It happened at a moment when Willett, seated at the right of "the lady
of the house," with Lilian at his dexter side, had caught the eye of
his hostess, and, after the manner of the day, had raised his brimming
sherry glass and, bowing low, was drinking to her health, a feat the
general had thrice performed already. "If I'd only known of this,
gentlemen," said their host, but a moment earlier, with resultant
access of cordiality, "and could have found a drop of Angostura about
the post, we'd have had a 'pick-me-up' before dinner, but d'you know
I--I seldom have bitters about me. I've no use for cocktails. I never
touch a drop of stingo before twelve at noon or after twelve at night.
I agree with old Bluegrass. Bluegrass was post surgeon at the Presidio
when the Second Artillery came out in '65, right on the heels of the
war, and he did his best to welcome them--especially Breck, their
adjutant, also a Kentuckian. Then he was ordered East, and he left
Breck his blessing, his liquor case, and this admonition--Breck told it
himself. 'Young man,' said he, 'I observe you drink cocktails. Now,
take my advice and don't do it. You drink the bitters and they go to
your nose and make it red. You drink the sugar and it goes to your
brain and makes it wopsy, and so--you lose all the good effects of the
whiskey'! Haw, haw, haw!" It was a story the genial old soldier much
rejoiced in, one that Stannard had bet he would tell before dinner was
half over, and it came with Doyle and the chickens. The kindly,
wrinkled, beaming face, red with the fire of Arizona's suns, redder by
contrast with the white mustache and imperial, was growing scarlet with
the flame of Bentley's cherished wine, when in sudden surprise he noted
that the junior officer present, seated alone at his right (there was
no other girl in all Camp Almy to bid to the little feast, and Mrs.
Stannard, in mourning for a brother, could not accept), had turned down
the little sherry glass. Thirty years ago such a thing was as uncommon
in the army as fifty years ago it was unheard of in civil life. For one
instant after the young officer's embarrassed answer the veteran sat
almost as though he had heard a rebuke. It was Mrs. Archer who came to
the relief of an awkward situation. "Mr. Harris believes in keeping in
training," she ventured lightly. "He could not excel in mountain
scouting without it. The general's scouting days are over and we
indulge him." Indeed, it wasn't long before it began to look as though
the general were indulging himself. Claret presently succeeded the
sherry, but not until Bentley's health had been drunk again and the
orderly summoned from the front porch to go, with the general's
compliments, and tell him so. "This claret," he then declared, "is some
I saved from the dozen Barry & Patton put aboard the Montana when I
came round to Yuma last year. It's older than Lilian," this with a fond
and playful pinch at the rosy cheek beside him, "and almost as good. No
diluting this, Mr. Willett," for he saw that young officer glancing
from the empurpled glass to the single carafe that adorned the table,
its mate having met dissolution when the general's chest was prematurely
unloaded in Dead Man's Canon _en route_ to the post. "Dilute your
California crudities all you like, but not the red juice from the sunny
vines of France. No, sir! Moreover, this and old Burgundy are the wines
you must drink at blood heat. No Sauturnes or Hocks or champagnes for
us fire worshippers in Arizona! Lilian here and my blessed wife yonder
don't like these red wines for that reason. They want something to cool
their dainty palates, but men, sir, and soldiers---- What's this,
Bella, Bellisima? Salad--French dressing--and cool, too! Bravissima, my
dear! How did you manage it? The olla? Why, of course! Cool anything.
Cool my old head, if need be. Hey, Willett?"
And all this time, when not chatting with the debonair officer at her
side or saying a word to his bronzed, sun-dried, silently observant
comrade opposite, Lilian's fond eyes forever sought her father's
rubicund face, love and admiration in every glance. All this time, even
while in cordial talk with her guests, Mrs. Archer never seemed to lose
a look or word from her soldier liege; never once did her winsome smile
or joyous laugh fail to reward his sallies; never once came there shade
of anxiety upon her beaming face. "The General" was the head of that
house, and they were his loyal subjects. They even sipped at the
outermost ripple of the thimbleful of claret each had permitted Doyle
to pour. Even when a loud "cloop" in the dark passageway to the kitchen
told that another bottle was being opened as the omelet came in, borne
aloft by white-robed Suey, crowned with red poppies and blue blazes,
and set triumphantly before the mistress of the feast, Harris could
detect no flutter of disapprobation. Even when, later still, the
general's eager hand, stretching forth for the dusky flagon (it was
sacrilege to sweep away those insignia of age and respectability),
managed to capsize the candelabrum and sent the fluid "adamantine"
spattering a treasured table-cloth (how quick the dash of the young
trooper's hand upon the flame--and its extinction!), a gentle smile was
the sole rebuke, followed by a "Thank you, Mr. Harris. I hope you
didn't burn your hand! That's all my fault." The general declared it
foolish to put candles on the table when we could have sconces by the
dozen on the walls.
