It was then lacking nearly an hour of tattoo. Already the arriving
couriers, their mission executed, their wearied horses turned over to
willing hands at stables, their hunger appeased at the troop kitchen,
and the pent-up hankering for beer still unassuaged, were "filling up"
at the expense of their fellows at the store, and wistfully looking on
at the game.
Munoz, the ever-ready; Dago, the still demoralized, and one or two of
their burro-bred community, were settled at monte, Dago and Munoz eying
each other like gladiators, and already a table had started at stud
poker, that might readily develop into "draw." The barkeeper was a busy
man, and had been given the tip to keep sober or lose the last hold he
had on his job. The bookkeeper had for a few days past moved in silence
about the premises, avoiding the common room as he would a lazaretto,
avoiding even his kind. For most of the week he had been utterly unlike
himself--strange, nervous, restless, starting at sudden sounds, abrupt
in speech and manner, occasionally springing to the door and stepping
forth into the sunlight, wandering about with hanging head and hands in
pocket, coming back and slamming into his seat as though at odds with
all creation, striving desperately to concentrate his thoughts on the
columns of figures, and failing wretchedly. "Case is all broke up,"
said Craney, "and damned if I know why. Last week he was the most
popular man in Yavapai, or all Arizona for that matter." What Craney
and his partner mortally feared was that Case would take to drinking
again, with pay-day close at hand--the time of all others Case had
never yet failed them, the time of all others when breach of faith
could mean nothing short of breach of all business relations. But up to
nine P.M. this night of prospective relaxation Case had been a stalwart.
The test was yet to come.
It was still half an hour of tattoo when old Bucketts came into
Bentley's quarters and found that skilled practitioner replacing the
bandages and sling on his patient's shoulder. The tidings brought by
the couriers and given out by Archer had long since been digested.
Bucketts had something new. "Doc," said he, "if you have anything to
say or send to Stannard, now's your chance."
"Don't call me 'Doc'!" snapped Bentley. "If there's anything I hate
it's this curtailing of titles as though they were too good for the man
that bears them. One of these days you'll get your double bars, if you
don't die of over-eating, and then how will you like it to be called
'cap'? How'd you like me to call you 'Buck' now? Who's going to
Stannard?"
"Pass the 'buck,'" said the quartermaster sententiously. "I apologize.
But Willett starts at day-break--takes a sergeant, six men and a pack
outfit--thought you'd like to know. Leaves us with mighty few cavalry,
now that Malloy and his people are still out."
"What keeps them?" asked Harris, looking up from Bentley's busy hands.
"I never heard what they were after."
"You never will," said Bucketts, "unless they stumble on it by
accident," then colored under the look of surprise, almost of reproof,
in the younger officer's face. It was not good that a post commander's
instructions to his men at arms should be slightingly spoken of by one
of his staff, and Bentley knew it; but Bucketts was already mentally
kicking against those very instructions. Now he stood abashed and
awkward. That Willett should be going seemed to Harris of small
matter--a matter of course. He wished himself again in Willett's place.
"How soon can you let _me_ be going?" he asked Bentley.
"We could have had you out by this time if you'd only quit fretting,"
was the gruff reply. "Well, I suppose Willett's glad of a chance to
join his chief?" he said interrogatively, though never looking up.
"Not unless looks belie him," was the answer.
Bentley bent lower over his work. "No--physical hindrance that I know
of," said he suggestively.
"It's financial, I take it," said Bucketts sturdily. "Our investigator
finds it--expensive--here at Almy."
So the sore was rankling still, and that luckless order had hurt no one
so much as him who bore it, and so those who might have been his
friends were taking a certain malicious comfort in his discomfiture. It
was not Willett's fault that he had come thus handicapped, but one
thing added to another had made him the disliked of men. Was it in
compensation for this that he stood so beloved of women? Then Bucketts,
having thus relieved himself, ventured again a glance at Harris, and
the younger soldier's eyes were on his, searching, questioning. It was
for Bucketts to explain, and he did it thus:
"Excuse me, Mr. Harris; I am not over-partial to this distinguished
classmate of yours, and, to put it flatly, I'm no more his friend that
he is yours. I'll say good-night." Whereupon this blunt official turned
and quit the room, colliding at the door with an entering form, that of
Strong, whose impact added to the quartermaster's distemper, for Strong
was in a hurry, and half-savage mood.
