UNDER ARREST
One by one the barrack lights went out as the tired troopers sought
their beds. Hamlin extinguished his also, and only one remained
burning, left for emergency near the door, which flung a faint glow
over the big room. But the Sergeant's reflections kept him awake, as
he sat on the foot of his bed, and stared out of the open window into
the darkness. There was little upon which to focus his eyes, a few
yellow gleams along officers' row, where callers still lingered, and
the glow of a fire in front of the distant guard-house, revealing
occasionally the black silhouette of a passing sentinel. Few noises
broke the silence, except the strains of some distant musical
instrument, and a voice far away saying good-night. Once he awoke from
revery to listen to the call of the guards, as it echoed from post to
post, ceasing with "All well, Number Nine," far out beyond the stables.
The familiar sound served to recall him to the reality of his position.
What was the use? What business had he to dream? For months now he
had kept that girl's face before him, in memory of a few hours of
happiness when he had looked into her dark eyes and heard her pleasant
speech. Yet from the first he had known the foolishness of it all. He
was nothing to her, and could never become anything. Even if he
cleared his past record and stepped out of the ranks into his old
social position, the chances were she would never overlook what he had
been. Her gratitude meant little, nor her passing interest in his army
career. All that was the natural result of his having saved her life.
He possessed no egotism which permitted him to think otherwise. Years
of discipline had drilled into him a consciousness of the impassable
gulf between the private and the officer's daughter. The latter might
be courteous, kindly disposed, even grateful for services rendered, but
it must end there. The Major would see that it did, would resent
bitterly any presumption. No, there was nothing else possible. If
they met--as meet they must in that contracted post--it would be most
formal, a mere exchange of reminiscence, gratitude expressed by a smile
and pleasant word. He could expect no more; might esteem himself
fortunate, indeed, to receive even that recognition. Meanwhile he
would endeavor to strike Le Fevre's trail. There were other interests
in the world to consider besides Molly McDonald, and his memory drifted
away to a home he had not visited in years. But thought would not
concentrate there, and there arose before him, as he lay there, the
face of Lieutenant Gaskins, wearing the same expression of insolent
superiority as when they had parted out yonder on the Santa Fé trail.
"The cowardly little fool," he muttered bitterly under his breath,
gripping the window frame. "It will require more than his money to
bring her happiness, and I 'll never stand for that. Lord! She 's too
sensible ever to love him. Good God--what's that!"
It leaped out of the black night---three flashes, followed instantly by
the sharp reports. Then a fourth--this time unmistakably a
musket--barked from behind officers' row. In the flare, Hamlin thought
he saw two black shadows running. A voice yelled excitedly, "Post Six!
Post Six!" With a single leap the Sergeant was across the sill, and
dropped silently to the ground. Still blinded by the light he ran
forward, jerking his revolver from the belt. As he passed the corner
of the barracks the sentry fired again, the red flash cleaving the
night in an instant's ghastly vividness. It revealed a woman shrinking
against the yellow stone wall, lighted up her face, then plunged her
again into obscurity.
The Sergeant caught the glimpse, half believing the vision a phantasy
of the brain; he had seen her face, white, frightened, agonized, yet it
could not have been real. He tripped over the stone wall and half
fell, but ran on, his mind in a turmoil, but certain some one was
racing before him down the dark ravine. There had been a woman there!
He could not quite blot that out--but not she; not Molly McDonald.
If--if it were she; if he had really seen her face in the flare, if it
was no dream, then what? Why, he must screen her from discovery, give
her opportunity to slip away. This was the one vague, dim thought
which took possession of the man. It obscured all else; it sent him
blindly crashing over the edge of the ravine. He heard the sentry at
his right cry hoarsely, he heard excited shouts from the open windows
of the barracks; then his feet struck a man's body, and he went down
headlong.
Almost at the instant the sentry was upon him, a gun-muzzle pressing
him back as he attempted to rise.
"Be still, ye hell hound," was the gruff order, "or I 'll blow yer to
kingdom come! Sergeant of the guard, quick here! Post Number Six!"
Hamlin lay still, half stunned by the shock of his fall, yet conscious
that the delay, this mistake of the sentry, would afford her ample
chance for escape. He could hear men running toward them, and his eyes
caught the yellow, bobbing light of a lantern. His hand reached out
and touched the body over which he had fallen, feeling a military
button, and the clasp of a belt--it was a soldier then who had been
shot. Could she have done it? Or did she know who did? Whatever the
truth might be, he would hold his tongue; let them suppose him guilty
for the time being; he could establish innocence easily enough when it
came to trial. These thoughts flashed through his mind swiftly; then
the light of the lantern gleamed in his eyes, and he saw the faces
clustered about.
"All right, Mapes," commanded the man with the light. "Let the fellow
up until I get a look at him. Who the hell are you?"
"Sergeant Hamlin, Seventh Cavalry."
"Darned if it ain't. Say, what does all this mean, anyhow? Who's
shot? Turn the body over, somebody! By God! It's Lieutenant Gaskins!"
Hamlin's heart seemed to leap into his throat and choke him; for an
instant he felt faint, dazed, staring down into the still face ghastly
under the rays of the lantern. Gaskins! Then she was concerned in the
affair; he really had seen her hiding there against the wall. And the
man's eyes were open, were staring in bewilderment at the faces. The
Sergeant of the guard thrust the lantern closer.
"Lift his head, some o' yer, the man's alive. Copley, get some water,
an' two of yer run fer the stretcher--leg it now. We 'll have yer out
o' here in a minute, Lieutenant. What happened, sir? Who shot yer?"
Gaskins' dulled eyes strayed from the speaker's face, until he saw
Hamlin, still firmly gripped by the sentry. His lips drew back
revealing his teeth, his eyes narrowing.