Indeed, there must have been a dozen candles, not to mention the big
lamps of forbidden kerosene upon shelf and sideboard, each backed by
its reflector of glistening tin. "We were vain, you see," continued
Mrs. Archer, "of our two old-fashioned heirlooms. Those quaint
three-socket sticks were brought by the general's grandfather from
England in Colonial days." It was so with everything they had, though
they had so little. The massive silver forks, the worn old spoons, the
squat little sugar bowl and creamer that came in later, all bore a
crest and a single word. All had been "The General's" before ever that
well-descended veteran had bent the knee in wooing. All had been stored
in San Francisco until their coming to cheer his exile, but now were
duly paraded in honor of their first guests at Almy, the young scout
leader from the southern border, and his classmate, the new
aide-de-camp of the commanding general; both, as was understood, to
leave them on the morrow.
And all this time, too, though the windows, Arizona fashion, were
blanketed to exclude all heatful light throughout the day (those of the
dining-room being hidden behind Navajo fabrics in black and white, and
blue and crimson), the hallways were wide open that no breath of air
might be lost. The hounds clustered whimpering and wondering at the
doorways, front and rear, resentful of the vigilance with which the
orderlies on duty withstood their dashes, they who long weeks and
months had had the run of the house. Darkness had settled down upon the
sandy parade. The lights gleamed along the opposite front, the long
barracks of the soldiery, and the stars were glinting bright above the
beetling pine crests beyond the murmuring stream. Over at the mess the
surgeon, the adjutant, quartermaster, Captain Bonner of the infantry,
with his subaltern, and solemn Captain Turner, sat on the veranda,
smoked their pipes, and even while keeping up a semblance of talk, had
an eye and an ear on the bungalow--the "Old Man's" quarters not three
hundred feet away. The boom of his jovial laughter still rang out upon
the air, and presently the tinkle of guitar, the swish of feminine
garments, the rasp of chairs and the merry mingling of voices told that
the little dinner party, the first the camp had ever known--for what is
a dinner party without women--had quit the table and gathered on the
porch. By this time, too, an unclouded moon had sailed aloft from
behind the screen of eastward heights, and its beams were pouring
slantwise upon the group, that portion of it, at least, that now was
seated near the southern end. They who watched were not slow to see
that Lilian had taken a chair within a few feet of the edge, with
Willett still in close attendance. The red heart of the general's cigar
was visible midway between the window and the central doorway, but the
jovial host was wrapped in shade. The light from the doorway fell upon
the white gown of Mrs. Archer and the trim, slender, undersized figure
of Lieutenant Harris, standing before her. They heard the general's
voice, cordial and resonant, uplifted presently in protest: "No, don't
go yet, boy. Let 'Tonio take care of himself to-night. I want you both
to hear Lilian sing. Here, orderly, you go find 'Tonio and give him my
compliments--No! you just tell 'Tonio _I_ want to see him."
The orderly with Archer, as with many another post commander, was the
final resort, the cure-all, the infallible means of settlement of all
matters in dispute. The orderly went and stood not on the order of his
going. He knew not 'Tonio, nor where to find him, but he knew better
than to say so--to say anything. He went straightway to the sergeant of
the guard, than whom no man is supposed to know more what is going on
about the post. That Harris might have the pleasure of hearing the
promised song (he surely could not think of going now) the mess
devoutly hoped, and were in nowise too content when the sound of
moving, of people getting to their feet, and of Archer's jocund
welcome, told that callers had come to join the recent revellers, and
that meant, of course, the Stannards, for there was really no one else.
And then it was remembered that Stannard had said that Mrs. Archer had
asked that they should come over after dinner, since they could not
well attend it. Lilian's singing was something all save these two young
soldiers had already heard, enjoyed and longed to hear again, and the
mess could not but wish that old Stannard had not been so exact in his
interpretation, and punctual in his acceptance of that invitation.
There followed a few minutes of general talk and laughter, and then
Archer's voice was again dominant. Nothing would do but that the
Stannards both come in and taste that famous claret (which neither
desired _after_ dinner, however much it might then have been enjoyed).