"Doctor," said he, bolting in, with scant apology to his staggered
fellow staff officer, "Craney wants to know if you're coming down
to-night. He's worried a bit about Case."
"What's the matter with Case?" asked Bentley, barely looking up from
the final tie of the sling, while Harris settled back in his chair.
"That's what he wants to ask _you_. I don't know, except he says Case
hasn't slept for six nights, and he'll be wild as a hawk when the
paymaster gets here; wants you to give him something to make him sleep,
I believe. I told him I'd tell you, and now the general's shooting off
his quill at the office. Hope you're better, Harris. Good-night."
"Reckon I'll have to go down awhile, anyhow. Harris, what Bucketts said
was true, though he oughtn't to have said it. Willett has been playing
late these last two nights, with Watts, principally, but Craney says he
seemed oddly anxious to get Case into the game, and Case wouldn't
play--wouldn't stay about the place while Willett was there--wouldn't
have anything to do with him. Willett has lost quite a lot, I'm told,
and now he's ordered off."
Harris was still silent. He had no love for Willett, at best. He had
had in their cadet days more reasons than one for his dislike. He had
far more reason now, yet never dreamed of still another--that report to
department head-quarters. But Willett was his classmate, and,
outwardly, they were friends. Bentley and, in fact, all the officers at
Almy were new-found acquaintances, well as some few were known to him
by reputation. Still, it came to him something of a shock that Hal
Willett should no sooner seem well enough to be about than he should
turn directly from her good-night words--her kiss, perhaps--to the
gambling table and its probable accompaniments. It boded ill for the
happiness of that sweet girl's future, and as Harris sat brooding,
Bentley, unheard, unnoted, slipped away, and presently, with brisk step
and buoyant mien, Hal Willett himself came bounding in. Barely ten
minutes ago Bucketts had given the impression that he seemed dejected,
dispirited, yet Willett now was confidence and energy personified.
"Hefty, old boy, how much cash have you got in hand? I want three
hundred dollars."
There was no answer for a moment. Well as Harris thought he knew
Willett, this was a surprise.
"What for?" were the exact words of the response, and neither in tone
nor manner were there encouragement.
"I've got to pull out at dawn, I suppose you've heard, and I shouldn't
like to leave I.O.U.'s--here!" And now the cheery confidence seemed
evaporating. Willett's face was shading.
"Won't you sit down?" asked Harris reflectively. "I'd like to know
something about--this."
"There isn't time, Harris. I'm in a hole, so to speak. I hate to bother
you, but I'd rather come to a classmate and old friend, who is in
position, as I know, to help out, than give these fellows a chance to
talk. Probably they've been talking already, and you've heard," and
now, with something like a resumption of the old familiar manner of
their boy days at the Point, Willett settled on the broad, flat arm of
the reclining chair and threw his own arm, long and muscular, over the
back. There had come to be a saying in the gray battalion, when Willett
was seen strolling with a comrade, his arm caressingly encircling him,
"Well, Willett's doing the bunco act again." Possibly it was the
instinctive shrinking of the wounded shoulder; certain it was that
Harris drew perceptibly away, and Willett noticed it. "I didn't hurt
you, did I?" said he.
"It's rather touchy yet," was the answer.
"Well, say, Hefty, here's the situation. You don't play, so you won't
appreciate, maybe, and I only play once in a good while, but they rung
in a brace game on me. That fellow Case is no better'n a professional,
and you saw for yourself here what a cad he could be. He got my money
that Saturday night and Sunday, and since then, like the cad he is, has
refused to play it out--give me a chance to get it back----"
"Do you play with cads?" interrupted Harris.
"Not when I know it--to start with," answered Willett, flushing and
beginning to draw away. Obviously the affectionate and confidential
method was a failure. "But when a man's got your money, cad or no cad,
you want it back."
"And Case has your three hundred dollars?"
