 CHAPTER 1 Four Shadowed Events The Major Commanding looked up from the morning report and surveyed the post-agitant with something of perturbation, if not annoyance, in his grim gray eyes. For the fourth time that week had Lieutenant Field requested permission to be absent for several hours. The Major knew just why the Junior wished to go and where. The Major knew just why he wished him not to go, but saw fit to name almost any other than the real reason when, with a certain awkward hesitancy, he began, "'Well, is the post-return ready?' "'It will be, sir, in abundant time,' was the prompt reply. "'You know they sent it back for correction last month,' hazarded the Commander. "'And you know, sir, the error was not mine, was the instant rejoinder, so quick, sharp and positive, as to carry it at a bound to the verge of disrespect. And the keen blue eyes of the young soldier gazed, frank and fearless, into the heavily ambushed graze of the veteran in the chair. It made the latter wince and stir un-easily. "'If there's one thing I hate, Field, it is to have my paper sent back by some flip-snapper of a clerk, inviting attention to this or that error, and I expect my adjutant to see to it that they don't. Your adjutant does see to it, sir. I'm willing to bet a month's pay fewer errors have been found in the papers of Fort Frayne than any post in the Department of the Platt. General Williams told you as much when you were in Omaha.' The Major fairly wriggled in his cane-bottomed hurly-gig. What Young Field said was true, and the Major knew it. He knew moreover there wasn't a more painstaking post-adjutant from the Missouri to the mountains. He knew their monthly reports—returns, as the regulations call them—were referred to by a model adjutant general as model papers. He knew it was due to Young Field's care and attention, and he knew he thought all the world of that young gentleman. It was just because he thought so much of him he was beginning to feel that it was high time to put a stop to something that was going on. But it was a delicate matter—a woman was the matter—and he hadn't the moral courage to go at it the straightforward way. He whipsawed again, thrumming on the desk with his lean bony fingers he began. If I let my adjutant out so much, what's to prevent other youngsters asking similar indulgence? The answer came like the crack of a whip. Nothing, sir, and far better would it be for everybody concerned if they spent more hours in the saddle and fewer at the store. This was too much for the one listener in the room. Would something like the sound of a suppressed sneeze, a tall, long-legged captain of cavalry started up from his chair, an outspread newspaper still full-stretched between him and the desk of the commander, and thus hidden as to his face, sidled, sniggering off to the nearest window. Young Field had fearlessly, if not almost impudently, hit the nail on the head and metaphorically wrapped the thrumming fingers of his superior officer. Some commanders would have raged and sent the daring youngster right about in arrest. Major Webb knew just what Field referred to, knew that the fascinations of pool, pitch, and poker held just about half his commissioned force at all off-duty hours of the day or night, hanging about the officer's club room at the post-traders. He knew, moreover, that while the adjutant never wasted a moment over cards or billiards, he, the post-commander, had many times taken a hand or a cue and wagered his dollars against those of his devoted associates. They all loved him. There wasn't a mean streak in his whole system, set every soldier at Fort Frayne. He had a capital record as a volunteer, a colonel, and later, Brigade Commander in the Great War. He had the brevet of Brigadier General of Volunteers. But he repudiated any title beyond that of his actual rank in the regulars. He was that Rara Avice, a bachelor field officer, and a bird to be brought down if feminine witchery could do it. He was truthful, generous, high-minded, brave, a man who preferred to be of and with his subordinates rather than above them, to rule through affection and regard rather than the stern standard of command. He was gentle and courteous alike to officers and the rank and file. Though he feared no man on the face of the globe, he was awkward, bungling, and overwhelmingly lavishly kind and thoughtful in his dealings with the womenfolk of the garrison, for he stood in awe of the entire sisterhood. He could ride like a centaur, he couldn't dance with a scent. He could snuff a candle with his colt at twenty paces and couldn't hit a croquetball to save his soul. His deep-set gray eyes, under their tangled fetch of brown, gazed straight into the face of every man on the plat, soldier, cowboy, indian, or half-breed, but fell abashed if a laundress