That was a wretched night at Sandy. Accustomed as the regiment had
been to battle, and murder, and sudden death, there was something
indescribably mournful in the circumstances attending Tanner’s tragic
fate. He had been sent away on the very anniversary of the death of
his first-born, refusing in his soldierly way to allow the commanding
officer to be informed of a fact that might lead to a change in the
detail, since there were so many ready and eager to go in his stead. He
had had two sharp and successful encounters with the very band which
he had been sent out to punish, and, having scattered them to the four
winds, was joyfully on his way homeward to join his dearly-loved wife
and little ones in time for Christmas; had written the glad news of
his coming (Ah, was she not re-reading that blessed letter to Rosalie
when the blow came?), and, when only two days’ march away from the
post, as they bivouacked at evening beside a rapid-running stream, he
and some two or three men had stolen forth to “stalk” a deer they saw
on a hill-side not five hundred yards away. Half an hour afterwards
four shots were heard in quick succession, then shouts and scattering
shots, and Ray, springing to his feet, seized his carbine, and, with a
yell of “Come on,—_lively_, men!” had darted off through the thickets.
In three minutes they were standing over Tanner’s lifeless body.
Too late to succor, but not too late to avenge. It seems that three
or four Indians, relatives probably of the prisoners whom they were
bringing in, had followed the command on its homeward march, and from
their ambush among the rocks it had been an easy thing to pick off the
captain as he crept up the hill-side, intent only on getting a shot
at the deer. Two rifle-bullets had pierced him through and through,
and death must have been instantaneous. The skulking foe of course had
fled, but Ray had his scouts in pursuit in less than no time, and long
before dark two were overtaken and died fighting. Two of Tanner’s own
men were sent forward with a brief report of the sad affair, hurriedly
written by Lieutenant Ray, and on the following morning the detachment,
bringing the lifeless remains of their late commander, resumed their
march in bitter sorrow.
And now, what was the effect in the garrison? The tidings flew from
mouth to mouth, and in shocked, solemn silence the news was heard
by officers and men. In the entire regiment no man had been more
universally respected than Tanner, few, if any, were as popular; but,
deeply as they mourned him, the one question that seemed to rise first
to all lips was, “How will she bear it?” All hearts seemed to turn at
once to her, and women who but yesterday would resent the faintest word
of praise lavished upon Mrs. Tanner were now flocking to her quarters,
where she lay hovering ’twixt life and death.
Mrs. Wilkins had been the first to hurry in, summoned by the doctor,
and very soon Truscott had come down-stairs and taken sobbing,
terrified, lonely little Rosalie in his arms. Presently Mrs. Raymond
and Mrs. Turner appeared, and with awe and sympathy in their faces
begged the doctor to let them be of some assistance. He was flitting
nervously to and fro: now up in the sick-room, where she lay moaning
and senseless; now coming to the parlor to exchange a few words with
Truscott. Then he had telegraphed to Prescott, begging that his
comrade, the post-surgeon at Whipple, might be sent at once. Lady after
lady had strived to induce Rosalie to leave Truscott’s arms and come
to her for the night, but she seemed to shrink from all and to turn
shudderingly, clingingly, with fresh outbursts of tears, to him; and,
despite the pain it caused him, Jack held her to his breast and strove
to soothe her to sleep. At last, just as the first call for tattoo was
sounding, worn out with her wild grief, the sunny, curly head drooped
upon his shoulder and the heavy eyelids closed in slumber. Still he
carried her to and fro, as he had when she was a mite of a baby, and
as he looked down into the innocent, helpless, trusting little face,
never more to know a father’s kiss and blessing, great tears stole from
his own hot eyes, and burying his worn, haggard face among her bonny
curls, Jack Truscott sobbed silently in his grief. And on this picture
Grace Pelham entered, looked one moment with a world of wistfulness,
of entreaty, of love, tenderness, sympathy and utter misery in her
swimming eyes, then turned and fled—unseen.
All that weary night Truscott haunted the parlor, while the doctor and
Mrs. Wilkins kept watch and ward o’erhead. Sometimes he snatched a few
minutes of broken sleep upon the sofa, but morning found him pale and
haggard and looking worse than when he returned from the scout.
