They were discussing matters a week later at old Fort Scott, where two
little companies of the Fortieth kept watch and ward over the women and
children of their many comrades in the field. Barely mid-June now, yet
how all plans and projects for the summer had been changed. Guarded by
Chrome's "infantry," as his unhorsed troopers were jocularly described,
most of the wounded were being carried by short stages into Pawnee
Station, where a field hospital had been established. Truman and Sanders
were with these, but Winthrop, assuming command of all the cavalry that
was available at the forks, had gone on in pursuit of Red Dog's renegade
band. With him were Cranston and Davies; with him, too, were Hay and
Hastings. Only one officer of the Eleventh remained at Scott, the
captain of "A" Troop, in arrest awaiting trial. It was a time of sore
anxiety to wives and children, to some two or three sweethearts who had
happened there, and they showed it plainly. It was a time of strange
suspense and trouble to Captain Devers, but he hid it well. Few men
could better have portrayed the chafing, indignant soldier, robbed of
the right to lead his men to battle, than did Devers when his comrades
took the field. Hastings as first lieutenant went in command of "A"
Troop, but Devers had importuned head-quarters with letters and
telegrams imploring to be permitted to accompany the column. He asked
for only temporary release from arrest. He courted--he _demanded_ the
fullest investigation of his every act. He longed to meet his
accusers--his defamers, rather, and overthrow them before a jury of his
peers, but, as the court could not proceed now until the campaign was
over, why hold him chafing here? It was all capital, it was even
touching, but it "did not work." The general himself was far away in the
distant Big Horn; his adjutant-general could not act, and the
lieutenant-general in Chicago would not. Then, as Devers had been in
close arrest much over seven days, he demanded "extended limits," which
were readily accorded him. When "A" Troop marched away its captain's
only solace had been a long, closeted conference with Sergeant Haney,
who, as a consequence, had to gallop many a mile to overtake the troop.
The news of Red Dog's escape and the bolt of the Ogallallas from
McPhail's bailiwick created consternation at Scott. With the cavalry and
all but one company of White's battalion gone from the agency there was
ample opportunity, but it had not been foreseen. Then, three days later,
by way of Pawnee, came the details of the fierce fighting on the Ska,
of Truman's wound and Sanders's, of Chrome's catastrophe, the only humor
in the situation being the contemplation of how Captain Canker must have
sworn. Then came hurried letters, pencilled in the field, and Leonard
himself took hers to Mrs. Cranston, and then went in search of Mrs.
Davies, whom he found at Darling's quarters, though Darling was not
there. The ladies were at luncheon, and the adjutant contented himself
with sending Mira's missive in. There was a letter for Captain Devers in
the well-known hand of Sergeant Haney. This was sent him by the orderly.
There were others for others, which were duly delivered and brought at
least momentary joy, but Mrs. Cranston's eyes were dancing with delight
when Leonard met her half an hour later.
"I'm going to Mrs. Davies," she said. "I want to read her what the
captain says of her husband's conduct all through that fight of Monday
afternoon. He says he never saw anything calmer or braver in his life."
"Yes, I remember our chaplain's indulging in some prognostication to
that end," said Leonard, gravely; "but, Mrs. Cranston, did you want to
see Mrs. Davies?"
"Why, yes, assuredly."
"Well, she isn't home,--I think you'll find her at Mrs. Darling's."
But Mrs. Cranston's humor changed. She decided to wait and see her
later. She did not care to go to Mrs. Darling's; neither, as it
transpired, did she care to return home, at least not yet awhile. There
were people capable of believing of Mrs. Cranston that she had no
especial interest in Mrs. Davies, personally, and no genuine desire to
communicate to her the tidings which Mrs. Davies, perhaps, could hardly
appreciate. Mira had not once set foot within Mrs. Cranston's door since
their return from the cantonment, and there had been next to no
intercourse between them, and yet on this almost joyous afternoon
Margaret had eagerly seized upon this pretext of leaving Agatha Loomis
alone with Mr. Langston, who had returned that very day from some
investigation at Kearney and Cheyenne, and, after half an hour with Mr.
Leonard, had hastened to her door. He was still in the parlor when the
lady of the house came smilingly in an hour later,--she had been
visiting Mrs. Leonard the while,--but there was constraint in the air.
The boys were out with their ponies. There was no one to entertain him
during her absence but Miss Loomis, and Miss Loomis apparently must have
failed, for Langston's face had grown ten years older, and the moment
Mrs. Cranston left the room, on household cares intent, he must have
taken his leave, for when she returned from an inspection of the larder
in order to see if it would justify an invitation to stay and dine, the
parlor was empty. Langston had gone back to Braska, Miss Loomis to her
room. I regret to have to record it of Mrs. Cranston, but during the
following week she made more than one effort to induce her friend and
kinswoman to say what had happened to put so summary a stop to Mr.
