Another week and all Wyoming was awake and thrilling. There had been
dreadful doings on the Big Horn, and John Folsom's prophecy had come
true. Enticing one detachment after another out from the stockade at
Warrior Gap by show of scattered bands of braves, that head devil of the
Ogallallas, Red Cloud, had gradually surrounded three companies with ten
times their force of fighting men and slaughtered every soldier of the
lot. There had been excitement at Gate City during a brief visit of the
General and his aid inspecting the affairs of Major Burleigh, who,
confined to his bed by nervous prostration, and forbidden by his doctor
to see anybody, had nevertheless sent his keys and books and bank
account, and to the mystification of the chief, more money was found in
the big office safe at the depot quartermaster's than was necessary to
cover his accountability. The General and his inspector were fairly
puzzled. They personally questioned the bank cashier and the
quartermaster's clerks. They ransacked that safe and pored over the
books, both there and at the bank. The only queer thing discovered was
that a large sum of money, five thousand dollars or so, had been
withdrawn from the bank in cash one day and within the week replaced.
Then the General had to turn back to Cheyenne and hasten thence to the
forts along the Platte, to expedite the sending of his soldiers to the
relief of the beleaguered posts along the Big Horn, the tidings of the
massacre reaching Gate City and plunging Fort Emory in mourning only a
few hours after his departure.
Then came still another excitement at Gate City. Major Burleigh had
suddenly become endowed with new youth and energy. He who was declared
by his physicians to be in a critical condition, one demanding the
utmost quiet, he who could not even see the department commander, and of
whom the doctor had said it might be weeks before he was again fit for
duty, had sprung from his bed, dictated certain letters, wired
important news to the chief quartermaster at Omaha, demanded of the
railway authorities an engine and caboose to bear him over the
newly-completed mountain division to Cheyenne, had taken every cent from
his private safe, had entered his office at an early hour, satchel and
safe key in hand, was confounded by the sight of two clerks there
smoking forbidden pipes, and turning, without a word, had fled. One of
these was the young man who so recently had written to a confidant in
Omaha, telling of Burleigh's queer doings and his own desire to get from
underneath.
It transpired later that Burleigh went back to the bank, presented a
check for the balance to his credit and demanded currency, but the
cashier had become alarmed by the investigations made by the General and
had temporized--said he must consult the president, and asked the major
to call two hours later, whereat Burleigh had taken alarm. He was
looking ghastly, said the cashier. It was apparent to every one that
mentally, bodily, or both, the lately debonair and successful man of
the world had "lost his grip."
And before even the swift-running engine could have landed the fugitive
in Cheyenne, the truth was known. The package purporting to contain ten
thousand dollars in currency for the payment of the workmen at Warrior
Gap, sealed in Burleigh's office and sent at incredible risk by the
hands of a young cavalry officer, with only ten troopers through the
Indian lines, borne intact to the commanding officer of the new post,
though its gallant guardians had run the gauntlet at the cost of the
blood of more than half their number, was found when opened to hold
nothing but waste paper. Then indeed was explained Burleigh's
insistence. Then indeed was apparent why he had not pressed his charges
against the officer who had publicly horsewhipped him. Then indeed was
explained why good old John Folsom had withdrawn so large a sum in cash
from his bank and how Burleigh was enabled to replace what he himself
had taken. Then did it begin to dawn on people where Hank Birdsall,
"The Pirate of the Plains," as he had been alliteratively described, had
got the "straight tip" which enabled him to instantly enlist the
services of so many outlawed men in a desperate game. Gradually as the
whole scheme became evident and the truth leaked out, Gate City woke up
to a pitch of pious fury against its late popular and prominent "boomer"
and citizen. Gradually it dawned upon them that, in jealous hatred of
the young soldier whom Folsom's lovely daughter seemed to favor, he had
first sought to undermine him, then to ruin and finally to make way
with, even while at the same time covering the tracks of his own
criminality. It was Elinor Folsom's lover, Lieutenant Dean, who
horsewhipped him for good and sufficient reasons. It was Elinor's father
who bribed him with a big and sorely-needed loan to prefer no charges
against the boy. It was Burleigh who almost immediately after this
tremendous episode had secured the sending of Lieutenant Dean on a
mission so fraught with peril that the chances were ten to one against
his ever getting through alive. Who could have "posted" Birdsall but
Burleigh? Who could say what the amount of his shortage really was? The
key of the big safe was gone with him, and in that safe at the time of
the general's visit were at least fifteen thousand dollars. "Old
Pecksniff," commanding officer at Fort Emory, had wired to department
headquarters. An expert safe-opener was ordered out from Chicago, and