“This will never do, Jack,” said the doctor. “You must go home and get
to bed.” But Truscott avowed his intention of going with the ambulance
to meet the remains. There seemed to be nothing he could do there. She
had recovered consciousness once towards morning, but only to fall away
again. “Still,” said the doctor, “if we can only keep her quiet we may
pull her through. It is the waking I dread as much as anything else.”
At stables in the morning Colonel Pelham did not appear. A group of
officers—Canker, Crane, Carroll, and Glenham—were in conversation,
when Truscott walked rapidly past them, merely nodding, and entered
the quartermaster’s corral. Coming out again, he was heard to say, as
though speaking to the driver of the ambulance,—
“Come round to my quarters, then. I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”
With that he was again passing them, when the senior officer, near whom
was standing an orderly, called to him,—
“Mr. Truscott!”
“What is it?” said the adjutant, surprised at the formality of the
salutation, but not checking his rapid walk.
“I wish to see you, sir,” called Captain Canker after him, reddening
with chagrin as he did so.
“I’m in a hurry now, captain,” replied Truscott, absently. “Come to my
quarters.” And on he went, plunged in his gloomy thoughts, and in an
instant had entered the band-stables, out of sight.
Canker fairly snapped with rage. Treated with disrespect and indignity
by the very officer of all others whom he most desired to get upon the
hip—the very officer whom it was now in his power doubly to humiliate.
Ignored in his high position as commander of the post, now that Colonel
Pelham was sick in quarters, what better opportunity needed he?
“You heard that language, gentlemen!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Carroll, Mr.
Glenham, come with me.” And hurrying after the adjutant, Captain Canker
entered the band-stables in high dudgeon.
“Captain,” suggested Carroll, “I’m certain that Truscott had no idea
you were in command of the post.”
“That’s d—d nonsense, sir! It’s his business to know.”
And though Mr. Carroll was confident that, being on sick report, and
furthermore, utterly taken up with his cares at Tanner’s quarters,
Mr. Truscott did not know that the colonel had again taken to his bed
and turned over the command at reveille to the senior captain, he
was diplomatic enough to hold his peace. It is always safer to let a
comrade get rapped over the knuckles undeservingly than to attempt to
restrain the impetuosity of such commanders as Canker, and of many
another not exactly like him; and, besides, Carroll possibly wanted to
see how “His Infallibility,” as Truscott had once been nicknamed, would
stand a reprimand.
They found him in earnest conversation with the sergeant-major and
with the corporal of Tanner’s troop who had brought in the news. He did
not notice their approach.
Canker rapidly stepped to his side, his eyes flashing, his face flushed
with passion.
“Mr. Truscott, did you hear me say that I wished to see you?”
“Certainly, captain,” said Jack, very calmly, but looking vastly
surprised at the sudden appearance of this irate captain and his
satellites.
“Then how dare you pass me by, sir?” and at the furious, undignified
tone the men looked up in amaze. Every brush and curry-comb seemed to
need cleaning at that minute, and the non-commissioned staff and band,
almost to a man, ceased grooming.
Worn, wearied, harassed both mentally and physically, Truscott was in
no condition to calmly submit to an unjust overhauling from a man of
Canker’s calibre. The blood rushed to his face at the arrogance, the
utter lack of consideration, of decency in the captain’s manner. But
with perfect self-poise, despite it all, he courteously spoke.
“I had no idea that you were in command of the post, as I presume you
must be.”
“You ought to have known it, sir, if you had sense enough to know
anything.”
And now Mr. Carroll was turning away in disgust, and Glenham stood a
picture of indignant helplessness. Truscott turned from red to white,
and looked squarely into Canker’s eyes as the latter stormed furiously
on.
“I’ve had abundant opportunity to remark your discourtesy and slights
on previous occasions, sir, and now you have the insolence to ignore
my authority as commanding officer in the presence of the command. I——”
“One moment, captain,” said Truscott, raising his hand deprecatingly,
and speaking with the utmost self-control and respect. “Let me repeat,
that I had no idea you were in command. I was deeply engrossed in
thought of far different matters. I thought you merely wished to speak
to me about some personal affairs, as I’m not on duty as adjutant
this——”
“No, by God!” burst in Canker, to whom Truscott’s power over himself
was only an additional goad. With all the malignity of a low,
tyrannical nature, what he wanted was an excuse to rasp and humiliate
the adjutant, not to listen to explanations that were establishing the
latter’s entire innocence of wrong so far as intent was concerned. “No,
by God! you are not on duty as adjutant; and a most fortunate thing it
is for the regiment that in that capacity your days are numbered.”