"That's the one," he said faintly. "You 've got him!"
One hand went to his side in a spasm of pain, and he fainted. The
Sergeant laid him back limp on the grass, and stood up.
"Where is your gun, Hamlin?"
"I dropped it when I fell over the Lieutenant's body. It must be back
of you."
Some one picked the weapon up, and held it to the light, turning the
chambers.
"Two shots gone, Sergeant."
"We heard three; likely the Lieutenant got in one of them. Sentry,
what do you know about this?"
Mapes scratched his head, the fingers of his other hand gripping the
prisoner's shoulder.
"Not so awful much," he replied haltingly, "now I come ter think 'bout
it. 'T was a mighty dark night, an' I never saw, ner heard, nuthin'
till the shootin' begun. I wus back o' officers' row, an' them pistols
popped up yere, by the corner o' the barracks. I jumped an' yelled;
thought I heerd somebody runnin' an' let drive. Then just as I got up
yere, this feller come tearin' 'long, an' I naturally grabbed him.
That's the whole of it."
"What have you got to say, Hamlin?"
"Nothing."
"Well, yer better. Yer in a mighty bad box, let me tell yer," angered
by the other's indifference. "What was the row about?"
The cavalryman stood straight, his face showing white in the glow of
the lantern.
"I told you before I had nothing to say. I will talk to-morrow," he
returned quietly. "I submit to arrest."
"I reckon yer will talk to-morrow, and be damn glad o' the chance.
Corporal, take this fellow to the guard-house, an' stay there with him.
Here comes the stretcher, an' the doctor."
Hamlin marched off silently through the black night, surrounded by a
detail of the guard. It had all occurred so suddenly that he was
bewildered yet, merely retaining sufficient consciousness of the
circumstances to keep still. If they were assured he was guilty, then
no effort would be made to trace any others connected with the affair.
Why Gaskins should have identified him as the assassin was a
mystery--probably it was merely the delirium of a sorely wounded man,
although the fellow may have disliked him sufficiently for that kind of
revenge, or have mistaken him for another in the poor light. At any
rate the unexpected identification helped him to play his part, and, if
the Lieutenant lived, he would later acknowledge his mistake. There
was no occasion to worry; he could clear himself of the charge whenever
the time came; half his company would know he was in barracks when the
firing began. There were women out on the walk, their skirts
fluttering as they waited anxiously to learn the news, but he could not
determine if she was among them. Voices asked questions, but the
corporal hurried him along, without making any reply. Then he was
thrust roughly into a stone-lined cell, and left alone. Outside in the
corridor two guards were stationed. Hamlin sat down on the iron bed,
dazed by the silence, endeavoring to collect his thoughts. The nearest
guard, leaning on his gun, watched carefully.
Voices reached him from outside, echoing in through the high,
iron-barred window, but they were distant, the words indistinguishable.
As his brain cleared he gave no further thought to his own predicament,
only considering how he could best divert suspicion from her. It was
all a confused maze, into the mystery of which he was unable to
penetrate. That it was Molly McDonald shrinking there in the dark
corner of the barracks wall he had no doubt. She might not have
recognized him, or imagined that he saw her, but that spear of light
had certainly revealed a face not to be mistaken. White as it was,
haggard with terror, half concealed by straggling hair, the
identification was nevertheless complete. The very piteousness of
expression appealed to him. She was not a girl easily frightened; no
mere promiscuous shooting, however startling, would have brought that
look to her face. He had seen her in danger before, had tested her
coolness under fire. This meant something altogether different. What?
Could it be that Gaskins had wronged the girl, had insulted her, and
that she, in response, had shot him down? In the darkness of
conjecture there seemed no other adequate explanation. The two were
intimate; the rumor of an engagement was already circulating about the
garrison. And the stricken man had endeavored to shift the blame on
him. Hamlin could not believe this was done through any desire to
injure; the Lieutenant had no cause for personal dislike which would
account for such an accusation. They had only met once, and then
briefly. There was no rivalry between them, no animosity. To be sure,
Gaskins had been domineering, threatening to report a small breach of
discipline, but in this his words and actions had been no more
offensive than was common among young officers of his quality. The
Sergeant had passed all memory of that long ago. It never occurred to
him now as of the slightest importance. Far more probable did it
appear that Gaskins' only motive was to shield the girl from possible
suspicion. When he had realized that Hamlin was a prisoner, that for
some reason he had been seized for the crime, he had grasped the
opportunity to point him out as the assassin, and thus delay pursuit.
The chances were the wounded man did not even recognize who the victim
was--he had blindly grasped at the first straw.
But suppose he had been mistaken? Suppose that woman hiding there was
some one else? Suppose he had imagined a resemblance in that sudden
flash of revealment? What then? Would she care enough to come to him
when she learned of the arrest? He laughed at the thought, yet it was
a bitter laugh, for it brought back a new realization of the chasm
between them. Major McDonald's daughter interesting herself in a
guard-house prisoner! More than likely she would promptly forget that
she had ever before heard his name. He must be growing crazy to
presume that she permitted him to remain on her list of friendship.
He got up and paced the cell, noting as he did so how closely he was
watched by the guard.
"Have you heard how badly the Lieutenant was hurt?" he asked,
approaching the door.
The sentry glanced down the corridor.
"He 'll pull out, all right," he replied confidentially, his lips close
to the door. "Nothin' vital punctured. You better go to bed, an'
forget it till mornin'."
"All right, pardner," and Hamlin returned to the cot. "Turn the light
down a little, will you? There, that's better. My conscience won't
trouble me, but that glare did."
With his face to the stone wall he fell asleep.