Long remembered at Fort Scott was the evening that followed Mr. Davies's
departure for the agency. Infantry and cavalry both, the garrison took
it much to heart that the detail should have devolved, of all men, upon
him. Not because he was comparatively young and inexperienced; not
because he was just back from long leave that had been necessitated by
long and serious illness, but solely and entirely because he had but
recently married a wife, and therefore shouldn't have been expected to
go,--should not have been torn from her side. The women opened the ball,
but the men were not slow in taking the floor. What Davies himself might
think no one knew, because Davies would not say. He received the order
of the post commander without a word, went home to his wife and sent
Barnickel to ask Captain Cranston to come to him as soon as possible.
Devers retired to his quarters and was not again seen until after
stables, when, scrupulously avoiding those of the other troops, he
visited his own lines, having previously sent his orderly to Mr.
Hastings to notify that gentleman that he should not require him to
attend stables this week, which was to have been Mr. Davies's, but would
expect him to superintend roll-calls. The temporary commanding officer
of the garrison and of the cavalry battalion appeared, therefore, in
solitary state in his capacity as captain of Troop "A." Officers who
passed him on the way to or from stables raised hand or cap in the
salute due the post commander, but few of them entered into
conversation. Old Dr. Rooke, the post surgeon, a man ten years Devers's
senior in the service, returning from a visit to Colonel Stone's
bedside, came face to face with the captain, and the captain stopped to
make inquiries. Rooke's face was grave.
"He is semi-conscious and resting fairly well, but has received a severe
shock that has clouded his faculties. I cannot say when he will be up
again. I do not see any likelihood of his returning to duty for a
month."
Devers's face expressed all proper concern and sympathy. "It is best, of
course, that I should know this, but the colonel's friends are numerous
in garrison, and it is something that would have a depressing effect. I
suggest, therefore, that you do not confide your fears to any one else.
It affects me painfully to hear it, though I had not the good fortune to
be in the colonel's good graces. We differed as to various official
matters."
"I'm aware of that," said Rooke, dryly, "and I have felt more than half
constrained to remonstrate with you as to the confinement of Private
Brannan. He left the hospital in good condition, and with the
expectation of returning to his detachment and duty. Of course if new
charges have been lodged against him----"
"New charges _have_ been lodged against him, doctor. He was sent to the
hospital at my request that he might be restrained from liquor, which,
under the system pursued by Colonel Stone, could at any time be procured
by guard-house prisoners who had money. That he would be able to
indulge his propensity in your department had not, of course, occurred
to me as a possibility."
"Any criticisms you have to make at the expense of my department will
receive due weight, I have no doubt, with my superiors, and you will
oblige me by addressing them upon the subject, not me. The post
commander expressed his entire approval of it, and to him and not to the
company commanders am I responsible, Captain Devers. This, however, I
will say, sir, that sooner than submit to further comment of this
character, I shall telegraph to department head-quarters requesting
instant relief from duty as post surgeon here, if you are to retain the
command."
And Rooke had gauged his man. He knew perfectly well that this
application, coming on top of Stone's prostration, would lead to the
inevitable conclusion at head-quarters that the colonel could not return
to duty for some time, and the surgeon could not contentedly perform
duty under Devers as temporary commander. In other words, that Devers
was already beginning, as the general expressed it, "to cut up didoes,"
and somebody--some field officer--would be at once detached, in all
probability, and sent from his proper post temporarily to take charge of
matters at Scott. On the other hand, if things worked smoothly and with
no apparent friction, Devers might hope to retain command for several
weeks, and that would be of inestimable benefit. What might not be
accomplished in that time? He was quick, yet not too precipitate,
therefore, in expressing grave and courteous disclaimer. No reflection
on Dr. Rooke's management was intended or implied, though Dr.
Burroughs, the junior, had, in Devers's opinion, laid himself open to
criticism. Of course being somewhat inexperienced, the unwarrantable
interference of Lieutenant Davies and Miss Loomis had confused and
hampered him. Surely Dr. Rooke could not say that he, Devers, had ever
interfered. On the contrary, had he not incurred the enmity of officers
and ladies of his own regiment by making formal report to the post
commander of what he considered an unjustifiable encroachment on their
part upon the sacred precincts of the post surgeon? Rooke looked at him
from under his shaggy eyebrows, suspicious and unmollified. He was a
shrewd old Scotchman, and Devers protested too much.
"So far as Miss Loomis and Mr. Davies are concerned," said he, "I have
no exceptions to take whatsoever. I knew the young lady's father well,
and I have faith in the young man. I hear he has been sent on some
temporary duty to the agency, captain, and had he consulted me I should
have advised against his going. The suffering and exposure of such duty
in such weather are more than many a rugged man can bear. Mr. Davies has
not yet half recovered his strength."