Truscott simply stared at him in surprise and absolute pity, and Canker
saw it.
“I’m not blowing, sir, as you seem to think. Four days ago the
colonel directed me to see you and request your resignation.” And
still Truscott stood calm and stately. It was simply exasperating to
poor Canker. Determined to break through that impenetrable armor of
reserve and dignity, he flew on another tack. “You were giving some
instructions to the driver of the ambulance just now. By what right,
sir?”
“I merely asked him to stop for me at my quarters. I desired to go down
the valley to meet Captain Tanner’s remains.”
“I have detailed Captain Turner for that purpose, sir. You cannot go.”
“I did not expect to go in an official capacity, but it never occurred
to me for an instant that any one would prohibit my going to meet the
body of my oldest and most intimate friend.”
“It _is_ prohibited, sir, emphatically, and for excellent reason. From
the colonel down, sir, it is prohibited, and it is a brazen-faced
outrage on your part to expect to be allowed to go.”
Even Carroll and Glenham here stepped forward as though to check him,
and Carroll seized his arm.
“Captain, captain, for God’s sake, not here! Think where you are.”
And suddenly, as though realizing that every man was listening, Canker
turned.
“I will see you again about this, Mr. Truscott, but understand,—you
cannot go.”
For an instant Truscott stood dazed, then hurried after them,
overtaking the party at the gate. From the adjoining stables Captain
Raymond and Mr. Wilkins were approaching.
“Captain Canker,” said Truscott, and now fire was flashing from his
eyes, “you have used words which require immediate explanation.”
“I say, sir,” almost shouted Canker, “that you are the last man in
the regiment to be allowed to go to meet the remains of a man _we_
honored, sir! _Your_ conduct has been too monstrous. You have been long
suspected, but now the thing is known throughout the whole garrison.”
“What thing, sir?”
“Your grossly improper, _criminal_, probably, relations with Mrs.
Tanner——”
Crash!
Something like a flash of lightning had seemed to shoot from Truscott’s
shoulder, and with a thud, plunge, and sputter Captain Canker lay
sprawling on his back, after ploughing up several square feet of
gravel, and Raymond and Carroll had thrown themselves on Truscott, who,
a living embodiment of fury, stood glaring at the stunned foeman at his
feet.
“No more of this, Truscott! I don’t blame you. I heard it,” said
Raymond. “Go at once to your quarters. I’ll see that he is looked
after.” And escorted by Carroll, the adjutant slowly, silently, walked
away.
“Send Bucketts here at once,” he said to Carroll, as he entered his
hall and closed the door after him.
Meantime the other officers had raised Canker to his feet. He had
been knocked half senseless by the force of the blow, and blood was
streaming from his nostrils, and his eye was rapidly closing, but his
first impulse on rising was to get at Truscott. He was blind with rage,
and it required great effort to control him. Little by little the
gravity of the situation overcame his fury, and he suffered himself to
be led to his quarters; but half the command, probably, had seen the
affair, and with huge delight the men were commenting on the scientific
manner in which “the adjutant knocked ould Canker out of time in one
crack.”
Raymond was urging Canker to take no steps in the matter until he had
cooled down.
“Of course the whole thing will get to the colonel’s ears at once, and
you had better let him deal with the matter,” said Raymond.
But Canker thought he knew his own business best, and sent at once
for Major Bucketts, who stumped in with his customary expression of
profound gravity, while the commanding officer was being plastered with
brown paper and vinegar by the hands of his flurried and tearful wife.
“Major Bucketts, you will place Mr. Truscott in close arrest at once.”
“By whose order, captain?” said Bucketts, imperturbably.
“By mine, of course, sir. I command the post.”
“Very well, sir,” said Bucketts, and vanished.
Ten minutes afterwards he banged the hilt of his sabre against
Truscott’s door and entered, finding Jack stripped to the waist,
bathing, and attempting to rebandage the gash on his breast, which
recent muscular action seemed to have reopened.
