The night had gone by without alarm. No further signals were seen. No
runners came in. Poor Mrs. Bennett, under the influence of some
soothing medicine, had fallen asleep. The doctor, coming in late from a
visit to the hospital, found Harris still wakeful, but not so feverish,
and 'Tonio, worn and wearied, stretched on a Navajo blanket, seemed
sleeping soundly on the side piazza, just without the door. The general
and Willett had sat and smoked, with an occasional toddy, until after
the midnight call of the sentries, the former still expectant of the
return of Sanchez; the latter pondering in mind certain theories of
Wickham as to the Apache situation, to which at first he had paid
little heed. If Wickham were right, then Sanchez might never have
reached Prescott. If so, the general need never have to amend that
report.
And that the matter troubled Archer more than a little Willett was not
too pleased to see. Moreover, it was evident that not only Bentley, the
surgeon, but Strong, the young adjutant, Bucketts, the veteran cavalry
subaltern doing duty as post quartermaster, and the three company
officers of Archer's regiment stationed at Almy--all were determined to
consider Harris decidedly in the light of the hero of the recent
episode. It was a matter Willett would not discuss with them, nor, when
they somewhat pointedly referred to Harris and his part in the affair,
was it Willett's policy to say aught in deprecation. As "the
representative of the commanding general" temporarily at the post, and
observing the condition of affairs, it was his proper function to give
all men his ear and none his tongue, to hear everything and say
nothing. But the adjutant knew, and had not been able to keep entirely
to himself, the fact that Sanchez was the bearer of a report adverse to
Lieutenant Harris--that no modification thereof had been prepared--even
after Harris was brought in dangerously wounded, the result of his
daring effort to rescue an unfortunate woman from a fearful fate. The
adjutant had gone so far as to hint to that much-loved lieutenant-colonel
of infantry, Brevet Brigadier-General Archer, that he should be glad to
write at his dictation a report setting Harris right, as surely as the
other had set him wrong, and for the first time Strong found his
commanding officer petulant and testy. It was exactly what Archer
himself thought it his duty to do, yet he was annoyed that any one else
should think so. Moreover, he had taken counsel with Willett, and
Willett had said that he would be the last man to deny a classmate and
comrade any honor justly his due, nor would he stand in the way of
General Archer's writing anything he saw fit, _but_, as the officer
present on the spot and cognizant of all the circumstances connected
with Harris's going, _he_ had yet a report to make to the department
commander.
"Frankly, general," said he, "I do not wish to say what I know unless I
have to--and your changing your report might make it necessary."
This had occurred the night before 'Tonio's coming, and now, in the
silence of midnight, as the two sat smoking on the veranda, while
Lilian lay in her little white room listening in wordless rapture, in
sweet unrest, to the murmurous sound of the deep voice that had
enthralled her senses, while Mrs. Archer, wife and mother, slept the
sleep of the just and the wearied, the old general turned again to that
subject that weighed so heavily on his heart and soul.
"By heaven, Willett," he said, "here it is midnight and no Sanchez. If
he isn't in by mail-time to-morrow I'll have to send a party--or else a
courier--to Prescott."
"Does the mail usually reach you Sunday, sir?"
"Hasn't failed once since my coming! They send it by way of McDowell,
over on the Verde. If Sanchez isn't here, or the mail either, I'll know
that 'Tonio was right, that we're hemmed in, and that they have killed
our messengers. And they are expecting to hear from me at
head-quarters, and probably wondering at my silence. Another thing to
be explained."
"Another?" said Willett.
"Another. Of course I must straighten out that matter about Harris. I
own I sent it under wrong im--impressions. I thought at first he had
ignored my authority, but that was unjust. The more I think of it, the
more I blame myself."
"Then--how you must blame _me_!"
"Well--no! You doubtless feel that he did ignore you and your authority,
though I own it wasn't my intention that you should assume _command_
over him. You are both young and you perhaps judge more sharply than I,
but I've learned to know the fallibility of human judgment. I've
suffered too much from it myself, and the fact stares me in the face
that Harris knew just what ought to be done, and went and did it. He
rescued that poor creature at the risk of his life, and he--deserves
the credit of it."
Willett was silent a moment. He seemed reluctant to speak. Finally and
slowly he said:
"General Archer, it is an ungracious thing to pull down another man's
reputation, especially when, as in this case, Harris and I are
classmates and I, at least, am _his_ friend. And, therefore, I still
prefer to say nothing. I was in hopes that Captain Stannard and his
fellows might be back by this time, with the Bennett boys for one
thing, and with--the truth for another."
"What truth?" demanded Archer.
"The real truth--as I look upon it--the real credit of that rescue, you
will find, sir, belongs to Stannard and his troop, with such little aid
as they may have received from those who advised and guided them--the
scouts. _But_ for Stannard the hostiles would have gotten away, not
only with Mrs. Bennett, but with Harris. Harris made a hare-brained
attempt to rescue her single-handed. He only succeeded in running his
own neck into a noose. Your wisdom, and God's mercy, sent Stannard just
in the nick of time, and there's the whole situation in a nut shell."