right in the midst of all the turmoil there suddenly appeared upon the
scene a blue-eyed young man, with pale features, clear-cut and strong, a
light brown mustache that shaded his mouth, and, though he wore no
uniform, the rumor went round that this was Lieutenant Loring of the
Engineers. Infantry and cavalry, commissaries and quartermasters,
doctors and sutlers, the denizens of Gate City well knew as attachments
of the army, but what the mischief was an Engineer? Loring put up at
Gate City's new hotel, simply registering as from Omaha, but that he
bore credentials and was a man of mark, Gate City learned from the fact
that Colonel Stevens himself had met him on arrival and wished to take
him out to the fort, and was ill-pleased when Mr. Loring explained that
his business would be best performed in town. Gate City followed the
young man with eager eyes, confident that Engineer must be the army name
for detective. He studied the hotel register. He curiously examined all
relics of the late lamented Newhall, who disappeared before Burleigh. He
questioned the clerks at the corral, reconnoitered the neighborhood,
asked what were their means of defense, turned inside out a worn yet
shapely boot that had been the captain's, bade man after man to describe
that worthy, and finally walked away from the depot, having picked up
lots of information and imparted none. He spent some time at Folsom's
that evening. He drove out to the fort in the afternoon, "and what do
you think he wanted?" said Old Pecksniff, whose command had been cut
down to one company and the band, "wanted me to post a strong guard over
the quartermaster's depot, lest that damned marauding gang of Birdsall's
should gallop in some night with Burleigh's safe key and get away with
the funds. I asked him if those were the General's orders and he said
no. I asked him if they were anybody's orders and he said no. I asked
him if it was anybody's idea but his own and he said no, and then I told
him, by gad, I hadn't men enough to guard the public property here at
the post. The quartermaster's depot was responsible for most of them
being away, let them take care of their own."
Gate City Hotel was alive with loungers that night waiting for the
Engineer. At half-past nine he had come from the quartermaster's corral,
and after a few minutes had gone away with Mr. Folsom, who drove up in
his carriage. He was up at the old man's now, said the impatient ones,
fooling away the time with the girls when he ought to be there answering
their questions and appeasing their curiosity. The talk turned on the
probable whereabouts of Burleigh and his "pals." So had the mighty
fallen that the lately fawning admirers now spoke of the fugitive as a
criminal. He couldn't follow the Union Pacific East; everybody knew
him, and by this time officers were on the lookout for him all along the
road. He had reached Cheyenne, that was known, and had driven away from
there up the valley of Crow Creek with two companions. Loring himself
had ascertained this in Cheyenne, but it was the sheriff who gave out
the information. He was in hiding, declared the knowing ones, in some of
the haunts of Birdsall's fellows east of Laramie City, a growing town of
whose prowess at poker and keno Gate City was professionally aware and
keenly jealous. He might hide there a day or two and then get out of the
country by way of the Sweetwater along the old stage route to Salt Lake
or skip southward and make for Denver. Northward he dare not go. There
were the army posts along the Platte; beyond them the armed hosts of
Indians, far more to be dreaded than all the sheriffs' posses on the
plains. Half-past ten came and still no Loring, and the round of drinks
were getting monotonous. Judge Pardee, a bibulous and oracular limb of
the law, had been chosen inquisitor-general, with powers to call for all
the news that was stowed away in that secretive "knowledge-box" on the
shoulders of the Engineer. Gate City had resolved and "'lowed" that a
man reputed to know so much should be held up and compelled to part with
at least a little. Jimmy Peters, the landlord's boy, scouting out to
Folsom's, came back on the run, breathless from three-quarters of a mile
of panting through that rare atmosphere, to say that he had just seen a
couple of officers ride away to the fort, and old man Folsom with "the
Engineer feller" were coming out the front gate. They'd be along in a
few minutes. So in their eagerness some of the loungers strolled out in
front and gazed westward up the long, broad, hard-beaten street on
which, in many a spot, the bunch grass of the prairie still lingered. It
was a lovely summer night, warm, starlit, but the baby moon had early
sunk to rest, and the darkness was intense. Yet the first men to come
forth could have sworn they saw two horsemen, dim and shadowy, go loping
across the broad thoroughfare from north to south, at the first cross
street. There was nothing remarkable in horsemen being abroad at that
hour; horses were tethered now in front of the hotel. What _was_ strange
was that they passed within a mile of Peter's bar and didn't stop for a
drink. Men who are capable of that neglect of opportunity and the
attendant privilege of "setting em up" for all hands, could be nothing
less than objects of suspicion. Two minutes later and somebody said,
"Shut up!" a frontierism for "hush," and all ears were turned expectant.
