The members of the court had scattered to their posts, all save the
veteran president and Colonel Turnbull, the department inspector.
Lieutenant Blake, to his disgust, had been sent scouting up the
Hassayampa where the Apaches had been seen some days before, but
couldn't be found now--it being the practice of those nimble warriors to
get far from the scene of their deviltries without needless delay, and
the rule of the powers that were, until General Crook taught them wiser
methods, to promptly order cavalry to the spot where the Indians had
been, instead of where they had presumably gone. A buckboard _en route_
to Date Creek, with two of the array that had sat in judgment on Nevins,
had been "held up" at night by a gang of half a dozen desperadoes and
the three passengers relieved of their valuables, consisting of one
gold watch and two of silver, one seal ring, three revolvers, three
extra-sized canteens, a two-gallon demijohn, and in the aggregate three
gallons of whisky. The victims had submitted to the inevitable so far as
their gold and silver were concerned, but pathetically pointed out to
the robber chief the hardship of being bereft at one fell swoop of the
expensive and only consolation the country afforded, and despite his
wrath and disappointment at finding that the gentlemen had already been
robbed, two of them having spent four nights hand-running at the post
poker-room--the leader was not so destitute of fellow-feeling as to
condemn the hapless trio to the loss of even the necessaries of life,
and mercifully handed back half a gallon.
"We hope to catch some of you gentlemen when you haven't been playing
poker," said he, striving to stifle his chagrin. "Who got it all,
anyhow?" he asked, with an eye to future business. "Ah, yes--might have
known it," he continued in response to the rueful admission of one of
the party. "Wonderfully smart outfit that at Cooke, wonderfully--most as
smart as some of our people at Sancho's. Well, so long, gentlemen. 'F
any of your friends are coming this way recommend our place, won't you?
We've treated you as well as we knew how. Drive on, Johnny. Nobody else
will stop you this side of Date. They know we got here first."
Arizona was an interesting region in those days of development that
followed close on the heels of the war. Hundreds of experienced hands
had been thrown out of employment by the return of peace, and the
territories overflowed with outlaws, red and white, male and female. It
was taking one's life in one's hands to venture pistol shot beyond the
confines of a military post. It was impossible for paymasters to carry
funds without a strong escort of cavalry. The only currency in the
territory was that put in circulation by the troops or paid to
contractors through the quartermaster's department. Even Wells-Fargo,
pioneer expressmen of the Pacific slope, sent their messengers and
agents no further then than the Colorado River, and Uncle Sam's mail
stage was robbed so often that a registered package had grown to be
considered only an advertisement to the covetous of the fact that its
contents might be of value.
And so when the record of the court was duly signed and sealed in huge
official envelope, and Lieutenant Loring, even more grave and taciturn
than usual, went the rounds of the rude quarters to leave his card or
pay his ceremonious parting call on the officers who knew enough to call
on him--which in those crude days of the army many did not--he was asked
by more than one experienced soldier whether he had requested an escort
in view of the fact that he was burdened with valuables that, though
small in bulk, were convertible into cash that was anything but small in
amount. To such queries Mr. Loring, who had an odd aversion to answering
questions as to what he was going to do, merely bowed assent and changed
the subject. Lieutenant Gleason, an officer who had recently joined the
infantry and was one of Nevins' victims, a man of unusual assurance
despite his few months of service, had persisted in his queries to the
extent of demanding from what quarter Loring expected to get an escort,
Blake being away at the Hassayampa, and no other cavalry being within
sixty miles; and Gleason felt resentful, though he deftly hid the fact,
because the engineer ignored the question until it had been thrice
repeated, and then he said, somewhat tartly: "That is my affair, Mr.
Gleason." Everybody thought that Loring was decidedly unsociable, and
some went so far as to call him supercilious and haughty.
"Too damned big to mingle with men who fought all through the war while
he was a schoolboy at the Point," said Gleason, who had never seen a
skirmish.
This latter gentleman took it much amiss that Loring had won the
shoulder-straps of a first lieutenant the day he first donned his
uniform (many vacancies then existing in the Corps of Engineers), while
Gleason and others, with what he called war records, were still second
lieutenants. Officers of the caliber of Turnbull and Starke saw much to
respect in the grave, silent, thoughtful young officer, but the
juniors--the captains and lieutenants--though they had marked the ease
and ability with which Loring handled what was probably his first case
as judge advocate, nevertheless agreed that he was "offish" toward the
general run of "the line," held himself aloof as though he considered
himself of superior clay, didn't drink, smoke, swear, or play cards, and
was therefore destitute of most elements of soldier companionship as
then and there defined. It was resented, too, by almost everybody that
Loring would not say when and how he expected to leave Camp Cooke. He
had come on Sancho's famous roan, but had returned that animal by
special courier without delay. Starke and Turnbull were informed, but at
Loring's request saw fit to hold their tongues. No one should know, he
had said to them, if he was to be responsible for those valuables. It
might leak out, and the veteran officers saw the point. The juniors
could not well ask them, the veterans, but they could and did ask
Loring, and held it up against him in days to come that he declined to
be confidential.
