An unhappy man was Major Brooks that gloomy month of March. The news
from Washington _via_ Department Head-Quarters was most discouraging as
to Lawrence. He was both looking and doing ill. It seemed to "break him
all up," said a letter from a friend in the Adjutant-General's office,
that so few could be found to urge the Secretary to do something for
him. What could they do? was the answer. Admitting that Lawrence had
been grievously wronged, "whose fault was it?" said the Secretary; "not
mine." He had only acted on the information and recommendation of
officers to whom this work had been intrusted. If they had erred, he
should have been informed of it before. "How could you be informed,"
said the Senator who had championed the poor fellow's cause, "when you
resorted to a system that would have shamed a Spaniard in the days of
the Inquisition, or the Bourbons with their _lettres de cachet_ and the
Bastile?" No one dreamed that Lawrence was in danger until he was done
to death, and so, out of money, out of clothes, out of hope, health,
and courage, poor Ned was fretting his heart out, while tender women
and loyal friends were keeping guard over his shabby army home and
caring for his two motherless lambs away out on the far frontier,
awaiting the day when he should be restored to them.
It did not come, nor did Lawrence. An old comrade of the Sixth Corps, a
gallant volunteer brigade commander, then in prosperous circumstances at
Washington, had given him the shelter of his home, only too gladly
keeping him in rations and cigars, as he would have done in clothes and
pocket-money, but he shook his head at whiskey. "For God's sake, Ned,
and for your babies' sake, leave that alone. It can't help you. You
never were a drinking man before. Don't drink now, or your nerve will
give out utterly." This and more he urged and pleaded, but Lawrence's
pride seemed crushed and his heart broken. Legal advisers told his
friends at last that restoration was impossible: his place was filled.
He had only one course left if he would listen to nothing but
restoration to the army, and that was to accept a second lieutenancy and
begin over again at the bottom of the list. They broached it to him, and
he broke out into wild, derisive laughter. "Good God! do you mean that a
man who has served fifteen years in the army, fought all through the
war and served as I have served, must step down from the squadron
captaincy to ride behind the boys just out of the Point? be ranked out
of quarters by my own son-in-law the next thing I know! I'll see the
army in hell first," was his furious reply.
"No, Ned, not hell, but Texas. Take it; go back to the line, and once
you're back in the army in any grade we'll legislate you up to the
majority you deserve: see if we don't."
But Lawrence had lost all faith in promises, or in Congressional action.
He turned in contempt from the proposition, and in early April came the
tidings to San Antonio that he was desperately ill.
Meanwhile Mr. Hodge had lost the _prestige_ of his first appearance at
Worth, and fell into the customary rut of the subaltern. People found
him as monotonous as did the martyrs of the Upper Platte, and, from
having been the most sought-after of second lieutenants, he dropped back
to the plane of semi-obscurity. This was galling. Hodge's stock in trade
had been the facts or fables in his possession concerning the absent
Captain Barclay, whose present whereabouts and plans were shrouded in
mystery. A rumor came that he had decided not to join at all; that he
was in Washington striving to arrange a transfer; that his assignment
to the regiment and to the post where he must meet the woman who had
jilted him for a cavalry subaltern was something unforeseen and not to
be tolerated. The muster roll couldn't account for him other than as
permitted to delay three months by Special Orders No. So-and-so, War
Department, A.G.O., January 25, 1871. This gave Hodge unlooked-for
reinforcements. A fortnight passed in March without a bid to dinner
anywhere, without a request for further particulars as to Sir Galahad.
So long as that interesting personage was expected any day to appear and
answer for himself, it behooved Hodge to be measurably guarded in his
statements, to keep within the limits of his authorities; but one day
there came a letter from a lady at Department Head-Quarters to Mrs.
Brooks, and before Brooks himself was made aware of the contents, he
being at the club-room playing "pitch" and therefore beyond the pale of
feminine consideration, the news was going the rounds of the garrison.