looked at him. Billy Ray, captain of the Sorrel Troop and the best light-rider in Wyoming, was the only man he ever allowed to straddle a beautiful thoroughbred mare he had bought in Kentucky. But bad hands are good, there wasn't a riding woman at Frayne, who hadn't backed Lorna time and again, because to a woman the major simply couldn't say no. And though his favorite comrades at the post were captains like Blake and Billy Ray, married men both whose wives he worshipped, the major's rugged heart went out especially to Beverly Field, his boy adjutant, a lad who came to them from West Point only three years before the autumn this story opens, a young fellow full of high health, pluck, and principle, a tip-top soldier said everybody from the start, until, as Greg and other growlers began to declaim, the major completely spoiled him. Here three years only out of military leading-strings, he was a young cock of the walk, too damn independent for a second lieutenant, said the officer's club element of the command, men like Greg, Wilkins, Crane, and a few of their following. The keenest young trooper in the regiment, said Blake and Ray, who were among its keenest captains, and never a cloud had sailed across the serene sky of their friendship and esteem, until this glorious September of 1880 blank, when Annette Flower, a brilliant beautiful brunette, came a visitor to old Fort Frane. And it was on her account that Major Wood, could he have seen the way, said no to the adjutant's request to be absent again, on her account and that of one other, for that request meant another long morning in saddle with Miss Flower, another long morning in which the sweetest girl in the garrison, so said they all, would go about her daily duties with an aching heart. There was no woman at Fort Frane who did not know that Esther Dade thought all the world of Beverly Field. There was only one man who apparently had no inkling of it, Beverly Field himself. She was the only daughter of a veteran officer, a captain of infantry, who at the age of fifty, after having held a high command in the volunteers during the Civil War, was still meekly doing duty as a company officer of regulars nearly two decades after. She had been carefully reared by a most loving and thoughtful mother, even in the crude old days of the Army, when its fighting force was scattered in small detachments all over the wide frontier, and men and women, too, lived on soldier rations, eeked out with game, and dwelt intense or ramshackle one-storied huts, built by the labor of troops. At twelve she had been placed at school in the Far East, while her father enjoyed a two-year's tour on recruiting service, and there, under the care of a noble woman who taught her girls to be women indeed, not vapid votaries of pleasure and fashion, Esther spent five useful years coming back to her fond father's soldier-roof, a winsome picture of a girlish health and grace and comeliness. A girl who could ride, walk, and run, if need be, who could bake and cook, mend and sew, cut, fashion, and make her own simple wardrobe, who knew algebra, geometry, and trig quite as well as, and history, geography, and grammar far better than most of the young West pointers. A girl who spoke her own tongue with accuracy, and was not badly versed in French. A girl who performed fairly well on the piano and guitar, but who sang full-throated, rejoiceful, exulting like the lark, the soulful music that brought delight to her aging father, half crippled by the wounds of the war days, and to the mother who so devotedly loved and carefully planned for her. Within a month from her graduation at Madame Piazz she had become the darling of Fort Frayne, the pet of many a household, the treasure of her own. With other young goants of the garrison, Beverly Field had been prompt to call, prompt to be her escort when dance or drive, ride or picnic was planned in her honor, especially the ride, for Mr. Adjutant Field loved the saddle, the open prairie, or the bold, undulating bluffs. But Field was the busiest man at the post. Other youngsters, troop or company subalterns, had far more time at their disposal, and begged for rides and dances, strolls and sports which the post Adjutant was generally far too busy to claim. It was Esther who brought Lawn-Tennis to Frayne, and found eager pupils of both sexes, but Field had been the first to meet and welcome her. Had been for a brief time at the start her most constant cavalier. Then as others began to feel the charm of her frank, cordial, joyous manner, and learned to read the beauty that beamed in her clear, truthful eyes, and winsome yet not beautiful face, they became assiduous in turn. Two of them almost distressingly so, and she could not wound them by refusals. Then came a fortnight in which her father sat as a member of a