AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE
It was late in the forenoon when the heavily armed guard marched Hamlin
across to the commandant's office. He had been surprised at the delay,
but had enjoyed ample opportunity to plan a course of action, and
decide how best to meet the questions which would be asked. He could
clear himself without involving her, without even a mention of her
presence, and this knowledge left him confident and at ease.
There were half a dozen officers gathered in the small room, the
gray-bearded Colonel in command, sitting behind a table, with Major
McDonald at his right, and the others wherever they could find standing
room. Hamlin saluted, and stood at attention, his gray eyes on the
face of the man who surveyed him across the table.
"Sergeant," the Colonel said rather brusquely, "you came in last night
with 'M' troop, did you not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Had you ever met Lieutenant Gaskins before?"
"Once; he pulled me out of a bad scrape with a bunch of Indians out on
the trail a few months ago."
"The same affair I spoke to you about," commented McDonald quietly.
"The attack on the stage."
The Colonel nodded, without removing his eyes from the Sergeant's face.
"Yes, I know about that," he said. "And that was the only occasion of
your meeting?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, Sergeant Hamlin, I purpose being perfectly frank with you.
There are two or three matters not easily explained about this affair.
I am satisfied of your innocence; that you were not directly concerned
in the shooting of Lieutenant Gaskins. Men of your troop state that
you were in barracks when the shots were fired, and the wound was not
made by a service revolver, but by a much smaller weapon. Yet there
are circumstances which puzzle us, but which, no doubt, you can
explain. Two shots had been fired from your revolver," and he pushed
the weapon across the table.
"I rode ahead of the troop in march yesterday," Hamlin explained, "and
fired twice at a jack-rabbit. I must have neglected to replace the
cartridges. Private Stone was with me."
"Why did you submit to arrest so easily, without any attempt to clear
yourself?"
The Sergeant's gray eyes smiled, but his response was quietly
respectful.
"I was condemned before I really knew what had occurred, sir. The
sentry, the Sergeant of the guard, and the Lieutenant all insisted that
I was guilty. They permitted me no opportunity to explain. I thought
it just as well to remain quiet, and let the affair straighten itself
out."
"Yet your action threw us completely off the trail," broke in McDonald
impatiently. "It permitted the really guilty parties to escape. Did
you see any one?"
"Black smudges merely, Major, apparently running toward the ravine. My
eyes were blinded, leaping from a lighted room."
McDonald leaned forward eagerly, one hand tapping the table.
"Was one of them a woman?" he questioned sharply.
Hamlin's heart leaped into his throat, but he held himself motionless.
"They were indistinguishable, sir; mere shadows. Have you reason to
suspect there may have been a woman involved?"
The Major leaned back in his chair, but the commandant, after a glance
at his officer, answered:
"The pistol used was a small one, such as a woman might carry, and
there are marks of a woman's shoe plainly visible at the edge of the
ravine. Lieutenant Gaskins was alone when he left the officers' club
five minutes before the firing began. You are sure you have never had
any controversy with this officer?"
"Perfectly sure, sir. We have never met except on the one occasion
already referred to, and then scarcely a dozen words were exchanged."
"How then, Sergeant," and the Colonel spoke very soberly, "do you
account for his denouncing you as his assassin?"
"I presumed he was influenced by my arrest, sir; that the shock had
affected his brain."
"That supposition will hardly answer. The Lieutenant is not severely
wounded, and this morning appears to be perfectly rational. Yet he
insists you committed the assault; even refers to you by name."
The accused man pressed one hand to his forehead in bewilderment.
"He still insists I shot him?"
"Yes; to be frank, he 's rather bitter about it, and no facts we have
brought to bear have any apparent weight. He swears he recognized your
face in the flare of the first discharge."
The Sergeant stood silent, motionless, his gaze on the Colonel's face.
"I do not know what to say, sir," he answered finally. "I was not
there, and you all know it from the men of my troop. There has been no
trouble between Lieutenant Gaskins and myself, and I can conceive of no
reason why he should desire to involve me in this affair--unless," he
paused doubtfully; "unless, sir, he really knows who shot him, and is
anxious to shift the blame elsewhere to divert suspicion."
"You mean he may be seeking to shield the real culprit?"
"That is the only explanation that occurs to me, sir."
The Colonel stroked his beard nervously, his glance wandering to the
faces of the other officers.
"That might be possible," he acknowledged regretfully, "although I
should dislike to believe any officer of my command would be
deliberately guilty of so despicable an act. However, all we can do
now is endeavor to uncover the truth. You are discharged from arrest,
Sergeant Hamlin, and will return to your troop."
Hamlin passed out the door into the sunshine, dimly conscious that his
guarded answers had not been entirely satisfactory to those left
behind. Yet he had said all he could say, all he dared say. More and
more firmly there had been implanted in his mind a belief that Molly
McDonald was somehow involved in this unfortunate affair, and that her
name must be protected at all hazard. This theory alone would seem to
account for Gaskins' efforts to turn suspicion, and when this was
connected with the already known presence of a woman on the scene, and
the smallness of the weapon used, the evidence seemed conclusive.
As far as his own duty was concerned, the Sergeant felt no doubt.
Whatever might be the cause, there was no question in his mind but that
she was fully justified in her action. Disliking the Lieutenant from
the first, and as strongly attracted by the girl, his sympathies were
now entirely with her. If she had shot him, then it was for some
insult, some outrage, and he was ready to protect her with his life.