“Just hold on a moment, Jack, till I commit you in due form, and then
I’ll help you at that. You are hereby placed in close arrest, by order
of Captain Canker; and may God have mercy on your soul, and you on
his’n! What did you hit him with? he’s knocked all one-sided.” Thus
irreverently and flippantly discoursed the quartermaster, as he threw
off his sabre, belt, and gauntlets and went to the assistance of his
friend.
“I haven’t my spurs on, Jack, but you’ll observe the arrest all the
same, and won’t go back on me. Never mind what it’s about now. Let’s
get you comfortable first.” And by dint of some minutes’ work Major
Bucketts succeeded in getting the bandage back where it belonged and
Jack into his clothes and easy-chair.
Truscott lay there very pale and quiet, saying nothing, but there was
a look in his face Bucketts did not like to see; something terrible in
its intensity. Stepping in next door to the doctor’s quarters, he found
him plunging his head in cold water and listening to Carroll’s excited
description of the affray. The quartermaster boiled with rage when he
heard the language which had called forth Truscott’s blow, and then
requested the doctor to come with him a moment.
“I want you to be with me when I have my talk with Jack. Of course,
_now_ he has got to be told the whole thing; and the question is, can
he stand it now? Go and see him.”
So the doctor had gone, and in the course of half an hour returned to
Bucketts, saying that Truscott was calm and composed, but insisted upon
knowing the uttermost detail of the story in which his good name was
involved. “He will have to rest until we do tell him, and I think it
best we should go at once,” was the doctor’s decision; so they went.
“Jack,” said Bucketts, “I’ll make it short as I can, yet tell you all I
know, and I believe all anybody knows, and if I go wrong, doctor, you
correct me. Not until the day before you got back did I know anything
about it, but the doctor and myself have gone to the bottom of the
whole story. For some reason Mrs. Pelham has been determined to get
you away from this post. The ladies all say that, and it is mainly
through them that we reached the facts. She has been steadily at work
ever since you met them at Prescott in striving to prejudice people
against you, and finally she got hold of some infernal story circulated
by that girl the Tanners discharged at Phœnix, to the effect that you
had been unduly intimate with Mrs. Tanner when in Kansas, and she has
been putting the colonel up to it ever since. Now of the facts I can
only tell you this. She has a letter from Mrs. Treadwell saying that
when Tanner was in the field you came to Phœnix, and she saw Mrs.
Tanner crying in your arms in her parlor. The night Tanner left here
Miss Pelham and Hunter saw Mrs. Tanner leaning in your arms out there
on the bluff, and the night you were wanted when those despatches came
after midnight, and you could not be found, the colonel and Canker saw
you coming out of her house. I know, and the doctor knows, that it is
all susceptible of explanation. But those facts were industriously
circulated everywhere about the post, and we would have told you
yesterday but for the doctor, who said you were not well enough.”
To all this, told rapidly and quietly, Truscott listened without a
word. He knit his brow at times, a look of surprise came into his face
at mention of Mrs. Treadwell’s name, but even after Bucketts had ceased
he sat for a few moments in silence.
Then looking coolly, wearily around him, Jack rose, went to his
wardrobe, took a letter from the pocket of his blouse, and returned to
the fireplace.
“Bucketts,” said he, “it is a fact that Mrs. Tanner did on one occasion
cry in my arms at Phœnix. She probably would have done so the night
Tanner marched if she had not fainted dead away, and it is also a fact
that long after midnight I came from her house when those despatches
arrived. In fact, had I not heard the noise outside I would have been
there an hour longer. For myself, I absolutely refuse to make any
explanation _now_, but for her sake that which may seem necessary shall
be done. This letter will account for my presence at Tanner’s at the
hour which has scandalized Camp Sandy, and, doctor, you can doubtless
account for the other enumerated indiscretions. Now, Bucketts, I have a
question to ask. Was it on this account that the colonel requested my
resignation, as that—as Captain Canker stated this morning?”
“So Canker says, and so it has been told all over the post. Turner and
I went to the colonel two days ago, and he promised us that nothing
farther should be said or done until you returned, and last evening he
did tell me to see Canker and say to him that he desired him to say
nothing to you now until Tanner’s return, as he would be here in two
days. I did so, but Canker seems to have gone crazy this morning.”
