THE PARTING
They recrossed the stream carefully, the horses restless and hard to
control in the current, the men riding on either side, grasping the bit
of the girl's mount. Others had joined the little squad of troopers on
the bank, and welcomed them with a cheer. The Lieutenant dismounted.
At sight of the girl's face he whipped off his hat, and came forward.
"Miss McDonald," he said, pleasantly greeting her, "I am Lieutenant
Gaskins, and I have met your father--of the Sixth Infantry, is he not?
So glad to be of service, you know. You were in the stage, I
understand; a most remarkable escape."
"I owe it all to Sergeant Hamlin," she replied, turning to glance
toward the latter. "He bore me away unconscious in his arms. Indeed,
I scarcely realized what happened. Do you know anything regarding my
father?"
"Oh, yes, I can put your mind at ease so far as he is concerned. I
presume you were endeavoring to reach his post when this unfortunate
affair occurred."
"Yes."
"Sheridan has ordered Devere abandoned for the present, and the Major's
troops are to return to Dodge. No doubt we shall be in the field
within a week or two. But we can cultivate acquaintance later; now I
must straighten out this affair." He bowed again, and turned stiffly
toward Hamlin, who had dismounted, his manner instantly changing. He
was a short, heavily built man, cleanly shaven, with dark, arrogant
eyes, and prominent chin.
"You are a sergeant of the Seventh, you said," he began brusquely.
"What were you doing here?"
"My troop is stationed at Fort Union," was the quiet response. "I
carried despatches to Devere, and while there was requested by Major
McDonald to intercept his daughter and turn her back."
"Were you subject to Major McDonald's orders?"
"It was not an order, but a request."
"Oh, indeed; a mere pleasure excursion."
"It has hardly turned out that way, sir, and conditions seemed to
justify my action."
"That is for others to determine. When was the attack made?"
"Just before sundown last evening. The driver and guard escaped on the
lead horses, and the wheelers ran away, wrecking the coach."
"There were four passengers?"
"Yes; we fought them off until after dark, although the Mexican was
killed by the first fire. I don't know when the other man got his."
"Who were they?"
"Gonzales ran a high-ball game at Santa Fé; the other, Moylan, was
post-sutler at Fort Marcy."
"How many Indians? Who were they?"
"About thirty; we must have killed five or six. It was hardly more
than daylight when they left, and I could not tell just how many bodies
they strapped on the ponies. They were a mixed bunch of young bucks,
principally Arapahoes, led by Roman Nose."
"Went west, hey?"
"Yes, sir."
The Lieutenant turned his gaze up the river, and then looked at Wasson,
who remained seated in the saddle.
"Must be the same lot Maxwell told us about up on Pawnee Fork, Sam," he
said at last. "He will be likely to cut their trail some time to-day.
We knew a bunch had headed south, but did n't suppose they had got as
far as this already. Better leave Maxwell to run them in, I suppose?
Our orders are to return to Dodge."
"They have n't three hours the start," ventured Hamlin in surprise,
"and cannot travel fast with so many of their ponies doubly loaded."
"That is for me to decide," staring insolently, "and I understand my
duty without any advice. Is there any damage done west of here?"
"The station at the crossing is burned; two dead men there; I don't
know what became of the third."
"Then it is just as I thought; those fellows will turn north before
they get that far, and will run straight into Maxwell. What do you
say, Sam?"
The scout lolled carelessly in the saddle, his eyes on the river, his
lean, brown face expressionless.
"I reckon as how it don't make no great difference what I say," he
answered soberly. "Yer ain't taken no advice frum me yit, fur as I
remember. But if yer really want ter know, this time, my notion is
them bucks will most likely hide in the bluffs till night, an' then
sneak past Maxwell after it gits good an' dark. If this yere wus my
outfit now, I 'd just naturally light on to the trail fast, orders er
no orders. I reckon it's Injuns we cum out after, an' I don't suppose
the War Department would find any fault if we found a few."
The blood surged into the Lieutenant's face, but opposition only served
to increase his obstinacy.
"I prefer to rely on my own judgment," he said tartly. "From what this
man reports they are in stronger force than we are. Besides my
instructions were not to provoke hostilities."
Wasson grinned, revealing his yellow teeth.
"Sure not; they are so damned peaceable themselves."
"I prefer leaving Captain Maxwell to deal with the situation," Gaskins
went on pompously, ignoring the sneer, "as he outranks me, and I am
under strict instructions to return at once to the fort. Two of our
horses are disabled already, and Smiley is too sick to be left alone.
There are only sixteen men fit for duty, and three of those would have
to be detailed to look after him. I 'll not risk it. Well," he broke
off suddenly, and addressing a corporal who had just ridden up and
saluted, "have you buried the bodies?"
"Yes, sir; found these papers on them."
The Lieutenant thrust these into his jacket pocket.
"Very well, Hough. Form the men into column. Miss McDonald, you will
retain the horse you have, and I should be very glad to have you ride
with me. Oh, Corporal, was everything in the coach destroyed? Nothing
saved belonging to this lady?"
