the plains. I--I could not remain at home with that
disgrace hanging over me."
"You must tell me all about it."
Her head lifted suddenly as she gazed out across the river, shading her
eyes. "Why, what are those?" she exclaimed eagerly, "there, moving on
the bluffs opposite?"
His glance swept to the northward, and he was as instantly the soldier
again. Far away on the upper plateau, clearly outlined against the
blue of the distant sky, appeared a number of dark figures. For a
moment he believed them buffaloes, but in another instant decided
instead they were horsemen riding two by two.
"Get down lower, Miss McDonald," he commanded. "Now we can see, and
not be seen. They must be cavalrymen, the way they ride, but we can
take no chances."
They watched the black specks pass east to where the bluff circled in
toward the river. It was from there those distant riders first
observed the dim spiral of smoke still curling up from the burning
stage, for they halted, bunching together, and then disappeared slowly
down a gash in the side of the hill. Emerging on the lower flat they
turned in the direction of the fire, spurring their horses into a swift
trot. There was no longer any doubt of their being troopers, and
Hamlin stood upright on the sand hummock waving his hat. They were
gathered about the fire, a few dismounted beside the dead bodies,
before his signal was observed. Then a field glass flashed in the
sunlight, and three or four of the party rode down to the bank of the
river. One of these, the glasses still held in his hand, his horse's
hoofs in the water, shouted across the stream.
"Who are you over there?"
"White people," answered Hamlin, using his hands for a trumpet. "We
escaped from the stage last night. I am a sergeant, Seventh Cavalry,
and the lady with me is the daughter of Major McDonald at Fort Devere."
"How did you get across?"
"Waded in the dark; there is good bottom. Send a man over with a
couple of horses."
The officer turned and spoke to the others grouped beside him; then
raised his voice again.
"Are you sure there is no quicksand?"
"None to hurt; come straight over the end of that sand spit, and then
swerve about a dozen feet to the right to keep out of a hole. The
water won't go to a horse's belly. Try it, Wasson, you ought to know
me."
"You 're 'Brick' Hamlin, ain't you?"
"A good guess, Sam; come on."
Two troopers left their saddles, and the third man, the one answering
the last hail, gathered the reins in one hand, and spurred his horse
confidently into the brown water. Following the Sergeant's shouted
directions, the three animals plunged forward and came dripping up the
low sand bank. The rider, a sallow-faced man clad in rough corduroy,
patched and colorless, leaned over and held out his hand.
"Dern yer o' skin," he said solemnly, but with a twinkle in his eyes,
"ye 're sure got the luck of it. Ain't seen ye afore fer two years."
"That 's right, Sam; down on the Cowskin, wasn't it? Who 's over
there?"
"Leftenant Gaskins, an' some o' the Fourth Cavalry, scoutin' out o'
Dodge; been plum to ther mountings, an' goin' home ag'in. Whut the
hell (beggin' yer pardin, mam) has happened yere?"
"I 'll explain when we get across," and Hamlin swung the haversack to
his shoulder, and turned to the girl. "This is Sam Wasson, Miss
McDonald, a scout I have been out with before; let me help you into the
saddle."