He stopped, glancing back at the closed door, tempted to return and ask
permission to interview Gaskins personally. Then the uselessness of
such procedure recurred to him; the fact that nothing could result from
their meeting but disappointment and recrimination. The man evidently
disliked him, and would resent any interference; he had something to
conceal, something at stake for which he would battle strenuously. It
would be better to let him alone at present, and try to uncover a clue
elsewhere. Later, with more facts in his possession, he could face the
Lieutenant and compel his acknowledgment. These considerations caused
him to turn sharply and walk straight toward the ravine. Yet his
investigations there brought few results. On the upper bank were the
marks of a woman's shoe, a slender footprint clearly defined, but the
lower portion of the ravine was rocky, and the trail soon lost. He
passed down beyond the stables, realizing how easily the fugitives,
under cover of darkness, could have escaped. The stable guard could
have seen nothing from his station, and just below was the hard-packed
road leading to the river and the straggling town. There was nothing
to trace, and Hamlin climbed back up the bluff completely baffled but
desperately resolved to unlock the mystery. The harder the solution
appeared, the more determined he became to solve it. As he came out,
opposite the barrack entrance, a carriage drove in past the
guard-house, the guard presenting arms, and circled the parade in the
direction of officers' row. It contained a soldier driver and two
ladies, and the Sergeant's face blushed under its tan as he recognized
Miss McDonald. Would she notice him--speak to him? The man could not
forbear lifting his eyes to her face as the carriage swept by. He saw
her glance toward him, smile, with a little gesture of recognition, and
stood there bareheaded, his heart throbbing wildly. With that look,
that smile, he instantly realized two facts of importance--she was
willing to meet him on terms of friendship, and she had not recognized
him the evening previous as he ran past her in the dark.
Hamlin, his thoughts entirely centred upon Miss McDonald, had scarcely
noted her companion, yet as he lingered while the carriage drew up
before the Major's quarters, he seemed to remember vaguely that she was
a strikingly beautiful blonde, with face shadowed by a broad hat.
Although larger, and with light fluffy hair and blue eyes, the lady's
features were strangely like those of her slightly younger companion.
The memory of these grew clearer before the Sergeant--the whiteness of
the face, the sudden lowering of the head; then he knew her; across the
chasm of years her identity smote him as a blow; his breath came
quickly and his fingers clenched.
"My God!" he muttered, unconsciously. "That was Vera! She has
changed, wonderfully changed, but--but she knew me. What, in Heaven's
name, can she be doing here, and--with Molly?"
With straining eyes he stared after them until they both disappeared
together within the house. Miss McDonald glanced back toward him once
almost shyly, but the other never turned her head. The carriage drove
away toward the stables. Feeling as though he had looked upon a ghost,
Hamlin turned to enter the barracks. An infantry soldier leaned
negligently in the doorway smoking.
"You 're the sergeant who saved that girl down the trail, ain't yer?"
he asked indolently. "Thought so; I was one o' Gaskins' men."
Hamlin accepted the hand thrust forth, but with mind elsewhere.
"Do you happen to know who that was with Miss McDonald?" he asked.
"Did n't see 'em, only their backs as they went in--nice lookin'
blonde?"
"Yes, rather tall, with very light hair."
"Oh, that's Mrs. Dupont."
"Mrs. Dupont?" the name evidently a surprise; "wife of one of the
officers?"
"No, she 's no army dame. Husband's a cattleman. Got a range on the
Cowskin, south o' here, but I reckon the missus don't like that sorter
thing much. Lives in St. Louis mostly, but has been stoppin' with the
McDonalds fer a month er two now. Heerd she wus a niece o' the
Major's, an' reckon she must be, er thar 'd been a flare up long ago.
She 's a high flyer, she is, an' she 's got the Leftenant goin' all
right."
"Gaskins?"
"Sure; he's a lady-killer, but thet 's 'bout all the kind o' killer he
is, fer as I ever noticed--one o' yer he-flirts. Thar ain't hardly an
officer in this garrison thet ain't just achin' fer ter kick that
squirt, but ther women--oh, Lord; they think he's a little tin god on
wheels. Beats hell, don't it, what money will do fer a damn fool."
Hamlin stood a moment silent, half inclined to ask another question,
but crushing back the inclination. Then he walked down the hall to the
quarters assigned "M" Troop, and across to his own bed in the far
corner. There were only a few of the men present, most of whom were
busily engaged at a game of cards, and he sat down where he could gaze
out the window and think. Here was a new complication, a fresh puzzle
to be unravelled. He had never expected this woman to come into his
life again; she had become a blurred, unpleasant memory, a bit of his
past which he had supposed was blotted out forever. Mrs. Dupont--then
she had not married Le Fevre after all. He dully wondered why, yet was
not altogether surprised. Even as he turned this fact over and over in
his mind, speculating upon it, he became aware of a man leaving the
rear door of McDonald's quarters, and advancing back of officers' row
toward the barracks. As the fellow drew near, Hamlin recognized the
soldier who had been driving the carriage. A moment later the man
entered the room, spoke to the group of card players, and then came
straight across toward him.
"Sergeant Hamlin?"
"Yes."
"I was asked to hand you this note; there is no answer."
Hamlin held it unopened until the fellow disappeared, hesitating
between hope and dread. Which of the two women had ventured to write
him? What could be the unexpected message? At last his eyes scanned
the three short lines:
"You recognized me, and we must understand each other. At ten to-night
ask the Clerk of the Occidental--V."