For a moment Archer was silent. Who does not like to hear praise of his
wisdom, especially when self-inclined to doubt it?
"But the doctor tells me Harris had the Indians on the run before ever
Stannard was sighted--that he and his handful of scouts alone attacked,
defeated and drove them, that his scouts were chasing them and were
mistaken themselves for hostiles, and were fired at by Stannard's men
at long range."
"Yes," said Willett, with calm deliberation. "That is just the story I
should expect Harris to tell."
And sore at heart, and far from satisfied, the general suggested a
nightcap, and Willett presently left him, though not, as it
subsequently transpired, for the adjutant's quarters and for bed. It
was late the following day before his next appearance near the Archers.
Sunday morning had come, as peaceful and serene as any that ever broke
on New England village, and Sunday noon, hot and still, and many an
hour since early sun up anxious eyes had scanned the old McDowell
trail, visible in places many a mile before it disappeared among the
foothills of the Mazatzal, but not a whiff of dust rewarded the eager
watchers.
Archer's binocular hung at the south-west pillar of the porch, and
another swung at the northward veranda of the old log hospital. The
road to Dead Man's Canon wound along the west bank of the stream,
sometimes fording it for a short cut, and that road, the one by which
Sanchez should have come, was watched wellnigh as closely as the other.
Nothing up to luncheon time had been seen or heard of human being
moving without the limits of the post; nothing by Lilian Archer of her
gallant of the night before.
In times of such anxiety men gather and compare notes. The guard had
been strengthened during the night, and its members sat long in the
moonlight, chatting in low tone. The officer of the day, making the
rounds toward two o'clock, noted that the lights were still burning at
the store, and, sauntering thither, found a game going on in the common
room--Dago seeking solace from his sorrows in limited monte with three
or four employes and packers, while in the officers' room was still
another, with only one officer present and participating. To Captain
Bonner's surprise Lieutenant Willett, aide-de-camp, was "sitting in"
with Bill Craney, the trader, Craney's brother-in-law and partner, Mr.
Watts, Craney's bookkeeper, Mr. Case, a man of fair education and
infirm character who had never, it was said, succeeded in holding any
other position as long as six months. Here, as Craney admitted, he
hadn't enough to occupy him three weeks out of the four, and, so long
as he could tend to that much, he was welcome to "tank up" when he
pleased. That clerk had been a gentleman, he said, and behaved himself
like one now, even when he was drunk. The officers treated him with
much consideration, but to no liquor. Willett, knowing nothing of his
past, had been doing the opposite, and Mr. Case's monthly spree was
apparently starting four days ahead of time. Moreover, Mr. Case seemed
inspired by some further agent, for though unobtrusive, almost, as
ever, he was possessed with a strange, feverish impulse to pit himself
against Willett, and almost to ignore all others in the game. A fifth
player was a stranded prospector whom Craney knew, and presumably
vouched for. Luck must have been going Willett's way in violation of
the adage, at the time of Bonner's entrance, for the table in front of
him was stacked high with chips, and four men of the five were
apparently getting excited.
Bonner seldom played anything stronger than casino and cribbage, nor
did he often waste an hour, night or day, in the card room. This night,
however, he was wakeful, and had seen that which even made him a trifle
nervous. He had visited every sentry post, finding his men alert and
vigilant. 'Tonio's words had already been communicated to the guard,
and self-preservation alone prompted every man to keep a sharp lookout.
Bonner had noted as he stepped out on the side porch of his quarters,
where hung the big earthen olla in its swathing bands, that 'Tonio lay,
apparently sound asleep, at the side door of the doctor's quarters, and
Bonner found himself pondering over the undoubted devotion of this
silent, lonely son of the desert to the young soldier lying wounded
within. Bonner left him as he found him. 'Tonio had not stirred. Barely
twenty minutes thereafter, as he finished examination of the two
sentries on the north front, and came down along the bank at the rear
of the officers' quarters, he found Number Five, a Civil War veteran
and, therefore, not easily excited, kneeling at the edge, with his
rifle at "ready," gazing steadily toward a clump of willows at the
stream bed, some five hundred feet away, listening so intently that the
officer halted, rather than mortify him by coming on his post
unchallenged. The brilliant moonlight made surrounding objects almost
as light as day, and Bonner could see nothing unusual or unfamiliar
along the sandy flat to the east. So, finally, he struck his scabbard
against a rock by way of attracting Number Five's attention, and
instantly the challenge came.
"What was the matter, Five?" asked Bonner, after being advanced and
recognized, and the answer threw little light upon the subject.
"I wish I knew, sir, but there was some one--crying--down there in the
bush--not five minutes ago."
"Crying! You're crazy, Kerrigan!"
"That's what _I_ said, sir, when first I heard it, but--whist now!"