“Then it is doubtless true that Canker’s statement is correct as to the
resignation,” said Jack, while his teeth set almost savagely. “That,
at least, I never could have believed of Pelham; he should never have
delegated that message to any one. Now, gentlemen,” he continued,
“I have a great deal to think of this morning, and I will thank you
both to come to me occasionally. You, doctor, will have to devote
all possible time to Mrs. Tanner, I know, but let me hear how she is
getting on. As for Captain Canker, it is not probable any message will
come from him before evening if it should then, and by that time Ray
will be here.”
And now we have to turn from Truscott and his bitter reflections and
look for Grace, who, of late, has appeared but seldom on the scene.
At any other time so important an announcement as that of the
engagement of the beauty and belle of the regiment, the daughter of
its colonel, to one of its officers, and that one its wealthiest,
would have created wide commotion; but just now everything was
forgotten in the fate that had overtaken Tanner, shrouded the garrison
in mourning, and involved his stricken widow and his most trusted
friend in so strange, so uncanny a complication. The circumstances of
Grace’s engagement have not been explained,—indeed, she never could
satisfactorily explain them herself,—but to make a long and most
unpleasant story short, her mother had speedily added the story of
Truscott’s midnight appearance at Tanner’s to his other enormities,
and this, coupled with what she had seen, so preyed upon the poor
girl’s jealousy and wretchedness that, yielding to her mother’s
representations of all Glenham’s excellences, the debt they owed him
for Ralph’s sake, the deep wrong she was doing him in keeping him in
suspense, “dangling at her apron-strings,” as madame expressed it,
though knowing well that she, not Grace, was there at fault, Grace
Pelham had at last surrendered. “I do _not_ love you,” she told him,
frankly. “I respect and honor and like you, no doubt, but it is not
what you deserve,” and he had rapturously declared that he could wait
to win her love if she would but promise to let him try. And then mamma
had clinched the nail by announcing the engagement, confidentially, to
three or four ladies, and writing it confidentially to two or three
more at department headquarters. And Grace, receiving congratulations
she would eagerly have shunned, and devotions and raptures that she
absolutely shrank from, was profoundly miserable.
Coming suddenly into the Tanners’ parlor at tattoo the night of the
news of his death, she stopped short on seeing Truscott, and then had
turned and fled. Distrusting him as she had, yet unwilling to believe
in his baseness, she now saw him fondling and soothing the child of the
man he was accused of having bitterly wronged, and mingling his tears
with those of the innocent little one because of that man’s death.
No wonder hers had been an almost sleepless night, but early in the
morning she was at her father’s bedside. He was still far from well,
though the ailment seemed to be mental rather than bodily. Lady Pelham
was sleeping the sleep of the just in her own room. She had been up
very late the night before, making love to her prospective son-in-law,
as Mrs. Wilkins put it. Grace had plead distress and illness and gone
to her room.
Soon after guard-mounting a letter was brought to the door. The servant
handed it to Grace, and she, noting with faintly heightened color and
trembling hand that it was addressed in Truscott’s writing to the
colonel, took it up-stairs, and silently placed it before him on the
coverlet.
“Where are my glasses, dear?” he asked. But the glasses were not under
his pillow nor on the bureau. “Read it to me, Grace.”
For a moment she hung back, unwilling, then opened the note, and in a
low, tremulous voice, read as follows:
“CAMP SANDY, A. T., December 20, 187—.
“COLONEL R. R. PELHAM, Commanding —th Regiment of Cavalry U.S.A.
“_Colonel_,—I have the honor to tender my resignation of the
adjutancy of the regiment.
“Very respectfully,
“Your obedient servant,
“JOHN G. TRUSCOTT,
“_1st Lieut. —th Cavalry_.”
“He gives no reason?” asked the colonel, after a long and painful pause.
“Nothing, father.”
Then there was another pause.
“Grace, I want to see Major Bucketts,” said he, at last.
And presently Major Bucketts came, and, after ushering him in, she left
the room.
“Bucketts,” said the colonel, peevishly, “I thought I told you to tell
Canker not to mention this matter to Mr. Truscott until—until Tanner
got back.”
“You did, sir.”
“Didn’t you do it?”
“Certainly, I did, sir. At stables yesterday.”