There was a man at Cooke who could have told them Loring showed wisdom
in his observance of caution, and that man was Nevins, who had been sent
for by the commanding officer the morning after the adjournment of the
court, and subjected to a questioning and a lecture that nobody else
heard, but that everybody speedily knew must have been severe, because
Nevins, lately so meek and lachrymose, was seen to go to his tent
flushed with rage, and then from within those canvas walls his voice was
heard uplifted in blasphemy and execration. Nor did he take advantage of
garrison limits the rest of that day, nor once again that day appear
outside. At so great a distance from civilization trifles prove of
absorbing interest, and callers came to see what they "could do for
him," and learn for themselves, and Nevins' face was black as a storm
and his language punctuated with profanity. He raved about tyranny and
oppression, but vouchsafed no intelligible explanation of what he
confessed to be the commanding officer's latest order--that he was
remanded to close arrest.
Let it be here explained for the benefit of the lay reader that when an
officer is accused of a crime, or even of a misdemeanor, he is placed in
arrest, which means that he is suspended for the time being from the
exercise of command, must not wear a sword, and must confine himself to
certain limits--to his tent or quarters if in close arrest, as for one
week the officer generally is, and to the limits of the parade or
garrison if allowed out for exercise. No sentry is posted, for an
officer is supposed to be on honor to observe the prescribed
restrictions, and only when he breaks his arrest, by visiting the
quarters of some brother officer or by going outside of camp, is he in
danger of other humiliation. To none of his few visitors did Nevins
reveal the fact that on the previous night, if not before, he had broken
his arrest and gone far out on the mesa back of the post, that he had
been detected, by whom he knew not, reported to the commanding officer,
and by him severely reprimanded and threatened with close confinement
under guard, as when first brought back to the post, if he again
ventured beyond the restricted limits now assigned him.
"I have twice sent to ask that Mr. Loring should come to see me," railed
Nevins. "I have important matters--papers and messages from my wife, and
he holds aloof. By God, Gleason! you tell him for me that if he can't
treat me decently, and come to see me before tattoo this night, I demand
that he hand back those diamonds and things! Do you understand?"
And that message Mr. Gleason, who of all things loved a sensation,
faithfully promised to deliver and fully meant to, but the game at the
sutler's developed into a big one that eventful night. Jackpots were the
rule before the drums of the infantry hammered out first call for
tattoo, and in the absorbing nature of his occupation he never thought
of Nevins' charge except as something to be attended to later, and not
until guard-mount of another day, when his head was muddled with the
potations of an all-night session and the befogging cocktails of the
morning, did Mr. Gleason approach the engineer upon the subject, and
then there was a scene.
Loring was standing at the moment in front of the rude brush and adobe
quarters of Major Starke conversing with two or three officers, or
rather listening in silence to their observations. Turnbull was seated
under the shelter of a sort of arbor made of framework and canvas
signing some papers. The president of the court had disappeared and a
rumor was flitting about the post that early in the morning, before the
dawn, in fact, that hardy veteran had pushed ahead in saddle, escorted
by most of Blake's troop, which had unexpectedly returned during the
previous night, but merely unsaddled and, after a "rub-down, feed and
water," had gone on again. If that were true, they had left as silently
and mysteriously as they came, and only a corporal's guard remained. Had
Gleason been intent on anything but the manner in which he could make
his communication most public and significant, if not offensive, he
would have noticed that both Turnbull and Loring were in riding dress.
But while it could not be said of him that in his condition he was
capable of seeing only one thing at a time, those things which he did
see were duplicate images of the same object, and he lurched up to the
dual Loring and the hazy figures that seemed floating about him, and,
with an attempt at majestic impressiveness, thickly said: "Mr. Loring,
I'm bearer of a message from my fren' Mr.--Captain Nevins, d'manding the
me'dy't r'turn of the diamon's an' valu'bles he placed in your
p'ssession."
Other officers within earshot heard, as Gleason intended they should
hear, and turned instantly toward the group, all eyes on the two--the
flushed, swaying subaltern in fatigue uniform; the calm, deliberate man
in riding dress. A faint color, as of annoyance, quickly spread over
Loring's face, but for a moment he spoke not a word. Angrily the post,
commander came hurrying forth, bent on the prompt annihilation of his
luckless subaltern, and was about to speak, but Loring interposed.
"One moment, sir, I beg." Then turning again on Gleason the engineer
looked him calmly over from head to foot a second or two and then as
calmly said:
"Too late, sir, they've gone."