Both men bent their ears--the veteran sentry, the veteran company
commander. Both had spent years in service, in the South in the war
days, in the West ever since, and neither was easily alarmed.
As sure as they stood there somebody was sobbing--a low,
heart-breaking, half-stifled sound, down there somewhere among the
willows, that for two hundred yards, at least, lined the stream. "Come
with me," said the captain instantly, and together the two went
plunging down the sandy slope and out over the flats beneath, and into
the shadows at the brink, and up and down the low bank between the
fords, and not a living being could they find.
"What first caught your ear?" asked Bonner, as together, finally, they
came plodding back.
"Sure, I heard the captain come out on his side porch for a drink at
the olla, sir, and saw him step over and look at the doctor's place
before starting for the guard-house, and I knew he'd be around this way
and was thinking to meet him up yonder where Number Four is, when I
heard Six down here whistling to me, and when I went Six said as how
the dogs way over at the store was barking a lot, and he said had I
seen or heard anything in the willows--he's that young fellow that
'listed back at Wickenburg after the stage holdup--and while we was
talkin' he grabbed me and said, 'Listen! There's Indians out on the
bluff! I heard 'em singing.' I told him he was scared, but when I came
back along the bank I could have sworn I saw something go flashing into
the willows from this side, an' then came the cryin', and then you,
sir."
Bonner turned straightway to his own quarters, to the side porch at the
doctor's--and 'Tonio was gone. Peering within the open doorway, he saw
the attendant nodding in his chair by the little table where dimly
burned the nightlamp, close to the cot where Harris lay in feverish
slumber. Next, the captain started for the post of Number Six, near the
south-east corner of the rectangle, and there was the corporal and the
relief, just marching away with "the young feller that 'listed in
Wickenburg." A new sentry, another old soldier, had taken his place.
There was nothing to do but tell him to keep a sharp lookout and report
anything strange he saw or heard, particularly to be on lookout for
'Tonio. Then he pushed on after the relief, and then, catching sight of
the lights at the trader's, strode briskly over there and stopped a few
minutes, asking himself should he tell Willett what had been heard, and
incidentally to watch the game. Willett, however, was engrossed. His
eyes were dilated and his cheeks were flushed, albeit his demeanor was
almost affectedly cool and nonchalant, and Bonner had not been there
five minutes before a queer thing happened. Willett, playing in
remarkable luck, had raised heavily before the draw. Case, with
unsteady hand, had shoved forward an equal stack. The prospector and
Craney shook their heads and dropped out. Only three were playing when
Willett, dealing, helped the cards according to their demands, and for
himself "stood pat." It was too much for the brother-in-law, but the
bookkeeper, who had been playing mainly against Willett, and apparently
foolishly, now just as foolishly bet his little stack, for without a
second's hesitation Willett raised him seventy-five dollars. It was a
play calculated to drive out a small-salaried clerk. It was neither a
generous nor a gentleman's play. It was, moreover, the highest play yet
seen at Almy, where men were of only moderate means. Even Craney looked
troubled, and Watts and the prospector exchanged murmured remonstrance.
Then all were amazed when Case drew forth a flat wallet from an inner
pocket, tossed it on the table, and simply said, "See--and raise
_you_."
Now there was audible word of warning. Watts looked as though he wished
to interpose, but was checked instantly by Case himself. "Been saving
that for--funer'l expenses," said he doggedly, "but I'm backin' this
hand for _double_ what's in that."
Craney lifted the wallet, shook it, and three fifty-dollar bills
fluttered out upon the table. Willett looked steadily at Case one
moment before he spoke:
"Isn't this a trifle high for a gentleman's game?" said he.
"That's what they said at Vancouver, two years ago, when you bluffed
out that young banker's son."
Willett half rose from his chair. "I _thought_ I'd seen your face
before," said he.
"What I want to know," said the bookkeeper instantly, all deference to
rank or station vanished from tone and manner, "is, do you see my raise
now?"
There was a moment's silence, during which no man present seemed to
breathe. Then slowly Willett spoke:
"No, a straight isn't worth it." Whereupon there was a moment of
embarrassed silence as the stakes were swept across the blanket-covered
table, then a guffaw of rejoiceful mirth from the prospector. Case, as
though carelessly, threw down his cards, face upwards, and there was
not so much as a single pair.
"The drinks are on me, oh, yes," said he, "but the joke's on the
lieutenant."
Yet when Bonner left, five minutes later and the game again was going
on, there was no mirth in it. Nor was there mirth when the sun came
peeping over the eastward range this cloudless Sabbath morning, shaming
the bleary night lights at the store--the bleary eyes at the table.
Bonner found them at it still an hour after reveille, and ventured to
lay a hand on Willett's shoulder. "Can I speak with you a moment?" he
said.
Willett rose unsteadily, but with dignity unshaken by change of
fortune. He had lost as heavily, by this time, as earlier he had won.
"May I be pardoned for suggesting that you would be wise to get out of
this and--a few hours' sleep? The general is up and worried. 'Tonio is
gone!"