court marshal down at Old Fort Laramie, where were the band, headquarters, and four troops of the Blankth, and Captain and Mrs. Freeman, who were there stationed, begged that Mrs. Dade and Esther should come and visit them during the session of the court. There would be all manner of army gayities and a crowd of outside officers, and, as luck would have it, Mr. Field was ordered to either as a witness in two important cases. The Captain and his good wife went by stage. Esther and Beverly rode every inch of the way in saddle, camping overnight with their joyous little party at LeBont. Then came a lovely week at Laramie, during which Mr. Field had little to do but devote himself to and dance with Esther. And when his final testimony was given, and he returned to his station, and not until then, Esther Dade discovered that life had little interest or joy without him. But Field rode back unknowing, and met at Frane before Esther Dade's return, a girl who had come almost unheralded, making the journey over the medicine-bow from Rock Springs on the Union Pacific in the comfortable carriage of old Bill Haye, the post-traitor, escorted by that redoubtable woman, Mrs. Bill Haye, and within the week of her arrival, Nanette Flower was the toast of the bachelor's mess, the talk of every household at Fort Frane. And well she might be. Dark and lustrous were her eyes. Black, luxuriant and lustrous was her hair. Dark, rich and lustrous her radiant beauty. In contour her face was well-knife faultless. It might have been called beautiful indeed, but for the lips, or something about the mouth, that in repose had not a soft or wholesome line, but then it was never apparently in repose. Smile, sunshine, animation, rippling laughter, flashing even white teeth. These were what one noted when in talk with Miss Flower. There was something actually radiant, almost dazzling about her face. Her figure, though petite, was exquisite, and women marked with keen appreciation, if not envy, the style and finish of her varied and various gowns. Six trunks, said Billy Haye's boss Teamster, had been trundled over the range from Rollins, not to mention a box containing her little-ladyship's beautiful English side-saddle, melt-and-bridle and other equine impedimenta. Did Miss Flower like to ride? She adored it, and Billy Haye had a bay half thoroughbred that could discount the Major's mare cross-country. All-frain was out to see her start for her first ride with Beverly Field. And All-frain reluctantly agreed that sweet as he did could never sit a horse over a ditch or hurdle with a superb grace and unconcern, displayed by the daring, dashing girl who had so suddenly become the center of garrison interest. For the first time in her life, Mrs. Bill Haye knew what it was to hold the undivided attention of army society, for every woman at Fort Frayne was wild to know all about the beautiful newcomer, and only one could tell. Haye, the trader, had prospered in his long years on the frontier first as a trader among the Sioux, later a settler, and finally, when Congress abolished that title, substituting therefore the euphemism without material clog upon the prerequisites as post-trader at Fort Frayne. No one knew how much he was worth, for while apparently a most open-hearted, whole-sold fellow, Haye was reticence itself when his fortunes or his family were matters of question or comment. He had long been married, and Mrs. Haye, when at the post, was a social sphinx, kind-hearted, charitable, lavish to the soldiers' wives and children, and devotion itself to the families of the officers when sickness and trouble came, as come in the old days they too often did. It was she who took poor Ned Robinson's young widow and infant all the way to Cheyenne when the Sue Butchert, the luckless little hunting-party down by Laramie Peak. It was she who nursed Captain Forrest's wife and daughter through ten weeks of typhoid, and with her own means sent them to the seashore while the husband and father was far up on the Yellowstone, cut off from all communication in the big campaign of Seventy-six. It was she who built the little chapel and decked and dressed it for Easter and Christmas, despite the fact that she herself had been baptized in the Roman Catholic faith. It was she who went at once to every woman in the garrison whose husband was ordered out on scout or campaign, proffering aid and comfort, despite the fact long-whispered in the garrisons of the Platt Country that in the old, old day she had far more friends among the Redmen than the White. That could well be because in those days White men were few and far between. Everyone had heard the story that it was through her the news of the massacre at Fort Phil Kearney was made known to the post-commander, for she could speak the dialects of both the Arapaho and