"Then I wish I had known it, doctor," said Devers, diplomatically; "but
not knowing it, I could make no other selection. The orders called for a
discreet officer, and Mr. Davies's friends consider him discretion
itself. I have even been led to think he had too much discretion. The
orders said 'cavalrymen,' therefore I was limited to the officers of my
battalion. They said to report to Lieutenant Boynton, therefore I was
limited to officers junior in rank to him, for no senior could be
required to do it. Mr. Boynton is a first lieutenant, and the only first
lieutenants junior to him here are Hastings, who is eminently
indiscreet, and Folsom, who is a martyr to rheumatism, as you very well
know. The only second lieutenants now on duty with us are Sanders,
Jervis, and Davies; certainly of the three Davies is the only one who
can be called discreet, and he was the only one who had not been on
scout or detached service of this character since he joined. I regret
having to break up his honeymooning, but even that is to be but
temporary, for so the orders said. I explain all this to you, doctor,
because I respect your rank and service, but I shall not condescend to
justify myself to my juniors."
"And have you reported action yet by wire?" asked Rooke, critically.
"Certainly," said Devers, but he reddened. Evidently there had been wide
spread talk over the selection already, and speculation as to what
department head-quarters would think of it. Evidently it was known that
he was ordered to report by telegraph, yet who could have "given it
away"? The despatch was still in his waistcoat-pocket, for Devers,
unlike his trimmer juniors, wore that unsoldierly garment underneath his
sack-coat. Even the adjutant had not seen the despatch, and the operator
was sworn to secrecy. He had reported by wire, and in these words:
"Discreet officer and twenty cavalrymen left post at noon with orders to
hasten to Ogallalla agency and report to Lieutenant Boynton for
temporary duty." This was sent at 1.15, and he had only just received
another inquiring name of the officer detailed. This he did not mean to
answer until after five o'clock, by which time he knew the Omaha offices
would be deserted and Davies some thirty miles away. "The horses are
hard and sound," he had said to the silent subaltern. "You should reach
there Friday morning without fail and without fatigue, and ought to camp
to-night at Dismal River. It's a long thirty miles, but you can easily
make it." He meant Davies to be beyond recall in the event of
disapproval, and that point secure, he didn't much care what
head-quarters might think or the garrison say.
And so Wednesday's sun went down red over the snow-streaked barren to
the west, and long, long before that the last vestige of Davies's little
party disappeared from view among the breaks and ravines in the low
range of treeless heights many a long desolate mile to the north, and
Almira's faithful comforters were still with her, and at dusk bustled
her over to Mrs. Darling's for change of scene and surroundings and tea
and a little music, and presently sleigh-bells were heard, and Mrs.
Flight screamed joyously at the window, "Oh, it's Mr. Willett and Mr.
Burtis with their lovely team, and they've come out for the hop!" And
before long Lieutenant Darling, accompanied by these very gentlemen,
came stamping in, and Sanders and Tommy Dot followed, and in the
firelight the little army parlor was a pretty picture as these gallants
entered and the lamps were lighted, and the gentlemen from town were
presented to Almira, and everybody thought it the proper thing to be
especially devoted to her by way of consoling her for this sudden and
heartless separation from her lord, and for nearly half an hour her
lovely face maintained its expression of pathetic and unconquerable
woe; but Willett had seated himself at the piano, and he and Sanders and
Tommy Dot began singing with inimitable drollery some of the popular
melodies of the day, and presently, "to save her life," as she declared,
Almira could not resist joining in the laughter and applause, and then
Willett began telling of the new step they were dancing in the East,--he
had been home just long enough to attend a few parties,--and while Tommy
Dot played a waltz he essayed to teach it to Mrs. Darling,--a charming
partner ordinarily, but still she did not seem to catch the idea, and
Mrs. Flight was even less successful. Mira looked on with sparkling eyes
and new and uncontrollable eagerness. It was the very step she had
danced with the aides-de-camp in Chicago the previous September,--almost
the same that she had danced time and again with Mr. Powlett at Urbana,
and not a lady at Fort Scott had yet learned it. At last Sanders
spoke,--
"Why, surely it is the glide step you were telling us about, Mrs.