Mrs. Pelham, who was spending the winter in Washington, had written to
an old and devoted friend of Major Waite's some very interesting news
about Captain Barclay. The captain was in Washington a whole week, but
had not called on Mrs. Pelham, though she had done everything she could
think of for him when he was wounded. (The Pelhams were then at
McPherson and near old Waite's summer camp, but no one ever heard of her
ladyship's ever taking the faintest interest in Barclay until after he
developed into a mine-owner and had been jilted by Laura Waite.) But let
Mrs. Pelham talk for herself, as she usually did, as well as for every
one else. "He spent the first week in February here, leaving just before
poor Captain Lawrence came. No wonder he didn't wish to meet him! And
Mrs. Waite was there, buttonholing everybody to get her pension
increased, and wearing the costliest crape you ever saw, my dear,
and--think of it!--solitaire diamond ear-rings with it! She had a room
in a house where several prominent Congressmen boarded, and was known as
'the fascinating widow.' She sent to Barclay,--would you believe
it?--and begged him to come to see her, and he _actually did_; and Mrs.
Cutts, who lives in the same house, told me that you ought to have seen
her that day,--no solitaire ear-rings or handsome crape, mind you, but
tears and bombazine; and Mrs. Cutts vows that he gave her money. That
woman is angling for another husband, and has been ever since poor
Waite's death, and if anything were to happen to Mr. Winn it's just what
Laura would be doing too. It runs in the blood, my dear. You know, and
I know, that all the time she was at Omaha Barracks and the major in the
field, she--a woman with a grown son and a graduating daughter--was
dancing with the boys at the hops and riding--yes, and
buggy-riding--with bachelors like those wretches Gates and Hagadorn."
Buggy-riding was the unpardonable sin in Mrs. Pelham's eyes, she being
"too massive to sit in anything short of the side seat of an ambulance,"
as said a regimental wit; and Mrs. Pelham looked with eyes of disfavor
on women who managed to "keep their waists" as Mrs. Waite did.
"But let me tell you about Captain Barclay," continued the letter.
"General Corliss called to see me two evenings ago and said he heard
that Barclay was actually a millionaire,--that he had large interests in
Nevada mines that were proving fabulously rich. You can understand that
I wasn't at all surprised to hear that the general had intimated to Mr.
Ray, of his staff, that it would be much better for him to go and serve
with his regiment awhile. Ray wouldn't be an acceptable son-in-law; he
has no money and too many fascinations, and there are both the Corliss
girls, you know, to be provided for, and Miranda is already _passe_, and
Ray has resigned the place, and the place is vacant, for--would you
believe it?--they say the general tendered it to Barclay, and Barclay
declined. Why, when we were all at McPherson there wasn't anything
satirical the Corlisses didn't say about Barclay, and now that he has
money they bow down to and worship him." ("Something Mrs. Pelham
wouldn't do for the world," said Mrs. Brooks to herself, with an odd
smile.) "And when the general was asked about it yesterday he couldn't
deny having made the offer, but said the reason Captain Barclay declined
was that he would very probably resign in a few weeks, his business
interests being such as to render it necessary for him to leave the
army. So, my dear, you won't have the millionaire in Texas, after all,
and I fancy how deeply Laura Winn will be disappointed. No matter how
much she cares for her husband, she wouldn't be her mother's daughter if
she didn't try to fascinate him over again."
Fancy the comfort of having such a letter as that to read to an
appreciative audience! Mrs. Brooks fled with it to Mrs. Frazier, who
thought it ought not to be read,--it was too like Dorothy Pelham for
anything. But Mrs. Brooks took and read it to neighbors who were
chatting and sewing together and had no such scruples. And that night it
was dribbling about the post that Barclay had decided to resign, had
refused a detail on the staff of General Corliss: somebody else would
get Ned Lawrence's troop. Brooks heaved a sigh and said to himself he
was glad of it, and the women heaved a sigh and wished he might have
come, if only for a little while, just to make things interesting: "it
would be such a novelty to have a millionaire mine-owner in garrison and
actually doing duty as a captain of cavalry." Finally they began to
wonder what Mrs. Winn would say now, she having had nothing at all to
say.