the Sioux, and had the sign language of the plains veritably at her fingers ends. There were not lacking those who declared that Indian blood ran in her veins, that her mother was an Ogallala squaw and her father a French-Canadian fur-trapper, a story to which her raven black hair and brows, her deep dark eyes and somewhat swarthy complexion gave no little color. But long years before Bill Haye had taken her east where he had relatives, and where she studied under excellent masters, returning to him summer after summer with more and more of refinement in manner and so much of style and fashion and dress that her annual advent had come to be looked upon as quite the event of the season, even by women of the social position of Mrs. Ray and Mrs. Blake, the recognized leaders among the young matrons of the Blankth cavalry, and by gentle Mrs. Dade, to whom everyone looked up in respect, almost in reverence. Despite the mystery about her antecedents, there was every reason why Mrs. Haye should be held in esteem and affection. Bill Haye himself was a diamond in the rough, square, sturdy, uncompromising, generous, and hospitable. His great pride and glory was his wife, his one great sorrow that their only child had died almost in infancy. His solicisms in syntax and society were many, he was given at times to profanity, and at others when madam was away to draw poker. But officers and men alike proclaimed him a man of metal and never hesitated to go to him when in financial straits, sure of unsurious aid. But even had this not been the case, the popularity of his better half would have carried him through, for there was hardly a woman at frame to speak of her except in terms of genuine respect. Mrs. Haye was truth-telling, sympathetic, a peacemaker, a resolute opponent of gossip and scandal of every kind, a woman who minded her own business, and was only mildly insistent that others should do likewise. She declined all overtures leading to confidences as to her past, and demanded recognition only upon the standard of the present, which was unimpeachable. All the same it came something like a shock to society at frame, that when she appeared at the post this beautiful autumn of 1880 blank, nearly three months later than the usual time, she should be accompanied by this brilliant and beautiful girl of whom no one of their number had previously heard, and whom she smilingly confidently presented as, my niece, this flower. There was a dance the night the daids got home from Laramie, nearly all day long had they driven in the open buck-board over the rough winding road along the plat, and Mrs. Dade was far too tired to think of going. But Esther was so eager that her father put aside his precious paper, tucked her under his arm, and trudged cheerily away across the parade toward the bright lights of the hop room. They had a fairly good string orchestra at frame that year, and one of Strauss's most witching waltzes, sounds from the Vienna woods, had just been begun as father and daughter entered. A dozen people, men and women both, saw them and noted what followed, with bright almost dilated eyes and a sweet warm color mantling her smiling face, Esther stood gazing about the room, nodding blithely as she caught the glance of many a friend, yet obviously searching for still another. Then, of a sudden, they saw the bonny face light up with joy uncontrollable, for Mr. Field came bounding in at the side door, opening from the veranda of the adjutant's office. He saw her, smiled, joyous greeting as he came swiftly toward her, then stopped short as a girl in black grenadine dropped the arm of her cavalier, the officer with whom she was promenading, and without a moment's hesitation placed her left hand, fan-bearing, close to the shoulder-knot on his stalwart right arm, her black-gloved right in his white-kitted left, and instantly they were gliding away together, he nodding half in whimsical apology, half in merriment over the black-spangled shoulder, and the rosy-eight light died slowly from the sweet smiling face. The smile itself seemed slowly freezing, as the still-dialated eyes followed the graceful movements of the couple, slowly, harmoniously winding and reversing about the waxen floor. Even at the point she had never seen more beautiful dancing, even when her stanchious friend, Mrs. Blake, pounced upon her with fond, anxious, welcoming words, and Mrs. Ray, seeing it all, broke from her partner's encircling arm and sped to add her greeting. The child could hardly regain self-control, and one loving-hearted woman cried herself to sleep that night for the woe that had come into the soft and tender eyes which had first beamed with joy at sight of Beverly Field, then filled with sudden dread immeasurable. But the major sought to block that morning ride in Maine. The impetuous