A LITTLE STRATEGY
Fraser's shot drew many eyes to the river. For, in the winter time, any
occurrence, however trifling, could get the instant attention of the
lonely garrison. Troopers in various stages of dress came tumbling out
upon the long porch at barracks; others looked from the many windows of
the big frame structure; the washer-women and their hopefuls blocked the
doorways of "Clothes-Pin Row"; officers everywhere--at headquarters, at
the sutler's, in their homes--and their wives and families, up and down
the "Line," remarked the signal. But when Lounsbury brought up beside
Fraser, and the two seemed to be occupying themselves with nothing in
particular, the onlookers laid the shot to an over-venturesome
water-rat, and so withdrew from their points of vantage.
"What is it?" was the storekeeper's first breathless demand.
The young officer, hands on hips, nodded straight ahead. "You see those
willows just below the cut?" he asked. "Well, there's a queer, black
bunch in 'em."
"Yes. Is it a man?"
"I think so."
"Moved?"
"Not yet."
"Come on, then. Maybe he's aiming for the coulee mouth, so's to sneak up
to the Lancasters' from behind."
They charged away across the mile of ice.
"If it's Matthews, why didn't he wing me as I went by," panted
Lounsbury.
"Look, look!" cried Fraser. "Now, he's moving!"
They stopped to loosen their revolvers, after which they started again,
cautiously.
The tops of the willows were shaking. Presently, they spread outward,
and the "black bunch" lengthened. Then it emerged, and was resolved into
a blanketed Indian.
"Charley!" exclaimed the officer. As he spoke, the outcast, shouldering
a bundle of sticks, began to climb the cut.
The two men looked at each other and burst into a laugh.
"Fraser," said Lounsbury, "did you ever hear of the fellow that stalked
a deer all day and then found it was a speck on his glasses?"
"That's one on me," admitted the lieutenant, sheepishly. "I knew nobody
had come out of that door--but you see we were in the stable a while."
"'Charley,'--that squaw Indian they told me about, eh? Pretty good to
them."
"Yes. From what I understand, they're pretty good to him."
They followed leisurely, and took up a stand in the cottonwoods above
the landing to discuss the situation. At the very outset, Lounsbury
determined not to speak of the plan that included Mrs. Martin's aid, the
rebuff he had suffered from the section-boss having decided him against
it.
"By George!" he said regretfully, "I wish when I had Matthews covered
that I'd just marched him up the coulee and on to Clark's."
"Good idea; too bad you didn't."
"But I'll tell you this: I'm not going to stay out here all night just
to shoo him off. I've a good mind to happen in down there, sort him out,
and do the marching act anyhow."
"Now, look here," reminded Fraser; "that wouldn't do. You don't want to
kill Matthews, and you don't want to be killed. It'd be one or the other
if you poked your nose in there."
"What _do_ you advise?"
"Lie low till you see a good opportunity. I think the chap'll come out."
"But suppose he doesn't?"
"You'll have to stay here, that's all. I'll divide the watch with you."
"Oh, I don't like to ask you to do that, old man. We ought to be able to
think up some kind of a scheme."
The sun was fast declining. Soon it disappeared behind the river-bluffs,
when the boom of the evening-gun swelled the last note of "retreat."
Fraser sighed. The trumpet had suggested a certain dire possibility.
"I don't care for the cold," he declared, "but--but"--ruefully--"do you
suppose the K. O.'ll give me more than a month in quarters for this?
There's that dance at the Major's next week; I'd like awfully to go. If
I'm under arrest, I can't. And who'll feed my horse and my
rattlesnakes!"
"Some sassy sergeant'll shoot your fiend of a nag," said the
storekeeper, "and the rattlers'll be requested to devour one another.
When that's over, I'll break it gently to you (and you must be mum) that
the K. O. is disciplining you simply to keep his face. He
knows--suggested it himself--that I'm to be helped out by some of you
fellows."
"Well, that's better!" returned Fraser, relieved. And while they walked
back and forth, he launched into a defence of his pets.
"'Fiend of a nag,'" he quoted. "Why, Buckskin's a tactician; knows what
the trumpet says better than I do."
Night settled swiftly. Despite Lounsbury's prophecy, the temperature was
not unbearable. The wind died with the glow in the west, leaving the air
so still that, to the watchers among the trees, sounds from Brannon
mingled distinctly with the near laughter and talk of Shanty Town. No
moon rose. Only a few stars burned their faint way through the quickly
hidden rents of the sheltering cloud-covering that, knitting here,
breaking there, again, overlapping in soft folds before an urgent sky
breeze, swagged low above the ground.