No, there was no sound of brisk, springy footsteps on the elastic wooden
walk. Already men had noted that quick, alert, soldierly gait of the new
officer. But "shut up" was repeated when audible murmurs were made.
"There's more fellows a-horseback up yonder. Who in 'ell's out
to-night?" queried the citizen with the keenest ears. "Jimmy, boy, run
up there and scout--I'll give you a dime."
And Jimmy, nothing loath, was off, swift and noiseless as an arrow. It
was time for Loring and "old man Folsom" to be getting there if they
were coming, and the boy was athrill with excitement and interest.
Bending low, as he knew the Indians went on scout, springing along the
plank walk he shot like a flitting specter up the street, stooping lower
and glaring to left and right at the first crossing, but seeing nobody.
A noiseless run of a third of a mile brought him to a corner, where,
looking southward by day, one could see the flagstaff and the big white
gateway, and beyond it the main office of the quartermaster's corral.
Staff and gateway were invisible now, but beyond the latter gleamed two
lights, each in a separate window of that office. Jimmy knew they never
worked that late. Why should the curtains be up now? Why, indeed! It was
a question that interested other prowlers beside himself, for, as he
paused for breath, close at hand he heard the stamp of a horse's hoof,
followed by a muttered curse, and evident jerk of the bit and jab with
the spurs, for the tortured creature plunged and stamped in pain.
"Keep that damned broncho quiet!" growled a voice. "You'll give the
whole thing away."
"It's given away now," was the surly half whisper, in reply, "else those
fellows would never be up at this hour of the night. They've mounted
guard. Where'd the man go with the key?"
"Up to Folsom's back gate. Three of our fellows are shadowing him,
though. He can't get away with it. He said he had to see his wife or
she'd betray the whole business."
"All the same I don't like it. The old man always has a raft of fort
people there. Hello, listen!"
All on a sudden there came from afar up the broad avenue the sound of
scurrying hoofs. Down through the darkness, louder and louder, spurring
and thundering, came three horsemen whom the shadows at the corner
reined out eagerly to meet. There was no suspense. "Come on!" savagely
growled a hoarse voice. "The game's up! Newhall's wife led him square
into a trap. They've got him, key and all."
Then away they rode, athirst and blasphemous, and away sped Jimmy with
his wondrous news, and out tumbled the loungers at Peter's bar, the
judge and the sheriff last, and those who had horses mounted and
galloped up to Folsom's and those who had not trudged enviously after,
and a few minutes later there was gathered at the corral a panting and
eager band of men, for thither had Mr. Loring, with his grip on the
collar and his pistol at his captive's ear, marched an ashen-faced,
scowling, scurrilous man, a dashing-looking fellow at times, a raging
rascal now, cursing his wife for a foul traitress, cursing his captor
for an accomplice, saying filthy words about women in general, until
choked by a twist of the collar.
Into the lighted office and the presence of two armed clerks the
Engineer marched his man, the first arrivals following eagerly until the
door was shut and barred. Into the hands of a sheriff did Loring
personally commit his prisoner. Then calling to his aid the chief clerk,
he tried the key in the lock of the safe. It worked exactly. Then he
turned to the civil officer of the law.
"Guard this man well," said he. "He has escaped twice before. It is not
Captain Newhall. He is a thief--whose name is Nevins."
"And you hear me, young cock of the walk," was the furious outbreak of
the captive runagate, "you stole that key from me--to whom it was given
to deliver to Colonel Stevens. It isn't the first time you stole either.
You'll sweat for this night's work so sure as there's a God in heaven!"