Then all went trooping in-doors again, all save Lilian and Lieutenant
Harris, for presently these two came sauntering into the moonlight at
the southward end of the veranda. The girl resumed her seat and guitar;
the young officer the chair lately occupied by Willett, and here full
ten minutes were they in conversation when the orderly came stalking
back from the guard-house; the quintette came flocking forth from the
hallway, and Willett, coming to resume his seat and chat, found his
classmate in possession. It was the first opportunity that had fallen
to Harris, and if Willett hoped or expected that he would rise and
surrender in his favor he was doomed to disappointment. Harris never so
much as turned his head.
They were an odd contrast, these two young graduates of the nation's
soldier school, as they looked to Captain Stannard that November night.
He spoke of it to his wife and thought of it long after, for he, too,
had come toward the little group a bit impatient, it must be owned, of
the general's mellow monologue, and wearying of a conversation in which
_he_ had no part. But here again Stannard found scant opportunity.
Miss Archer, bending slightly forward, was, with much animation
describing to Mr. Harris the brilliant ball given by the artillery at
the Presidio just before they were hurried off to that fatal Modoc war.
Harris, caring little for the affair, and possibly hearing little of
what she was saying, sat as though drinking in every word, and gazing
enthralled upon the beauty of her sweet young face. He, too, was
bending forward, his lithe, slender, supple frame clad in the trim
undress uniform of the day, his clear-cut face, with its thin, almost
hollow cheeks, tanned brown by the blazing suns of the southern desert,
his hair cropped close to his shapely head, his gray-blue eyes, large,
full and steady, fixed unswerving upon her. Leaning on his elbow, one
lean brown hand was toying with the sun-bleached ends of his mustache,
the other, with the class ring gleaming in the moonlight, lay idly on
his knee. Lacking stature, size or weight, the physical attributes that
make a man impressive, he looked the picture of the young athlete, firm
and fit and trained for speed and staying power, yet cold in his
steel-like strength and quality.
Overtopping him, standing where he, too, could hear and gaze, elegant
in form, graceful in pose, and precise in dress, the picture of
chivalric officer and gentleman, Hal Willett had the advantage of
nearly six more inches in height, a presence that was at once
commanding and assured, and a face as strikingly handsome as that of
Harris was severely plain. Willett's eyes and hair were of a deep,
lustrous brown, his eyebrows thick and heavily arched, his mouth soft,
sensitive, with lips that were beautifully curved and teeth that were
white and well-nigh perfect. His mustache, though long and curling, was
carefully trained away so as to hide none of the charms that lurked
beneath. He looked at once the knight of the ballroom and the
battlefield, a man to make his mark in either contest, love or war, and
make it he had. Life had been full of gifts to Harold Willett. He came
from old border stock. His name was first of the presidential ten the
year he entered the Point, first on the list of cadet corporals in the
yearling June and first among the first sergeants the following year.
An uncontradicted rumor had it that he could have been sergeant-major,
but that he told the commandant his ambition lay in the senior
captaincy, and first captain he had been named his first class summer,
only to lose it late in August, the penalty of a rash and forbidden
exploit for the sake of a smile, and possibly a caress, and lose it to
the man who, starting at the foot of the list of his chevroned fellows
two years before, had risen only to "late sergeant" of a centre company
when they came from furlough, but, standing foremost in "Tactics," well
up in every subject but French and drawing, and impeccable in conduct,
won a captaincy in spite of his lack of inches. Graduating a dozen
files ahead of his brilliant comrade, Harris had sought and won
commission in the cavalry, was sent to duty in New Mexico and then in
Arizona, ever roughing it in the deserts or the mountains until in
physique he was hard as hickory, and in spirit wellnigh as elastic.
Never until this recent experience in the Apache Mohave country had he
shown symptom of discouragement. Now it was the more noticeable because
coupled, it would seem, with distrust--distrust of him who had been for
two years past an inseparable guide and even comrade, 'Tonio, "_gran
capitan_" of Indian scouts.
And even as he sat there absorbed in the sweet vision in the moonlight
before him, studying the play of her sensitive lips, forgetful for the
moment of all else about him, there fell across the glistening boarding
at her feet the shadow of a turbaned head, at sight of which she
started, with faint, half-suppressed cry of fright; then, as though
ashamed, broke into a nervous little laugh. Harris was in an instant on
his feet, and whirling, confronted 'Tonio, tall, gaunt, silent,
impassive.