Langston's visits, and that she wrote some peppery things to her
husband, the captain, in summing up her conclusions; she also looked
some, and I fear said some, to Miss Loomis herself, for one day, going
suddenly into Agatha's room, she surprised that young lady in the act of
packing her trunk. There ensued a scene which neither cared in
after-years to say much about. There were tears and reproaches on one
side, if not both, but Agatha's determination could not be changed. She
had made up her mind to leave Fort Scott, return to Chicago, and go she
did,--but not without Mrs. Cranston.
In less than ten days there came a long letter from the captain. He and
his troop were destined, he said, to long months of scouting in the
distant Northwest. The general had told him as much. They might again
have to go to the Yellowstone, and it would be November before he could
hope to see the inside of a garrison. "So," said he, "stow away the
goods and chattels, leave them with the quartermaster, pack your trunk,
and take the boys and Agatha for another visit to the old folks at
home,--who are most eager to welcome you." When the Fourth of July came,
the Cranston boys, in the added glory of all their experiences at the
cantonment, were once more the envied centre of youthful attention at
Chicago.
"We will have no more fighting this summer," said he, "for the Indians
have scattered," and "C" Troop did not; but there was abundant
opportunity for usefulness and distinction for "the prodigy," as
Cranston now generally referred in his home letters to Corporal Brannan,
whose devoted mother was almost the first to visit Margaret on her
arrival and overwhelm her with proffers of hospitality and with
questions about her boy. "C" Troop was detailed as escort to the
commanding general in a long tour he made to the Yellowstone Park, and
the prodigy's letters to that fond mother became more and more a cause
for rejoicing. Already had she learned to thrill with pride over the
accounts of his bravery and good conduct in the affairs at the agency
and the fighting on the Ska, but that, said she, was only as she knew he
would behave. From babyhood her boy had been conspicuous among his
fellows for absolute fearlessness and desperate courage, and her memory
was charged with a wealth of corroborative detail which that of his
fellows seemed to have lost. Those who were confidently appealed to were
polite and sympathetic, as became them when responding to a social
magnate of such prominence and influence, but they looked far from
confident and said satirical things when once away from her presence;
but then, no one knows how a boy is going to turn out. A few weeks and
the general himself would be home, and then, fresh from the
contemplation of the soldierly prowess and graces of her son, what could
he do less than have him commissioned a colonel or something and ordered
in on the staff, and then what store of fatted calves would not be
slaughtered in honor of this her son who was lost and was found, and who
had returned to her bringing his sheaves with him? If mother-dreams
could but come true all men would live and die immaculate, ennobled,
magnificently brave, steadfast, and commanding. And far away among the
fastnesses of the Yellowstone, living in close communion with nature, in
a glorious round of days, full of high health, courage, and hope, with
ambition fired, purpose strengthened, with freedom from care or
temptation, small wonder was it if Corporal Brannan's letters warranted
all her expectations. But those were the halcyon days of cavalry life,
not the typical. Our truest heroes are those who bear with equanimity
the heat and burden of the long, monotonous round of garrison life with
its petty tyrannies, exactions, exasperations, and bear them without a
break or murmur. It is a poor, poor soldier who cannot wax enthusiastic
on a full stomach--and a good horse--when serving in the field.
But while "C" Troop was doing escort duty, and its captain's wife and
little ones were safe at home, "A" Troop, long handicapped by the
frailties of its commander and notorious for bad drill, was now striving
to win a new name under the lead of Bachelor Hastings and its grim
Benedick second lieutenant, whose fair young bride could hardly be said
to be safe at Scott, restored to the sympathetic circle of which
Mesdames Stone, Flight, and Darling were the guiding stars. Old Pegleg
seldom left his piazza now except to go to bed or dinner, and did not
much care what was said or done around him so long as he was left in
peace. The post surgeon had bolstered him up again, after a few days in
bed, so that he could sign papers, and while he retained the nominal
command of the garrison, Leonard was its virtual and actual head, for
when July came only one detachment of the Fortieth remained with the
band as guard.
But that band was a host in itself, and why should women weep and mope
and mourn--with music and the dance so easily accessible? Mrs. Leonard's
letters to Mrs. Cranston became vividly interesting just about this
time. The hops were resumed, as well as the drives with friends in town.