"Only the ironwork is left, sir."
"So I thought; exceedingly sorry, Miss McDonald. The ladies at Dodge
will have to fit you out when we get in. I am a bachelor, you know,"
he added, glancing aside into her face, "but can promise every
attention."
Her eyes sought Hamlin where he stood straight and motionless,
respectfully waiting an opportunity to speak.
"Is--is this what I ought to do?" she questioned, leaning toward him.
"I am so confused I hardly know what is best."
"Why, of course," broke in the Lieutenant hastily. "You may trust me
to advise."
"But my question was addressed to Sergeant Hamlin," she interposed,
never glancing aside. "He understands the situation better than you."
The Sergeant held his hat in his hand, his eyes meeting her own
frankly, but with a new light in them. She had not forgotten now the
danger was over; she meant him to realize her friendship.
"It seems to me the only safe course for you to take, Miss McDonald,"
he said slowly, endeavoring to keep the note of triumph out of his
voice. "Your father is perfectly safe, and will join you within a few
days. I would not dare attempt your protection farther west."
"You are not going with us then?" she questioned in surprise.
"Not if Lieutenant Gaskins will furnish me with horse and rifle. I
must report at Union, and, on the way, tell your father where you are."
"But the danger! oh, you mustn't attempt such a ride alone!"
"That is nothing; the valley is swept clean, and I shall do most of my
riding at night. Any plainsman could do the trick--hey, Sam?"
Wasson nodded, chewing solemnly on the tobacco in his cheek.
"He 'll make the trip all right, miss," he drawled lazily. "Wish I was
goin' long. I 'm sure tired o' this sorter scoutin', I am. Down below
the Cimarron is the only place ye 'll have ter watch out close,
'Brick.' Them Comanches an' Apaches are the worst lot."
"I know--night riders themselves, but I know the trail. Can you outfit
me, Lieutenant?"
Gaskins smiled grimly, but with no trace of humor. His eyes were upon
the girl, still leaning over her pommel.
"I 'll outfit you all right," he said brusquely, "and with no great
regret, either. And I shall report finding you here in disobedience to
orders."
"Very well, sir."
Molly's brown eyes swept to the Lieutenant's face, her form
straightening in the saddle, her lips pressed tightly together.
Gaskins fronted the Sergeant, stung into anger by the man's quiet
response.
"I shall prefer charges, you understand," almost savagely. "Helm, give
this fellow that extra rifle, and ammunition belt. McMasters, you will
let him have your horse."
Wasson rolled out of his saddle, muttering something indistinctly,
which might have been an oath.
"I ain't goin' ter stand fer that, Leftenant," he said defiantly.
"Bein' as I ain't no enlisted man, an' this yere is my hoss, 'Brick'
Hamlin don't start on no such ride on that lame brute o' McMasters'.
Here, you 'Brick,' take this critter. Oh, shut up! I'll git to Dodge
all right. Won't hurt me none to walk."
The eyes of the two men met understandingly, and Hamlin took the rein
in his hand. Gaskins started to speak, but thought better of it. A
moment he stood, irresolute, and then swung up into saddle, his glance
ignoring the Sergeant.
"Attention! company," he commanded sharply. "By column four--march!"
The girl spurred her horse forward, and held out her hand.
"Good-bye," she said, falteringly, "you--will be careful."
"Of course," and he smiled up into her eyes. "Don't worry about me--I
am an old hand."
"And I am to see you again?"
"I shall never run away, surely, and I hope for the best--"
"Miss McDonald," broke in Gaskins impatiently, "the men are already
moving."
"Yes," her eyes still upon the Sergeant's uncovered face, "I am coming.
Don't imagine I shall ever forget," she murmured hastily, "or that I
will not be glad to meet you anywhere."
"Some time I may put you to the test," he answered soberly. "If any
trouble comes, trust Wasson--he is a real man."
He stood there, one arm thrown over the neck of the horse, watching
them ride away up the trail. The Lieutenant and the girl were together
at the rear of the short column, and he seemed to be talking earnestly.
Hamlin never moved, or took his eyes from her until they disappeared
over the ridge. Just as they dipped down out of sight she turned and
waved one hand. Then the man's gaze swept over the débris of the
burned stage, and the two mounds of earth. Even these mute evidences
of tragedy scarcely sufficed to make him realize all that had occurred
in this lonely spot. He could not seem to separate his thought from
the cavalcade which had just departed, leaving behind the memory of
that farewell wave of the hand. To him it marked the end of a dream,
the return to a life distasteful and lonely.
Mechanically the Sergeant loaded his rifle, and strapped the old
Confederate haversack to his saddle pommel, staring again, half
unbelieving, at the faded inscription underneath the flap. Yet the
sight of those letters awoke him, bringing to his bronzed face a new
look of determination. He swung into the saddle, and, rifle across his
knees, his eyes studying the desolate distance, rode westward along the
deserted trail.