INNOCENT OR GUILTY.
The provost sergeant at Fort Robinson is a man who has seen and heard a
great deal in the course of his army life, and who has the enviable
faculty of knowing everything that is going on around him, without
appearing to know anything at all. It had been his duty, a day or two
previous, to expel from the limits of the reservation a rascally pack of
gamblers--a species of two-legged prairie wolf that in the rough old
days on the frontier followed every movement of the Army paymasters, and
lured and trapped the soldiers until every cent of their money was gone.
In point of number the gamblers were strong enough to take care of
themselves in case of Indian attack, yet rarely did they venture far
from the protection of the nearest troops. Driven out of post and
forbidden to return, they had simply camped with their whole "outfit" at
the lower edge of the military reservation, where the laws of the State
of Nebraska and not the orders of Uncle Sam took precedence. And here
they "set up shop" again, and had a game going in full blast this very
sunshiny Sunday morning, and the provost sergeant knew all about it. He
also knew by ten o'clock that Sergeant Dawson and Private Patsy Donovan
of Charlton's troop, with some adventurous spirits from the garrison,
were down there, "bucking their luck" against the tricks of these
skilled practitioners; and it was not hard to predict what the result
would be.
"Shall I take a file of the guard and fetch them back, sir?" he asked
the colonel commanding, and that gentleman glanced inquiringly at his
cavalry friend.
"How say you, captain?" Charlton reflected a moment and then replied:
"No, colonel. I should say let them have all the rope they choose to
take. I can get them when they are needed. You are sure about their
whereabouts on Tuesday and Wednesday nights?" he asked, turning to the
sergeant.
"Perfectly, sir; and just what they lost and how much they owed the
quartermaster's gang when they left."
"Just see where they are at noon then, and let me know," and the provost
sergeant went his way, leaving the officers in consultation.
At noon the soldier telegrapher came hurrying to the colonel and handed
him a dispatch.
"I feared as much," said the old soldier as he handed the paper to
Captain Charlton. "This means work for you at once. Let us go to the
office; there will be dispatches from Omaha presently. Isn't it strange
that no one at Sidney should have heard of the Indians getting over the
Platte?"
At two o'clock Charlton's troop was in saddle, with only three familiar
faces missing from the line. In the new excitement the men had ceased to
speak of Trumpeter Fred. What puzzled them now was the absence of Dawson
and Donovan. A sergeant sent into the garrison, to warn them that the
troop was to march at once, came back to say that he had searched every
stable and corral; the horses were nowhere about the post or the Agency
stores, and men on guard said that they had seen the two troopers riding
away down White River soon after one o'clock, and they had not come
back. And when Graham reported them absent to Captain Charlton, as the
latter in his familiar scouting costume rode out to take command, the
whole troop was amazed that their leader seemed to treat it as a matter
of no consequence whatever. He returned the sergeant's salute and
inquired:
"Every horse fed and watered?"
"Yes, sir."
"Every man got two days' hard bread and bacon?"
"Yes, sir."
"How much ammunition?"
"Eighty rounds carbine per man--twenty revolver, sir."
"Very good, sergeant;" and this brief colloquy ended, the sergeant
reined about and rode to the right flank. "Prepare to mount--mount!"
ordered the captain. "Form ranks!" and without further delay, "Fours
right--march!" and away they went up the lonely valley, along the
winding water, breaking into columns of twos and riding "at ease" the
moment they had passed the point where the post commander and a little
knot of officers had assembled to bid them God-speed. Captain Charlton
bent down from his saddle to grasp the colonel's extended hand and
whisper a few words in his ear. The colonel nodded appreciatively. "They
can't escape," he answered low, and then, watched by friendly eyes in
that little group until out of sight, and by fierce and lurking spies
until darkness shrouded them from view, the troop rode jauntily on its
mission; Charlton and Blunt in murmured consultation in the lead, and
forty-eight stalwart troopers confidently and unquestioningly following
in their tracks. Who cared that an all-night ride through Indian-haunted
wilds was before them? It was an old, old story to every man.
