In a short time after, the orderly rapped at the door, and on being
told to enter, announced:
“Please, colonel, the adjutant says as how he wants to know ef he’s
released from arrest?”
“Did he dare to ask you that?” inquired Clark, sharply; and as he spoke
his eye flashed.
“Please, sir, they wouldn’t let me see him,” said the man.
“Who wouldn’t let you see him?”
The commander was growing very angry, for he was a strict
disciplinarian, and this sounded terrible in his ears.
The orderly hesitated.
“Speak quick, man! _Who_ wouldn’t let you see him?”
“Colonel,” said the rough borderer, who was, after all, only a half
disciplined, independent militia-man; “’tain’t my fault, honest; but
them Injuns and the young lady was at the door, and the young lady she
guv me the message from adjutant; and please, colonel, the boys are all
in a crowd around the door, and they cheered her when she spoke, and
it’s my belief, sir--”
“That will do,” said Clark, imperiously. “I understand you. There’s
mutiny afoot, and you’re afraid. Out of the way.”
Before father Gibault could interfere to check him, the colonel was
out of the room and half-way down-stairs. He was in a state of the
greatest excitement, and shouted for his horse in a manner strangely
unlike his usual quiet way. Two minutes after, he was galloping down
the street toward the camp, which, as before, was pitched in front of
the disused arsenal occupied by the Indians.
Around the door, as the orderly had said, the whole of the motley force
of borderers were clustered; and from the murmurs that reached his ear,
it was evident that an unusual excitement was going on.
As the colonel galloped up, a dead silence fell on all; but not a man
stirred out of his way, and matters looked quite squally, for the rough
backwoodsmen made no scruple of looking with open defiance at their
leader.
The tact of Clark was infinite, or he would not have been the
successful leader that he was. He saw now that he had made a mistake,
and pulled up his horse by the crowd, saying, quietly:
“Stand out of my way, men. I want to enter that building.”
He looked at the door of the arsenal, and there stood beautiful Ruby
Roland, with her savage allies round her, stern and impassive, looking
straight at him.
Not a man stirred out of his path. Some of them crowded closer in his
way, and he saw that they all carried their rifles. For the first
time in his life, Clark was at a loss what to do. The instinct of
discipline impelled him to violence, but his experience of the reckless
Kentuckians told him that such a step would be useless.
Moreover, Bowman and all his officers stood in a group at a fire near
by, with their backs resolutely turned to the scene of disturbance.
Clark was too intensely proud to call for assistance from them which
he saw they were unwilling to grant. He was also too politic to
precipitate a fight by attempting to ride into the crowd.
For fully a minute an ominous silence prevailed, and then Clark spoke
to Ruby, in a clear, loud voice:
“Mademoiselle, is my adjutant in your quarters? If so, I call on you,
as my ally, to deliver him up to me.”
Like a silver trumpet came back Ruby’s answer.
“He is here. He shall not go forth till he is released from arrest,
except to be tried by a court-martial.”
Instantly a tremendous cheer burst from all the borderers, and Clark
saw that he had not a friend left.
It was a bitter and humiliating thing for the proud leader, in the
moment of his triumph over enemies; and Clark felt it keenly.
For one moment he looked reproachfully at Ruby, then on his rebellious
men. There was something in his face that abashed the boldest there,
for the anger had gone out of it entirely, and there was an expression
of proud regret that seemed for the first time to suggest that there
might be _two_ sides to this question. Then the border leader put his
hands to his holsters, drew forth his pistols, and cast them on the
ground, amid a dead silence. He unbuckled his sword and held it up in
his right hand, as he said:
“Mademoiselle, I see now who is my _real_ enemy. God forgive you. Men,
I never yet condescended to ask a favor of you. I have given you a new
country. Keep it for yourselves. I am no longer your leader.”
He threw down the sword as he spoke, and wheeled his horse. Slowly
and sadly, but with head proudly erect, he rode up the street to the
government house, passed it, and walked his horse through the principal
street out into the open prairie.
The men had conquered their commander.
But never in this world did men seem so utterly unable to take
advantage of a victory. They looked at each other in silence and
dismay, as the consequences of their acts dawned upon them. Never was
leader more beloved than Clark, and only the still greater affection
which they entertained for their little adjutant, and their impression
that he had been harshly treated by Clark, had induced them to rebel.
In that delicious ignorance of martial law, so characteristic of the
American border militiamen, they had never conceived that they were
doing any thing wrong; only that they were giving their colonel a
gentle hint to release their favorite officer. Now, when it was too
late, they all seemed bewildered, and none more so than Ruby Roland.
She stood at the top of the steps, gazing blankly after Clark, as if
unable to comprehend why he had not yielded.
Then, after the form of the colonel had gone almost out of sight,
arose a confused hubbub of voices, as the borderers broke up into
groups, and excitedly discussed the position.
As reverently as sacred relics, the weapons of their commander were
lifted from the ground, and a large deputation besieged Major Bowman
and the officers, to entreat the colonel to come back.
But to their great surprise, Bowman and the others were dead against
them. The fact was that every one saw that they had made a mistake, and
these very officers were mean enough to cast the blame off from their
own shoulders, no matter where it lighted. Major Bowman was, in fact,
the very meanest of all, for he threw off his sword and belt, saying:
“No, no, boys. I take no responsibility. You chose to listen to that
gal over yonder, and now she’ll have to get you out of the snarl. I’ve
naught to do with it. I told you not to make such a fuss about that
boy; that it would end in harm. I’ll take no command of a mob like
this. Go to your lady friend.”
And Big Bill Harrod was still more emphatic.
“I tell yer, boys, that Frank’s the sassiest little cuss ever I seen,
and a good whipping would do him good. Ef yer think he’s wuth more than
cunnel, let him go; but ef yer don’t, jest yer go over to that thur
young lady, and ax _her_ to go arter the cunnel, and tell him as how ye
made a mistake, and ax his pardon. I guess he won’t be hard on little
Frank, ef _she_ begs fur him, and it’s my notion that nary a man in
this hyar camp kin fotch him back so quick as that thar gal.”
The rough captain’s words were not without their effect on his
audience, who involuntarily turned toward Ruby.
The girl was standing where she had been, but entirely deserted by the
very men who, a moment before, had been cheering her. She seemed to
realize that her brief reign of popularity was over, and that she too
had made a mistake. As the soldiers timidly proffered their request,
the august beauty yielded to it with grace, mounted her horse without
a moment’s delay, and set off at full gallop after Clark, bearing the
commander’s sword with her.