"Just about. Then I owe Craney and Watts quite a lot. I lost a hundred
in cash in the first place. I never saw such luck in all my life! And
now, instead of going back to Prescott, I've got to skip for the
war-path. Watts says the money he gave me in chips he owes to others
who were in the game at one time or other, and he needs currency, not
I.O.U.'s. Looks like a regular _com_bine, doesn't it?"
"You couldn't expect to win--everything there was in sight," said
Harris quietly.
Willett flushed again. He had slipped from the broad arm to the narrow
camp chair recently occupied by the doctor. Harris was displaying
unexpected resistance. Willett had been accustomed to speedier
surrender to his advances.
"It's more on that account than any other I hate to leave here with
these things hanging over me," he answered moodily. Then, by way of
expediting matters, "Time's mighty short--short as _I_ am--and
Watts says you have a stack of greenbacks in the safe."
Again silence a moment. Then Harris turned fully upon his visitor and
spoke deliberately.
"You ask me to do what I declared three years ago I never would do, and
that I have refused to do ever since--loan a man money with which to
gamble or pay gambling debts. I need this money, Willett, to send home.
I've been saving and sending home ever since I joined, but that's not
why I won't play--and don't drink."
"Oh, we know how virtuous you are!" began Willett, with something like
a sneer, but was checked with sudden, startling force. Harris almost
sprang from his chair.
"None of that, Willett!" he cried, his voice harsh with anger. "Your
ways and mine are wide apart, but I'll stand no sneering. You come to
me for help and you're going to get it, not because you scoff at my
views, but in spite of it; not for your sake, but that of the old
Academy. You and I are the only West Pointers at this post, bar the
dear old general. You and I are classmates, and I know you, and
_don't_ believe in you, but the money's yours for the asking. You
say you come to me as an old friend, and I have never had faith in your
friendship. I know how other men's and some women's names have suffered
at your hands, and I don't know what you may have done to mine,
but----" and now Harris was on his feet, standing over Willett--sitting
there gripping the frail arms of a canvas-covered straddle-box, and
looking up into the elder soldier's--the junior officer's--face in
amaze. Never before had Willett been so braved by man or woman--"But
your name shall be protected for just two reasons--and protected just
so long as you can show you're worth it. But--Willett, I'm not
preaching on drink or gambling now. There's another thing you've got to
stop--or I'm done with you." And then Harris himself stopped short.
"I don't know what you mean," began Willett, shifting uneasily.
"You _do_ know what I mean! You've only to go back to your graduating
June, when you were spooning day and night over a society flirt there
at the hotel--a married woman at that--and your mantel-shelf was
stacked high with unopened, unanswered letters from the poor girl you
were engaged to. You were, Willett, in sight of God and man, so don't
deny it! And she was telegraphing to me in pity to say was Harold
sick--or what. She broke with you, of course, after you broke her
heart. And you've been at that sort of thing ever since, unless the
Division of the Pacific is a nest of liars--oh, bosh! I don't count
Case, though it's like enough he told the truth. But now, Willett,
you're _here_! and--what have we to expect at Almy?"
"Damn my past all you like, Harris. No man's more ashamed of it than I,
but don't damn my future!" And now Willett was on _his_ feet, his eyes
snapping, his face aflame. "I was never so earnest in my life. [Small
comfort that! thought Harris.] I never knew before what it was to be
utterly in earnest. Stop it! Why, man, where have I--or you--ever known
a girl like _her_? Stop it! Oh, here, Hefty, I can't talk as I feel.
You _must_ see how different this is--how much this means to me! The
man doesn't deserve to live that--that could be untrue to a girl like
that?"
"That's--sound enough," said poor Hefty. "But how long will you hold to
it?"
"So long as I live, Harris," was the solemn, the surprising answer.
"God knows I mean it," and Willett held forth his hand.
And Willett believed he meant it--firmly, solemnly believed he meant
it, and his handsome face was never handsomer, never more eloquent of
love, repentance, determination to do a man's manful part in
furtherance of his devotion than at this moment when, in the dimly
lighted, scantily furnished, low-ceilinged little room, these two men
of different mould, these classmates of the nation's soldier school,
stood and looked into each other's eyes, and slowly Harris began to
stretch forth his left hand, then, stopping suddenly, slipped the right
forearm from its broad white sling, steadied the elbow with his left,
and slowly turned the thin, feeble fingers to meet the warm clasp of
that before him.