That very evening it chanced to occur to Mr. Hodge that he had not
returned Lieutenant Winn's call (by card,--the cavalryman having dropped
in when he knew the new arrival to have dropped out), and when Hodge
presented himself at the Winns' (he had spoken of his intention at mess
in the presence and hearing of the negro attendant, who had mentioned it
without delay to the Winns' colored combination of cook and
serving-maid, who had come over to borrow a cup of cooking sherry, it
being too far to the sutler's, and that damsel had duly notified her
mistress of the intended honor), he was shown into the dimly lighted
army sitting-room, where, toasting her feet before the fire, sat
dreaming the young mistress of the establishment, who started up in
apparent surprise. She had heard neither the step nor the ring. Very
possibly she was dozing, she admitted, for baby was sleeping aloft and
her husband was gone. She was attired in a silken gown that Hodge
described somewhat later at the major's as "puffickly stunning,"--a
garment that revealed the rich curves of her beautiful throat and neck
and arms; women who heard wondered why she should be wearing that most
becoming evening robe when there was not even a hop. She looked
handsomer than the gown, said Hodge, as she rose and greeted him, her
cheeks flushed, her eyes languorous and smouldering at first, then
growing slowly brilliant. She apologized for the absence of Mr. Winn. He
was spending much time at the office just now. "He is regimental
commissary, you know, or at least he has been," she explained. Hodge
knew all about that, and he also knew that if what he heard about the
post was true it would have been better had Winn spent more time at the
office before. Then Mrs. Winn was moved to be gracious. She had heard so
many, many pleasant things of Mr. Hodge since his arrival. She was so
honored that he should call when he must be having so many claims on his
time, so many dinner-calls to pay. She and Mr. Winn were so sorry they
had been unable to entertain Mr. Hodge, but, until the cook they were
expecting from San Antonio came, they were positively starving, and
could invite no one to share their scraps. "That cook has been expected
a whole year," said other women, but Mrs. Winn paraded him as the cause
of her social short-comings as confidently as ever. Then Mrs. Winn went
on to speak of how much she had heard of Hodge at Omaha,--dear Omaha.
"What lovely times we had along the Platte in the good old days!" Hodge
blushed with joy, and preened and twittered and thought how blessed a
thing it was to be welcomed to the fireside of such a belle and beauty
and to be remembered by her as one of the gay young bachelors at Sidney.
"Such wicked stories as we heard of you scapegraces from time to time,"
said she, whereat Hodge looked as though he might, indeed, have been
shockingly wicked, as perhaps he had. Indeed, she feared they, the young
officers, were "a sad lot, a sad lot," and looked up at him from under
the drooping lashes in a way that prompted him to an inspiration that
was almost electric in its effect on him. Hodge fairly seemed to
sparkle, to scintillate. "Sad! We were in despair," said he, "but that
was when we heard of your engagement--oh, ah, the second one, I mean,"
he stumbled on, for it would never do, thought he, to mention the first.
But he need have had no hesitation. Laura Winn had heard from other and
obscurer sources something of the rumors floating over the post that
very day. She had planned to drop in at the colonel's, where the
Fraziers entertained at dinner and music that very evening, in hopes of
hearing accidentally something definite, for Winn was one of those
useless husbands who never hear anything of current gossip. But women
might not talk if they thought she wished to hear, and fate had provided
her a better means. She saw here and now the opportunity and the man. It
was Hodge who had told so much that was of vivid interest to her. It was
Hodge she had been longing to meet for days, but Winn had held him
aloof, and now here she had this ingenuous repository of Barclayisms all
to herself until Winn should return; the chance was not to be lost.
"I love to live over those dear old days when I was a girl," she said.
"Friends seemed so real then, men so true, life so buoyant. Sometimes I
find myself wishing there were more of the old friends, the old set,
here. We seem--so much more to each other, don't you know, Mr. Hodge?"
And Hodge felt sure "we" did, and hitched his chair a foot nearer the
fire.
"Of course I was younger then, and knew so little of the world, and yet,
knowing it as I do now--I can say this to you, you know, Mr. Hodge,--I
couldn't to another soul here, for you were _of_ us, you served with
father's column" (Hodge's service was limited to playing poker with
"those wretches Gates and Hagadorn" and others of Waite's command on one
or two memorable occasions, and the resultant hole in his purse was
neither as broad as a church nor deep as a well, but 'twould serve).
"I've often felt here as though I would give anything to see some of the
dear old crowd; not that people are not very lovely here, but, you know,
we army friends cling so to the old associations." And now the beautiful
eyes seemed almost suffused, and Hodge waxed eloquent.
"I am thrice fortunate," said he, recalling the lines of his Maltravers,
"in that I am numbered among them." And now, like Laura, he looked upon
Worth as cold and dormant as compared with the kindling friendships of
the distant Platte.