Mr. Langston came no longer, but the bank and the Cattle Club poured
forth their homage. Messrs. Burtis, Courtenay, and Fowler were out twice
a week at least. Then Mr. Willett's beautiful team reappeared, and
presently Mr. Willett himself, and he had brought still another step
from the distant sea-shore. It is only the first step that counts, and
Mira had taken that. Mrs. Leonard thought she was learning another. She
danced as beautifully, dressed as divinely, smiled as bewitchingly, and
talked as inanely as ever. Mr. Leonard disapproved of Mr. Willett, but
that could not keep him off the post. When mid-July came Willett was
there almost every day. Twice he remained overnight, sleeping at the
sutler's. The chaplain had been to talk with Mr. Leonard, and had tried
to talk with Mira, but she fled from him in tears. What he said to her
was dreadful!--dreadful! and she should tell Mr. Davies about it just as
soon as he returned. "I," said the chaplain, gravely, "shall not wait
till then. I shall have to write and tell him now."
Meantime Captain Devers occupied his quarters in gloomy state and twice
each day patrolled the garrison limits with the air of an injured man.
At other times he was writing long letters and reading those which came
to him by every mail, but none came now from the faithful henchman
Haney, far away on the Indian trail with Tintop's pursuing column. Red
Dog was known to be with a remnant of his band somewhere in the wild Bad
Lands to the north of the Ska, and the last heard from the colonel was
that he, with six troops of the Eleventh, was scouring the southern
limit of those dismal features of our frontier landscape, looking for
Red Dog not far to the north of Antelope Springs. Devers had been
truculent in his demand for speedy trial up to the third week in
July,--up to the twentieth of the month in fact,--but that day brought
telegraphic sensation. Tintop had found and struck Red Dog's camp at
dawn on the sixteenth, guided thither by Thunder Hawk himself, had
struck hard and heavily, scattering not only Red Dog's people to the
hills but destroying their village and burning another that from its
foul condition seemed to have been standing there all winter. Red Dog
himself was killed, fighting like a tiger, and "A" Troop under Hastings
and Davies had won the distinction of heading the charge, doing most of
the work, and losing more in killed and wounded than the others
combined. Hastings was shot through the arm and crippled. Corporal Boyd,
one of Devers's pets, was killed, so were two troopers, and Sergeant
Haney had received what was reported to be a mortal wound. Leaving a
small guard with his invalids and invoking aid from Major White's
infantry battalion, now garrisoning the stockade where the new post was
to be built, Tintop had gone on into the hills to continue the work of
breaking up the bands, Davies commanding "A" Troop, and not until the
thirtieth was he heard from again.
But meantime Lieutenant Archer, of the general's staff, who had
accompanied the cavalry column, was staying with the wounded, and had
removed them from the smoking, malodorous neighborhood of the ruined
villages, and could be found, he wrote, with his charges at Antelope
Springs. This was news at which Leonard's eyes flashed. It was tidings
at which Devers turned very pale. The latter begged for authority to go
at his own expense and at once, and without a guard, though it involved
five days of buckboard driving or saddle work from Pawnee Station, to
join his wounded men. "Debarred," said he, "from the right to battle
with my men, I pray that I may at least be permitted to minister to
their needs,--they who have so gloriously maintained the honor and
credit of their troop." But the adjutant-general at department
head-quarters smiled sarcastically and said that this, with others of
Devers's letters and telegrams, deserved to be framed. August came, and
Devers again clamored to be brought to trial or relieved from arrest,
and two evenings later, as he sat in gloomy state upon his piazza, he
was amazed to see the adjutant turn grimly into the gate and calmly
stand attention before him.
"Captain Devers," said he, "I am directed by the post commander to read
to you this despatch:
"'COMMANDING OFFICER, FORT SCOTT:
"'Notify Captain Devers that his letters have been received,
and that the court for his trial will convene not later than
the fifteenth instant.
"'By command of General ----.'"
And when it is remembered that he had persistently demanded prompt trial
it is surprising that the accused officer looked completely
disconcerted. The fact of the matter was Captain Devers had no idea that
the members and witnesses could be brought together again before
mid-September, if then. That night he sat up writing until very late,
and sent two messages away by wire. He was sorely troubled now, but
could he have seen the group gathered solemnly about the dying sergeant
far away at Antelope Springs, and heard his faint, whispered words as
Archer took them down, Devers would have stood aghast.
A charming little informal dance was going on at the fort one August
evening about a week later. The Leonards would not attend them now, but
with five such belles as Mesdames Stone, Darling, Davies, Flight, and
Plodder, to say nothing of other lesser lights of the garrison galaxy,
there was no lack of womanly beauty, only the cavaliers were short. One
officer, an infantry subaltern, represented the martial element, the
other men were civilians. Courtenay had brought out two Eastern friends;
Burtis was on hand as usual, and Willett, metaphorically, at least, at
Mira's feet. The poor girl actually lacked the sense to see that his
infatuation was such that he had no eyes, ears, or senses left for any
one else. Possibly she gloried in his devotion. At all events he danced
with her again and again and watched her jealously when she danced with
others. At last towards eleven o'clock Leonard suddenly appeared at the
door of the dancing-room, holding an open letter in his hand, and
beckoned to his comrade. "I'll have to trouble you to come with me to
the quartermaster's storehouse," said he. "There is a chest there that
must be opened to-night." And though the lieutenant was surprised, he,
in common with everybody else in the Fortieth, had learned that Leonard
rarely opened his mouth except to speak by authority, and so went with
barely a word to the ladies left behind, nor did he return in ten
minutes, as he said he would. The old non-commissioned officer left in
charge of the "A" company stores was awaiting their coming with the
quartermaster sergeant. He looked troubled and perplexed when Leonard
handed him the key and bade him unlock and open Sergeant Haney's chest.