Were there "ghost lights" on the Niobrara that night? The Indian spies
could swear by the deeds of their ancestors that the troop soon climbed
out of the valley of the White River and rode briskly southward by the
Sidney trail, and that every man was in his place in column when
they wound down in the "Running Water" flats at twilight. Yet
hours afterward, far to the west, miles away at the Laramie
crossing, there were twinkling, dancing, "firefly" gleams--like
will-o'-the-wisps--through the chinks and loop-holes of that old log
hut, and when morning came the ground was stamped with a fresh impress
of half a dozen set of hoof tracks--shod horses, not Indian ponies this
time.
It must have meant "bad medicine" for the Sioux, for when morning came
all the bands that had been so confidently raiding the trails through
the settlements found themselves compelled to seek the shelter of their
reservations. From Laramie to Sidney the stalwart infantry came marching
to the scene, and from east, north, and west the cavalry came trotting,
troop after troop, to hem in and head them off. The very band that
ventured south of the Platte and killed in cold blood those helpless
teamsters, and then sought the destruction of Gaines and his men,
fleeing now before Wallace's troops, were met and soundly thrashed by
our friends of Company B, with Captain Charlton and Lieutenant Blunt in
the lead, and by Monday night the broad valley was clear of savage foes,
the cavalry were resting by their bivouac fires, and then, from the lips
of Captain Wallace, Charlton heard the story of Fred Waller's exploit,
and of the long gallop that brought about the rescue of Colonel Gaines.
Our captain could hardly wait for morning to come, but in two days more
he was standing by the bedside of his old sergeant at Sidney barracks,
and Trumpeter Fred was there too.
One week later, in the big, sunshiny assembly room of the old barrack,
an impressive scene took place, and a long remembered though very brief
trial was brought to an abrupt close. A court-martial was in session at
Sidney; the general who commanded the department had himself arrived to
look into the condition of affairs about the Indian reservation, and
with Captain Charlton had had a long consultation, at the close of
which the bearded, kindly-faced brigadier had gone to the hospital with
the troop commander, and bending over old Waller as he lay upon the
narrow cot, took his hand and talked with him about Five Forks and
Appomattox, and then promised him that his wish should be respected. It
was a singular wish--a strange thing for a father to ask. Old Sergeant
Waller had insisted that his boy should be brought to trial before the
court-martial then in session, and convicted or acquitted of the double
charge of theft and desertion that had been lodged against him. In vain
Charlton represented to him that it was not necessary, nobody believed
the stories now; the veteran was firm and positive in the stand he
made.
"Everywhere in this department, sir, my boy's name has been held up to
shame as a thief and a deserter. There is only one way to clear him; let
him stand trial, prove his innocence, and let us fix the guilt where it
belongs." And Waller was right.
Who that was in the court room that hot August morning, when the south
wind blew the dust-cloud into the post and burned the very skin from the
bronzed faces around the whitewashed wall, will ever forget the closing
incidents of that trial? At the long wooden table sat the nine officers
who composed the court with their gray-haired president at the head,
all dressed in their full uniforms, all grave and silent. At the lower
end of the table was the keen, shrewd face of the young judge advocate
who conducted the entire proceedings. On one side of him, quiet,
self-possessed, and patient, sat little Fred, neat and trim as a new pin
in his faultless fatigue dress. A little behind the boy was his captain,
Charlton, and along the wall, at the end of the room, Colonel Gaines,
with his arm still in a sling, and Captain Cross, with his piercing
restless eyes and "fighting face." On the other side of the judge
advocate stood the chair in which witness after witness had taken his
seat and given his testimony, and now at high noon it was empty, and
the crowd of spectators, sitting in respectful silence around the room,
craned their necks and gazed at the doorway in hushed, yet eager
curiosity to see the man whose name had just been passed to the orderly.
It was understood that the case for the prosecution depended mainly upon
his evidence.