“But here’s Truscott’s resignation, and, d—n it! I wanted the thing
stopped until—well, for the present anyhow. Where is Captain Canker?
Has he had anything to do with this, do you know?”
“He is in his quarters, sir, and, to the best of my knowledge and
belief, he had all to do with it.”
“That’s horribly awkward,” said the colonel, sitting up in bed. “Has
Truscott gone to meet the body?”
“No, sir.”
“He hasn’t? Why, I supposed, of course, he would go.”
“He wanted to go, sir, but Captain Canker refused permission.” And it
was evident that the quartermaster was grimly enjoying the conversation.
“Canker refused him! Why, what’s the man thinking of? Truscott _ought_
to have gone. Where is he?”
“In close arrest, sir, in his quarters.”
“_What!_ What’s happened?” exclaimed Pelham, already half out of bed.
“Captain Canker took it upon himself to use very dangerous language to
Mr. Truscott at stables. I did not hear it, and prefer not to repeat
what I was told, but there is no doubt of the fact that Truscott
knocked him flat, and that Canker is spending the morning drawing up
charges and specifications by the quire.”
“Go and say to the captain that I resume command at once,” said the
colonel, slipping out of bed with astonishing activity. “Then come to
the office, both of you.”
Doleful indeed was Captain Canker’s appearance when telling his tale
to the colonel half an hour afterwards. His left eye was covered
with a broad bandage, and his nose and cheek were discolored and
contused. Trembling still with indignation and excitement was the
captain, and, after listening patiently to his recital, which, of
course, made no allusion to his insulting, overbearing manner, and
somewhat inaccurately represented his language, and very inaccurately
represented Truscott’s conduct, Pelham spoke very moderately and kindly.
“It is, of course, a most flagrant breach of discipline, and Mr.
Truscott must be held accountable. I shall confirm the arrest; and yet,
Captain Canker, did you not receive a message from me directing you to
postpone further action; not to say anything, in fact, until—well, for
the present?”
“I did, sir,” said Canker, coloring painfully; “but I was justly
indignant at his ignoring my position as commanding officer, and
Captain Tanner could never return to us now, and I was outraged, I
suppose, at the idea of Mr. Truscott’s being allowed to appear as his
friend. Well, there were a dozen reasons why I thought he ought to be
informed at once that his crime was known.”
Pelham winced at the word. Already he was beginning to believe an awful
mistake had been made. He fidgeted uneasily in his chair.
“But how came you to speak of his resignation? That wasn’t necessary
that I can see.”
And Canker had no satisfactory explanation to offer, and left the
colonel’s office in a very unpleasant frame of mind. Then Pelham
sent for Raymond, Carroll, and Glenham, and questioned them as
eye-witnesses. Crane and Wilkins also were summoned, and despite
every effort on their part to say as little as possible any way, the
fact became pretty clearly established that Canker had behaved in an
outrageously unbecoming if not insulting manner. And awfully ill at
ease and unhappy the colonel found himself at the end of his two hours’
confabulation with those gentlemen.
Meantime, Bucketts sat fuming in the adjutant’s chair. In his pocket
he had Tanner’s last letter to Truscott, one that would have forcibly
shaken the colonel and his _confrères_, but Truscott had forbidden
Bucketts and the doctor to make its contents known until after the
colonel had acted upon his resignation.
For a long time after the officers had gone, Colonel Pelham sat
there at his desk in deep perplexity. All over the garrison people
were talking of the exciting events of the day. Everybody knew that
Truscott was in close arrest. Everybody had heard that Canker had
virtually demanded the resignation of the adjutancy in the colonel’s
name. Everybody heard in some mysterious way that the resignation had
been tendered, and all were eagerly speculating on the upshot. This,
too, when only a few miles away now the lifeless body of their gallant
comrade was being borne back to the post, and, all unconscious of that
or any other fact, poor little Mrs. Tanner lay in her darkened room
more dead than alive.
At last the colonel rose and came to Bucketts’ desk.
“Have you had any conversation with Mr. Truscott about this a affair?”
said he.
“Yes, sir,” said Bucketts, promptly.
“Did he—does he explain this—I mean—his very suspicious relations
with Mrs. Tanner?” asked Pelham. And very hesitatingly he asked, and
painfully embarrassed he looked.