"I ought to have the orders of the company commander, sir," he began. "I
mean Captain Devers."
"Captain Devers is not the commanding officer," said Leonard, quietly.
"Here is the written order of the owner, Sergeant Haney, and the
instructions of Lieutenant Hastings. The actual commanding officer of
the company is with it in the field." So no more was said.
Down in the depths of the chest, among a roll of clothing, carefully
covered, but just as described in Hastings's letter, was found a leather
writing-case. "Lock the chest again," said Leonard, as this was handed
to him. "That is all we mean to disturb." And then he took the case to
the office, while the old trooper went to tell his captain what had
happened. Morning brought, as was to be expected, a letter from Devers
protesting against this new indignity. No property of his officers or
men should have been opened save in his presence, as he was but
temporarily suspended from his functions, and as to him the men would
look for the security of their effects. Lying in wait for Leonard as he
returned from the office, Devers demanded to be told what had been taken
from the sergeant's chest, and then went white as chalk when Leonard
calmly answered, "Certain stolen property, sir, including a map and
some written memoranda which will be required before the court-martial
that meets next week."
But this was not all that was found in Brannan's case, the lock of which
had long since been forced. There was a valuable gold watch presented to
Chaplain Davies by the officers and men of his brigade at the close of
the war. There were letters which Leonard barely glanced at,--some
silly, sentimental trash addressed to some one's darling Bertie by his
devoted Mira. All this, opened in presence of a regimental comrade and
certified to by him, was replaced, carefully sealed, and then the case
was locked in the commissary safe. "That goes with me to Omaha Monday
next," said Leonard to the much-mystified officer, "and you may be
needed to corroborate my testimony. Keep all this to yourself."
And, despite a vigorous cross-questioning, the youngster managed to hold
his own against even Captain Devers, whose suspicions, however, were now
fully aroused, and who obtained permission from Colonel Stone to visit
the telegraph-office at Braska, and there wired to a legal friend in
Omaha and to certain addresses in Washington, and on Friday came
telegraphic instructions permitting Captain Devers, for the purpose of
consulting with his counsel, to repair to Omaha at once, and he took the
midnight train. On Monday, as required, Leonard left, taking his prizes
with him, and on Wednesday the court met, with all but two members
present. Colonel Atherton inquired of the judge-advocate if he were
ready to proceed to business, and that officer replied that he was, but
that certain witnesses were still to arrive and the accused did not
seem to be in the building. A messenger to the hotel brought back word
that the captain breakfasted there that morning, had paid his bill and
gone out, his baggage being taken away by an expressman. This strange
news fluttered about from room to room at the headquarters building. The
members of the court fidgeted in their full-dress uniforms and smoked
and chatted and strolled about, calling on old acquaintances, and the
adjutant-general sent orderlies to and fro with inquiries.
And then came the sensation of the year among military circles in the
old frontier department. The grave, dignified, soldierly chief of staff
appeared at the court-room door with a telegraphic despatch in his
twitching fingers. "Gentlemen," said he, "your services in this case
will not be needed. The accused is beyond our jurisdiction."
There was a moment of intense silence, a look as of awe on many a face,
then came the question from one who knew not Devers:
"Killed himself?"
"No! Worse than that,--resigned under fire, and got it accepted."
Later that day there were shown to certain officers some scraps and
letters that had been left in the wastebasket in Devers's room; among
them was a telegraphic despatch from Butte, Sunday, repeated from Scott
on Monday, apparently after Leonard left. It was to this effect:
"Haney split. Secure box. McGrath found. Send hundred at
once."
And while detectives hastened Butteward in quest of its signer, Howard,
only malediction followed its recipient, now speeding eastward fast as
steam could carry him.
"By heaven!" said Leonard, in strange, unnatural excitement, "the
Eleventh have said all along that Devers could never be cornered, and I
believe they're right."
But on the following morning the adjutant's black eyes glowed with even
greater wrath and amaze. They had gone to the station,--several of the
officers,--to meet the in-coming train on which certain of the witnesses
were expected, and there another despatch was handed, this time to
Leonard himself. He tore it open, read it, and then, handing it without
a word to Truman, turned bitterly away.
And Truman, wondering, read, looked dazed an instant, then--understood.
"Gone--with Willett--last night."