With darkness, the two left the grove for the ledge upon which was
Shanty Town, and stationed themselves where they could still see whoever
went in or out of The Trooper's Delight. Matthews did not appear.
Numerous men in uniform did. They made noisy exits, and went brawling
along to other shanties; they skulked out of the willows, flitted across
the bit of snow-crusted beach below the saloons, and scrambled up to
hurry in.
When two hours or more had gone by, the storekeeper grew impatient. He
walked back and halted in the inky shadow of the wall down which Nick
Matthews had tobogganed. From there, he pointed to a shaft of light
that was falling upon the north side of the second shanty in the street.
It was from an uncurtained, south opening in the first.
"You see that?" asked Lounsbury. "Well, I'm going over there to look in.
How do we know he hasn't given us the slip, someway?"
"Let's be careful," said the lieutenant. "A proper amount of caution
isn't cowardice. If you're seen, the whole pack'll set on you."
"I _will_ be careful, but I'm not going to----"
"That's all very nice, only you must consider the stripe of man you're
dealing with----"
"I can roll a gun, Fraser."
"But, Jupiter! This chap isn't going to fight you in the open. He'll use
Indian tactics--fact is, he was raised among 'em."
"_What's that?_" asked Lounsbury.
"Raised among 'em, I said--with the Sioux."
"Speaks the tongue, then?" For some reason, the storekeeper seemed
strangely agitated.
"Why, yes."
At that, Lounsbury was off, making straight for the entrance of the
building they had been watching.
Fraser went tearing after, and not far from the door managed to stop
him.
"For Heaven's sake!" he gasped. "What's struck you?"
"Fraser," said Lounsbury, "did you hear that the Colonel wanted an
interpreter?"
"Why--why--great Scott!"
"Exactly--great Scott!" The storekeeper set off again.
"Hold on." Fraser caught his arm. "Your scheme's all right, but you
can't impress the man. He's got to go of his own accord."
"Hm! that's so."
"What you suppose he'll say if you rush in there and ask him to please
go away on this long trip and leave your friends serenely in possession
of the land?"
"I wouldn't say 'please'--but you're right. Let's take a look through
that window."
Fraser assented. Shoulder to shoulder, they tiptoed forward and, keeping
out of the shaft of light, viewed the scene within.
It was a busy one, and well bore out the inviting legend of the shingle
sign. Along the plank bar, "the troopers" were thickly ranged, smacking
their lips in "delight" over greasy glasses. Beyond them was a
squint-eyed man who trotted untiringly to and fro, mixing and pouring.
Nearer was the stove, its angular barrel and widespread legs giving it
the appearance of some horrid, fire-belching animal.
An unbroken circle of men surrounded it, hats on, rawhide-bottomed
chairs tilted back to an easy slant. From their pipes and cigars smoke
rose steadily and hung, a blue mist, against the sloping rafters of the
roof.
There was little talking in the circle. Two or three were asleep, their
heads sagging on their necks with maudlin looseness. The others spoke
infrequently, but often let down their chairs while they spat in the
sand-box under the stove, or screwed about in the direction of the
gaming-table. Among these was Old Michael. He sat nearest the door, a
checkerboard balanced on his knees, his black stub pipe in its toothy
vise. And when he was not feeding the stove's flaming maw with broken
boxes, barrel-staves and green wood, his blowzy countenance was
suspended over the pasteboards he was thumbing in a game of solitaire.
The two outside went under the shaft of light and peeped into the rear
of the room. There was Matthews, one of five at a square table. A
cigar-box partly filled with coin and chips was before him. In front of
the other players were other chip-piles. About the five, hanging over
them, almost pressing upon them, were a number of troopers. Two or three
were idle onlookers. But the majority were following with excited
interest every turn of the cards.
"Wretches being plucked of their good six months' pay," whispered
Fraser.
"Looks like they're in for all night," Lounsbury returned.
But the officer was pinching him. "Sh! See there!"
A half-drunken trooper was interrupting the game. He had reeled forward
to the table, and seemed to be addressing himself to Matthews, who, as
he answered, glanced up indifferently. The trooper continued,
emphasising his words by raising a clenched fist and striking the board
a blow.
The chip-piles toppled. He turned to those about, gesticulating. A few
surrounded him, evidently bent on leading him toward the door. Others
appeared to be continuing the dispute with Matthews. But as the
disturber was pushed out, they gradually subsided.