Bucketts paused.
“I do not know that I have any right to answer that question, colonel.
In the absence of Turner and Ray, the doctor and myself seemed to be
the only friends left to him. He feels most keenly the manner in which
the matter was brought to his notice, and as no defence was necessary
where the doctor or myself were concerned he made none.” And blushing
very much but still looking steadfastly at his commander, Bucketts went
on: He liked his colonel,—was greatly attached to him in fact,—but was
stung to the quick by the deep trouble brought upon his friend by the
weakness and mismanagement of that officer.
“Do you mean to say that he has a satisfactory explanation?”
“Most assuredly, colonel.”
“Then why does he not come forward with it, or express a desire to do
so? It is my right to know it.”
“He certainly would have done so, sir, and you must pardon me if I
seem wanting in respect, had you yourself sent for him and represented
the allegations against him and given him an opportunity. Instead of
that, at this most trying time, when he has just returned from very
distinguished service, is wounded and sick, his best friend killed,
he finds you holding aloof from him, and a man whom he—whom we all
dislike,—whom you yourself never selected as an intimate before,—_now_
chosen to represent you in a most delicate office, and you see how—how
he did it.” And here Bucketts’ voice rose and trembled and grew husky.
“Again, colonel, I beg your pardon if I speak too strongly, but—I feel
very strongly.”
Redder and redder Pelham had grown.
“Do you mean that he will refuse to explain the matter now?” he asked.
“For Mrs. Tanner’s sake he may explain,” answered Bucketts; “for his
own I am not prepared to say.”
“Well, send for him, anyhow. I want to see him at once,” said the
colonel, with a nervous twitching about his face. It was plain that he
was nettled, miserable, and dissatisfied with himself and everybody
else.
And so it happened that Jack Truscott, to his great surprise, as he sat
talking with Raymond and Carroll, received a summons to come at once to
the commanding officer’s presence. A dozen pairs of eyes watched him
as he walked slowly down the line, for he was still far from well, and
many were the speculations as to the meaning of this move.
Presently, cap in hand, he appeared at the office-door and knocked.
Pelham had watched him as he came, and with a shock of distress noted
how very pale and haggard he looked; but as he entered and stood erect
before his colonel, his head seem carried even higher, his bearing was
calm as ever, but haughty. He said not a word.
“Mr. Truscott,” said Pelham, “I have sent for you because it is most
necessary that a very unpleasant matter should be cleared up at once.
I am given to understand by your friends that you are perfectly able
to explain away all suspicion that may have attached to your conduct
of late, and, if so, and you are entirely innocent in the matter,
your violence to Captain Canker this morning may in a measure be
condoned,—and other—other disagreeable features be suppressed. Are you
prepared to offer such explanation?”
“No, sir.” And the answer was prompt, but so stern and low that Pelham
fairly started.
“Do you mean that you have no explanation?”
“I mean that after the language of the officer selected as your
spokesman this morning I will not condescend to defend myself, sir.
The time for that has passed.”
“Are you aware—do you realize that your refusal makes it my duty to
proceed to take action in your case?” And the colonel’s voice trembled
so that he could hardly speak, and he could not look at Truscott.
“Perfectly, sir.”
“Then that is all, Mr. Truscott,” said the colonel. And that night
at retreat everybody knew that the adjutant was “broken,” and was
wondering who would be the next victim.
It was late in the evening when the detachment, now commanded by
Lieutenant Ray, escorting Tanner’s honored remains, reached Sandy and
scattered to quarters. Ray did not wait for any change of raiment.
After having placed the body in charge of the doctors at the hospital,
he went at once to Truscott’s quarters, and that evening Turner,
Raymond, Ray, and Bucketts spent in earnest consultation with the
ex-adjutant. Down at the store various congenial spirits were solemnly
discussing the situation over their toddies.
“What do you think will happen now?” asked Mr. Wilkins of the group
gathered about the store.
“Well, Ray has been with Truscott for the last hour,” said Mr. Hunter,
“and I’ll bet that there will be a circus if he is called in.”
“What do you want to bet Ray isn’t made adjutant?”
“Anything you like, Wilkins, for the simple reason that madame wants
that place for son-in-law Arty,” replied an irreverent youth, but it
would be unkind to mention his name.