Davies." And then Willett implored her to try it with him, and how could
she refuse? This was not a ball or party, it was only a dancing lesson;
and somehow, all in a moment, she was floating around that little parlor
on Willett's sustaining arm in long, graceful, gliding steps that seemed
admirably adapted to his, and Willett's face glowed with delight and
hers with pardonable triumph, for was she not showing the belles of the
army the latest thing out in the ball-rooms of fashionable society? And
Sanders and Darling applauded enthusiastically, and the ladies as
enthusiastically as they could, for one's charitable impulses ooze all
too rapidly when the object looms suddenly as a rival. Sanders begged
presently to try with Mrs. Davies, while Mrs. Flight tried again with
Willett, and presently all were trying and gradually mastering the new
step, and when it was time to separate for dinner it was solemnly agreed
that they would tell no one of their practice, but that very night at
the hop they would simply paralyze the entire assemblage by dancing the
latest waltz step.
"Now, Mrs. Davies," said Willett, "you've just _got_ to go, if only just
once to show them how," and Darling and Sanders joined eagerly in the
plea. There was not actual unanimity as to the propriety and necessity
of the project, however. Mrs. Flight was doubtful, but did not openly
oppose, and Mrs. Darling said, of course dear Mrs. Davies must know that
it would certainly cause remark. But all through tea it cropped out
again and again, and after tea Willett and Sanders came back from the
mess dinner and renewed their supplications. It was, at least, decided
that Almira could not be left to mope alone, and as her lady friends had
to go to the hop, why, she might as well go and peep in and hear the
music at any rate. There were good friends, true friends of her own and
her husband, who would have been glad indeed to spend the evening with
her, either at her fireside or their own, whose cards and condolences
she found on her little hall table when, escorted to the door by Mr.
Willett, she went home at half-past eight, just to make some slight
change in her toilet, which, as it stood, was too funereal for so
festive an occasion.
And so that night, while Davies and his men were huddling about the
little camp-fires in the snow at Dismal River and a wintry blast was
whistling through the bare, brown limbs of the cottonwoods, there were
sounds of revelry at the big frontier post, spirited music, merry
laughter, the rhythmic beat of martial feet in the measures of the
dance, the rustle of silk, and the pit-a-pat of dainty slippers. Only
two or three households were unrepresented. It was the first hop Mrs.
Stone had missed. It was something that the chaplain and his wife did
not care for. It was a nuisance to Leonard, who loved his books and his
home. It bored more than one old warrior, who went, however, on account
of his wife and daughters, but Captain and Mrs. Devers were on hand, as
befitted the official heads, temporary, of post and martial society, and
the Cranstons with Agatha Loomis, after again going to see if they could
do anything for Mrs. Davies, and again finding her absent from home,
concluded to go over to the hop-room soon after taps, and the first
thing that met their eyes was the sight of Mira--Mrs. Davies--waltzing
down the waxed floor, and waltzing beautifully in the new step that was
coming into vogue while they were still at home, and waltzing on the
encircling arm of the appreciative Mr. Willett. Beyond doubt she was the
observed of all observers.
It had all come about in the most natural and matter-of-fact way. Mira
had persisted for full an hour in her determination not to dance, but
again and again had Willett and Sanders implored,--Willett with eyes as
eloquent as his tongue. "None of these other ladies had yet really
learned the step. Everybody longed to see it. Everybody had heard how
beautifully she danced it," and presently body after body came and
coaxed "just to show us," and so, really before she knew it, she was
again on Willett's arm, he murmuring praise and encouragement into her
pretty little pink ear, and everybody seemed to stop to watch them, and
then strove to imitate. And then Sanders implored her to give him just
one turn for the honor of the Eleventh, and then Jervis wouldn't be
denied, and Willett and Burtis came for more,--Willett again and again,
and so she danced until the last waltz died away, and her first hop in
the army had been one long, vivid triumph; Willett in his eagerness
forgetting an engagement to waltz with Mrs. Hay. "She will never forgive
me," he murmured to Almira, as he saw her home, "but," and his voice
sank lower, "I only wonder I did not forget all--but yours." And that
was one of the lovely things said to her that night she did not report
in her long, explanatory, self-exculpatory letter to Percy. It is
possibly surprising that she had sense enough not to tell it to Mrs.
Flight, whose lord was on duty as officer of the guard, and who had
accepted Almira's urgent invitation to come and spend what was left of
the night with her. Almira was timid, even afraid to be left alone. Like
two schoolgirls they chattered about the cosey fire in Almira's bedroom,
Mrs. Flight filling the young wife's ears with tales of the compliments
that had been passed upon her beauty, her grace, her dancing, her lovely
costume,--one of Aunt Almira's _modiste's_ most charming creations, one
she assuredly would not have worn had Percy been there. Everybody had
praised her in one way or another, and many had done so to her face,
Captain and Mrs. Devers, even, taking heart, as they said, from seeing
her so delightfully occupied, came up to congratulate her on being the
belle of the ball and to express every manner of condolence for the
stern necessity which called her husband away. It was a piece of
diplomacy Almira was at a loss to answer.