"Indeed you are!" said she. "You bring back the sweetest days of my
life, and some of the saddest. I have no one to speak to me, you
know,--of course--until you did a moment ago. Tell me, is--is his life
so changed as--as they say it is?"
"I never saw a man so broke up," he responded. "He never smiled after
you--after--after it was broken off, you know." Barclay's smile was as
rare as a straight flush anyhow, he admitted to himself, but the
assertion sounded well.
"And--of late--what have you heard of him?" she asked. And Hodge poured
forth his latest news, and added more. He, too, he said, had had a
letter from an intimate friend. Captain Barclay had declared that the
assignment to the Twelfth Cavalry was impossible, Texas was impossible.
His business interests would necessitate his declining if, indeed, there
were no other reasons. General Corliss had tendered him the position of
aide-de-camp and made Billy Ray of the --th resign to make way for him,
and the moment Barclay found that out he went to Ray and told him the
whole business was without his (Barclay's) knowledge, and sooner than
displace him he would refuse. "Yes," said Hodge, "that's the way my
friend heard it from Ray himself. Now, if Barclay could only get a
detail on McDowell's staff in California it would have suited him to a
tee; then he could have looked after his Nevada interests and his
Wyoming pensioners too."
Did Mr. Hodge know surely about Mr. Barclay's wealth? Was it all true?
he was asked.
Oh, yes, there wasn't a doubt of it, said Hodge. It was just another of
those cases where a man had money in abundance, and yet would have
given it all, he added, sentimentally, but here she uplifted rebukingly
her white, slim hand,--or was it warningly? for there came a quick
footfall on the porch without. The hall door opened sharply, letting in
a gust of cold night wind, and, throwing off his cavalry cape with its
faded yellow lining, Lieutenant Winn strode through the hallway into his
little den at the rear.
"You will come and see me again," she murmured low, while yet the
footsteps resounded, "it has been so--good to see you,--so like old
times. We'll have to talk of other things now. Mr. Winn doesn't like old
times too well."
But Mr. Winn never so much as looked in the parlor door until she called
to him. Then, as she saw his face, the young wife arose with anxiety in
her own.
"What is it? Where are you going--with your revolver, too? Mr. Hodge,
dear."
"Oh-h! Beg pardon, Mr. Hodge. Glad to see you," was Winn's distraught
acknowledgment of the presence of the visitor, as he extended a
reluctant hand. "My sergeant can't be found," he went on, hurriedly.
"They say he's gone to Fuller's ranch, and it may be all right, but the
colonel has ordered out a patrol to fetch him back. Don't worry, Laurie;
I may have to ride out with it."
And hurriedly he kissed her and bounded down the steps.
For a moment she stood in the doorway, the light from the hall lamp
shining on her dusky hair and proud, beautiful face, forgetful of the
man who stood gazing at her. Then with a shiver she suddenly turned.
"It's the second time that Sergeant Marsden has been missed in just this
way, when he was most needed, and--it's so imprudent, so--and my husband
is so imprudent, so unsuspicious. Mr. Hodge," she cried, impulsively,
"if you've heard anything, or if you do hear anything, about him or Mr.
Winn, be a friend to me and tell me, won't you?" And there was nothing
Hodge would not have promised, nothing he would not have told, but the
door of the adjoining quarters slammed, an officer came striding along
the porch common to the double set, and the clank of a sabre was heard
as he neared them.
"Winn gone?" he asked. "Don't worry, Mrs. Winn. We'll overhaul that
scoundrel before he can reach the settlements, unless----"
"But what is wrong? What has happened, Mr. Brayton?" she asked, her face
white with dread, her heart fluttering.
"My Lord, Mrs. Winn, I beg your pardon! I supposed of course he had told
you. Marsden's bolted. Colonel Riggs, the inspector-general, got here
to-night with Captain Barclay, instead of coming by regular stage
Saturday, and Marsden lit out the moment he heard of their arrival. Of
course we hope Winn isn't badly bitten."
But her thoughts were of another matter now. "Captain Barclay," she
faltered, "here? Why, I--I heard----"
"Yes," shouted the young officer, as he went clattering down the steps.
"'Scuse me--I've got to mount at once," as an orderly came running up at
the moment with his horse. "Riggs has come, post-haste, only Barclay and
one man with him besides the driver. It's lucky that Friday gang never
got wind of it."