"It's one of 'Tonio's tricks," said he. "_Mano recto, mano cierto._
Stick to that, Willett, and, by God, I'll stand by you in spite of
everything I've ever thought or heard. Steady!"
Somebody was at the door. Harris saw and checked the effusive thanks on
Willett's lips.
"What's that about 'Tonio?" said a ringing voice, as a "blouse" and
buttons followed the blue sleeve into the field of vision, and the
adjutant came slowly in. "Queer! D'you know I was thinking of him that
very minute. Signal fire out south-east! Some Indians want to talk and
afraid to come in. Turner's gone out with a squad to sample 'em.
Willett, how soon are you coming over? The general's got the despatches
ready."
"Right away, if you like! What's it now?"
"Ten twenty," said Strong, with a squint at his watch. "There's no
hurry. He's writing personals now, and Bentley's just up from the
store. There's news in of some kind from McDowell way, and Munoz and
Sanchez have jumped the game and quit. You'll probably have 'Patchie
guides after all, Willett. Going down to the store after awhile?"
"For a moment, perhaps, after I've said good-night at the general's,"
answered Willett, anxious now to end the business and be away. But in
came Bentley.
"Get back to the office, Strong," said he; "the general wants you;
Turner's in and says there's no one near the fire, no one to answer.
All they found was this. The general thought you might understand it,
Harris. It lay on a rock by the fire."
He held forth a single feather, gray and white, tied with a bit of pink
tape to a scrap of cardboard, torn from some cartridge case and folded
over. Within, roughly traced in paint, were two figures--a 3 and a 2.
"It means, 'Tonio," said Harris simply, "and he wants to talk. What has
happened that he should be afraid to come in--here?"
Willett heard and knew and would have stayed, but the doctor for once
looked embarrassed, and Strong signalled Willet to come with him. "I'll
be back presently, Hefty," said Willett significantly, and vanished.
Even then Bentley faltered. "I'll let the general answer that," said
he. "How can 'Tonio be summoned in?"
"Only as I did, at the Peak, and on honor that he may go," was the
answer. "Unless--I can go out to him."
"You can't--to-night, anyhow! Is there no one else he'll meet who can
understand him?"
"Only one American--Case."
"Humph!" was the answer, with a shrug and a keen, inquiring look in the
doctor's eyes. "I've shown it to Case, and he says 'Tonio has only one
object in life now, in or out of the post, and that is to square
accounts with Willett, who was ass enough to strike him. This from
Case, mind you, who, I believe, hates Willett himself. I've just got
him stowed away for the night. Had to take him out of earshot of the
store and put him in limbo at Craney's shack, where he can't hear
what's going on. I gave him a dose that would flatten out St. Vitus
himself. There'll be no budging Case this night unless--but that isn't
likely."
"Then I need to go and see the general," said Harris.
"Then the general will come to see you--here. My word for it," said
Bentley, and went his way.
It was then nearly eleven. Five minutes later Willett, with relieved
heart and elastic step, was hastening back to the general's quarters
where sweet, yet tearful, welcome awaited him. An hour later he stepped
forth into the starlight, turning to kiss his hand and wave silent
good-night to a slender, shadowy form at the doorway, under the shelter
of the gallery. Something in its pathetic droop and distress called him
once again to her side, and with fond, clasping arms he drew the
sobbing girl to his heart and pressed kiss after kiss upon the
upturned, tear-wet little face. "Try to sleep, my darling!" he
murmured. "Mother will wake you at four, and we'll have a moment before
I go!"
"Mother won't _have_ to wake me!" she cried, clinging to him the while.
"Oh, Harold, if you only had not--to meet 'Tonio again!"
"No fear of 'Tonio, sweetheart," he answered. "Now, go I _must_!" And
so, with her kiss upon his lips, he left her to be led by loving mother
hands to her little white room, and to her humble prayers, and the
love-guarded pillow, where, lying wide-awake, still an hour later, she
heard the shot and stifled scream that called a garrison to arms.