Of all the women present the two whose opinion she most dreaded and
toward whom she felt absolute aversion, neither congratulated nor
praised her in any way. Miss Loomis smiled and bowed and said,
"Good-evening, Mrs. Davies," in very cheery manner when they met in
promenade. Mrs. Cranston bowed and smiled gravely, stopped, and extended
her hand, which Almira, with heightened color and drooping eyelids, took
nervously.
"I need not say how we deplore the orders, Mrs. Davies. I'm so sorry to
have missed you to-day. Won't you lunch and dine with us to-morrow and
talk over plans? We shall be so glad to have you."
And Almira faltered that she had promised to lunch at Mrs. Darling's and
spend the afternoon, and was afraid she couldn't promise to come to
dinner, and Mrs. Cranston understood. They went home early, did the
Cranston's,--that is, early for Fort Scott,--whereas Mrs. Davies,
influenced by her energetic friends, danced until long after midnight,
and then sat up and talked it all over until long after two.
"Willett's simply gone on you," was Mrs. Flight's significant remark.
"No wonder lots of our primmers looked blue to-night. Willett used to
dance with Mrs. Wright and Mrs. Hay all the time, but he hardly looked
at them to-night. And did you see the look Miss Loomis gave him when he
invited her? He says she snubbed him outright." No, Almira hadn't seen,
but she had caught almost every look that Willett gave her, and was
thinking more of those and of what he said, and of his plea that she
should be at Mrs. Darling's for luncheon next day,--they wouldn't drive
back to Braska until afternoon,--and of the ball they meant to give at
the railway hotel in town, to return the courtesies of their friends at
the fort. He was to lead the german, and might have to lead it with Mrs.
Courtenay of the bank, who was the leader of local society but couldn't
dance any more than he could fly, and if Mrs. Davies would only promise
to be there all would be bliss. Mrs. Davies had said she could not be
there. They were in mourning for Mr. Davies's mother, as Willett well
knew, and she expected Percy home within a week or ten days. Captain
Devers had assured her it couldn't be for longer, and indeed, oh, no!
she couldn't think of going to a ball in town.
But she did think of it very much indeed. She thought of it, and the
dance of the evening gone, far more than she did of Percy and his party
now sleeping in the snow or shivering in the wind at Dismal River. She
wrote him one of her long letters Thursday morning, spending over an
hour in the effort, and an equal time in her toilet for the luncheon at
the Darlings. She was in the midst of this charming function, assisted
by Mrs. Flight, when the gong on the front door announced the coming of
a visitor. "I can't see anybody now, can I?" she hazarded to Mrs.
Flight, and Mrs. Flight thought she really wouldn't have time, and so
whispered to Katty, as that Milesian maid-of-all-work bustled through
to answer the summons, "Mrs. Davies will have to be excused to callers,"
and the parley at the hall door was brief enough. Almira and her
assistant listened,--as what woman would not?--heard the courteous,
cordial tone of inquiry for Mrs. Davies, and Katty's flurried "Begs to
be excused, mum," and there was no need of the question which Mrs.
Flight asked,--"Who was it, Katty?" for both knew Mrs. Cranston's voice.
"I've done my best, Wilbur," said Meg, as she threw herself on the arm
of the big easy-chair in which her lord was reading the Chicago papers
before the snapping, sparkling fireplace. "She did not want to see me
last night, and she practically refused to see me this morning. She has
chosen her intimates, and it is a case of like unto like. We are not
congenial. Yet I so wanted to be a friend to him and to her."
Cranston dropped his paper and threw his strong arm about her waist, and
when a man turns from the contemplation of his favorite journal to that
of the face of his wife her queendom is assured.
"You've done all I could ask, dear," was his answer, "but we may have to
pocket our pride a little. She is very young and inexperienced. She goes
to Darlings' to-day, does she?--and that coxcomb Willett is to be there,
too." The _Times_ slipped to the floor, forgotten, and Margaret, saying
nothing more, drew closer to his side and nestled her round, soft cheek
against his weather-beaten jowl, and Agatha, coming quickly in from her
supervision of the boys' lessons in the adjoining room, went back to the
book-littered table unnoticed. This frontier Darby and Joan, whose tin
wedding had passed and gone long months before, seemed spooning yet.
It's another "way we have in the army," and long may it live and linger.