"I've got an idea," announced the storekeeper. And he disappeared around
a corner.
When he returned he was leading the trooper and talking low to him. All
three retired to the shadow of the wall.
Here there was a colloquy. First, Lounsbury held forth; next, the
trooper, protestingly. When the lieutenant broke in, two phrases were
frequently repeated--"to the guard-house," and "won't if you will."
At last the three went back to the window.
"Remember," cautioned the storekeeper, "we don't want all these shebangs
stirred up."
"Needn't worry," said Fraser. "Just listen to that rumpus down street."
The disjointed music of a wheezy accordion was rending the night. With
it sounded the regular stamp of feet.
Now, the trooper rounded the corner. A moment and, through the window,
Lounsbury and the officer saw him enter the door.
He slipped down to a seat beside Old Michael. There he stayed for a
while. Whenever a brother trooper looked his way, he called him up by
the crooking of a finger and whispered to him. Before long a knot of men
had again surrounded him. But this time their attention was all for the
table at the rear of the room.
There the game was going on. Matthews' chip-pile showed where the
winnings were gravitating. In the dim light there was a strained look on
the faces of the players.
Deal after deal passed. Finally, one of the five, having no more disks
before him, pushed back his chair and got up.
As he stood, dazed and dismayed, the trooper who had been ejected
appeared at his side, clapped him upon the back and spoke. At their
elbows was the knot that had gathered at the stove.
The next moment the trooper turned to the table and snatched the pack of
cards from Matthews' hand. He held up one, pointing at its back; snapped
it down; pointed at a second, then scattered the pack in the air.
Lounsbury and Fraser whipped round the corner and in through the door.
An uproar greeted them--"Cheat!" "Clean him out!"
"Do him like Soggy did!" Before them was a jostle of blue backs. Across
these, on the farther side of the plank bar, they saw Matthews, facing
the crowd. His left hand held the cigar-box against his chest, his right
was up and empty.
"Hold on, boys!" It was Lounsbury.
As if he had caught a cue, the foremost trooper--he who had been the
disturbing element--repeated the cry, and directed the eyes of his
comrades to the door.
There was a sudden lull. The men in blue wavered. Here and there, a
revolver was covertly returned to place.
Lounsbury pushed forward to the stove, Fraser beside him. "Hold on,
boys," he said again, and pointed at Matthews; "hold on--I've got a
message for that man."
The lull became a dead silence. To the troopers, the sight of
shoulder-straps was discomfiting. For the officer at once became the
personification of the guard-room, chilly, poorly bedded, and worse
provisioned, of all places the one to be dreaded in raw weather. To
Matthews, the interruption was welcome. His right hand slowly lowered
to join its mate.
"I'm going to ask you to call your little differences with that
gentleman off," continued Lounsbury.
Matthews fairly blinked. The storekeeper's voice was soft, confidential,
ingratiating.
"Mr. Fraser and I have come to say that Mr. Matthews is wanted to serve
as interpreter for Colonel Cummings."
"Interpreter?" queried Matthews.
A bullet-head made itself visible from behind a barrel. "Don't let him
bluff y', Nick," called a voice.
The other looked round. "Shut y' fly-trap, Babe," he commanded.
"Thank you," said Lounsbury, pleasantly, "interpreter is right. Two
white women are held as captives in an Uncapapa camp somewhere west of
here. It's been learned that you understand and speak the tongue. So, we
present Colonel Cummings' compliments. He would like very much to have a
talk with you at Brannon."
It was a solution to Matthews. "Yes? Yes?" he said approvingly; then
hesitated in suspicion as he measured the storekeeper.
"Oh, I guess I don't want to be no interpreter," he said.
Lounsbury smiled. "Just as you say, just as you say.
Boys,"--cheerily--"sorry if I cut in at the wrong time. Don't let us
stop your fun. Mr. Fraser is not here _officially_."
A murmur ran around. The disturbing trooper advanced toward Matthews
aggressively.
Up went Matthews' hand again. "Jus' a minute," he said.
The trooper quieted.
Matthews turned to Fraser, mustering an expression of importance.
"Lieutenant," he said, "you give me your word this is so--that there
ain't no put-up job about it?"
"Put-up job?" Fraser reddened, keeping a straight face with difficulty.
"I give my word," he said solemnly, "that you're wanted as interpreter,
and that I'll conduct you safely to headquarters."
Matthews put down the cigar-box and saluted.
"Word of an officer," he said, "is different. And if I can do
anythin'--long's it's ladies----"
He reached to a shelf for his hat.