"_Que quiere?_" he demanded, in the blunt vernacular of the service. It
annoyed him that subordinate of his should thus appear unseen, unheard,
unsummoned, and to her affright. He forgot the noiseless sand, the
soft-soled moccasins, the native stealth; forgot at the moment the
general's mandate and the orderly's mission. It flashed upon him at
'Tonio's quiet answer, grave, unresentful, and in the Apache tongue.
"My chief called me."
"Pardon me just one moment, Miss Archer. I'll come back at once," said
Harris, bending over the still trembling girl. Then, turning sharply
and bidding 'Tonio follow, his eyes met those of Willett, smiling
affably.
"I'll keep it while you're gone, Hefty," said he, with laughing ease of
manner, sliding promptly into the vacated seat. "Now, Miss Archer, if
you'll be so good as to go right on where you left off, I'll be all
gratitude and attention."
Without answer, Harris stepped lightly over to where the general and
Stannard were now deep in one-sided argument over the merits of a
war-time leader, known well to men of the Union Army east or west; the
general declaiming, the junior listening, unconvinced. It was one point
on which they differed widely, one on which the general was apt to
dilate when warmed by wine. He had had only moderate aid from Willett
in disposing of two bottles of sound old claret, and one was enough to
set the garrulous tongue to wagging. He would not cease at sight of
Harris, standing silent and respectful before him. Stannard had to
interpose and say, "You sent for 'Tonio, sir, as I happened to hear,"
as indeed they all did, far and near, whereat the veteran turned.
"Bless my soul, boy, so I did! What for, I wonder?"
"To save my going over with night orders for the scouts, I think, sir,"
said Harris promptly, "and, unless you wish to see him personally, I'll
tell him now."
"_Must_ you make so early a start, Harris? It's only thirty miles to
the canon."
"I know, sir, but I need to be at Bennett's before sunrise. Their
scouts would see us if we started later. We go on to the canon after I
have examined that neighborhood."
"All right, then. Buckets will issue rations at once. Start when you
think best. But now, Stannard, see here; if he was such a stayer and so
energetic in Virginia, how do you account for----"
But Harris had saluted and turned away, 'Tonio at his heels. As they
passed the end of the veranda, where sat Lilian and her listener,
Harris noted that the latter had drawn his chair much closer than he
had dared, and was bending forward until the handsome dark head was
almost over the fair hand toying with the guitar that lay idly in her
lap. The modern vernacular for the successful squire of dames was then
unknown. The girl, who had been leaning forward, all chat and animation
when Harris sat there, now lay dreamily back in the rude but easy
chair, her eyelids drooping, her long lashes sweeping the soft cheek,
listening, drinking in the murmurous flow of Willett's almost inaudible
words, and the stern young face of his classmate hardened in the
moonlight, for Harris had seen and heard before. Briefly he gave his
instructions to the silent Apache and closed with the sign, "I have
spoken. That is all."
But 'Tonio did not stir. Something, possibly, in Willett's devotional
attitude vaguely troubled the girl, and, edging back in her chair, she
had lifted a little slippered foot from the floor. The general at the
moment was talking loud enough to drown other sounds about him. The
aide-de-camp, his dark eyes glowing and riveted on those of the fair
face so near him, seemed deaf to everything but his own eloquence. But
the Indian had placed one hand on his young officer's wrist, and with
the other stood pointing at some object coiled underneath Lilian's
chair, not half an arm's length from the little foot that dangled in
its silken stocking but a hand's-breadth from the floor. At that moment
Willett bent impressively, still nearer, and instinctively Lilian moved
a hand as though about to edge farther away. It was at this very
instant that Harris spoke, his voice, absolutely calm, even to the
semblance of a drawl, but every word told clear, distinct, and, in
spite of its courtesy, commanding, compelling.
"Miss Archer and--ah--Willett, be good enough to sit perfectly still a
moment. Don't--move--a muscle!"
Even the general, for a wonder, had ceased--for breath, perhaps--and
sat speechless and startled, for noiseless and stealthy as a cat, with
long strides, 'Tonio had skirted the edge of the veranda, and with
agile spring was at the back of Lilian's chair. There he swooped
instantly. There was sound of strident, rasping sk-r-r-r-rr: then a
lightning snap, as of a whip. Something black and writhing went flying
into the sand, and then squirming blindly away, and 'Tonio straightened
to his full height, and without a word strode from the veranda.
"In God's name, what was that?" cried the general, springing from his
chair and hastening to his daughter's side.
"Nothing but a snake, sir," said Harris quietly, strolling toward them.
"_That_ one's done for, anyhow!"