will of the young soldier prevailed, as he might have known it would, and from the rear-gallery of his quarters, with his strong field-glass, Major Webb watched the pair fording the plait far up beyond Pyramid Butte. Going over to that damn Sioux village again, he swore between his set teeth. That makes the third time she's headed him there this week. And with strange annoyance at heart, he turned away to seek comfort in council with his stanch henchman, Captain Ray, when the orderly came bounding up the steps with the telegraphic despatch which the major opened, red turned to shade grayer, and whistled low. "'My compliments to Captain's Blake and Ray,' said he, to the silent young soldier, standing attention at the doorstep, and say I should be glad to see them here at once.' That night the sentries had just called off half past one, when there was some commotion at the guard-house. A courier had ridden and posed haste from the outlying station of Fort Beecher, far up under the lee of the Bighorn Range. The corporal of the guard took charge of his wreaking horse, while the sergeant let the messenger to the commander's quarters. The major was already awake and half-dressed. "'Call the adjutant,' was all he said, on reading the despatch, and the sergeant sped away. In less than five minutes he was back. "'I could get no answer to my knock or ring, sir, so I search the house. The adjutant isn't there.' End of Chapter 1 Section 2 of A Daughter of the Sue. This is a Liberox recording. All Liberox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libervox.org. Reading by Mary Rodey. A Daughter of the Sue by General Charles King. Chapter 2 Absent from Duty For a moment the major stood in silence, then, briefly saying, "'Call Captain Ray,' turned again to the dimly-lighted hallway of his commodious quarters. The women thought it such a shame there should be no lady of the house, for the largest and finest of the long line known as Officer's Row, while the sergeant of the guards scurried away to the soldier-home of the senior cavalry captain on duty at the post. When the major again came forth, his field-glasses were in his hand, and he had hurried down the steps and out into the broad sheen of the moonlight, when he caught sight of the courier seated on the horse-block at the gate, rearly leaning his head upon his gauntleted hand. Webb stopped short. "'Come right in here, my lad,' he cried. I want to speak with you.' And followed slowly by the soldier, he entered his parlor and whirled an easy chair in front of the open fireplace. "'Sit right down there now, and I'll be with you in a minute,' he added, bustled into the rear-room, and presently reappeared with a decanter and glass, poured out a stiff taut of monongahela. "'A little water,' he asked, as the trooper's eye brightened gratefully, a little water was added, and off came the right-hand gauntlet. "'I drink the major's health and long life to him,' said the soldier, gulping down the fluid without so much as a wink. Then, true to his training, set down the glass and stood strictly at attention. "'You've had nothing to eat since yesterday morning I'll be found,' said Webb. "'Now I've got to see some of my officers at once. You make yourself at home here. You'll find cold beef, bread, cheese, pickles, milk, if you care for it, and pie right there in that pantry. Take the lamp in with you and help yourself. If you want another nip, there's the decanter. You've made splendid time. Did you meet no Indians?' "'Not once, sir, but I saw smokes at sunset out toward Eagle Butte.' "'Your name? I see you belong to Captain Truscott's troop.' "'Kennedy, sir, and I thank the major.' "'Then I'll leave you in charge until you've had your fill,' said the commander, then go over to F. Troup's quarters and get a bed, till anybody who comes I've gone to the flagstaff. With that the major stalked from the room, followed by the Irishman's adoring eyes. A moment later he stood by the tall white staff at the edge of the northward bluff, at whose feet the river swept by in musical murmurings. There he quickly focused his glass and gazed away westward up the plat, to where but the evening before a score of Indian lodges dotted the other bank, perhaps two miles away. The September moon was at its full, and in that rare cloudless atmosphere flooding the valley with its soft silvery light, so that close at hand within the limits of the garrison, every object could be almost as distinctly seen as in broad daylight. But farther away, over the lowlands and the river-bottom and the rolling prairie stretching to the northern horizon, the cottonwoods along the stream or in the distant swales made only black blotches against the vague, colorless surface, and the bold bluffs beyond the reservation limits south of the flashing waters, the sharp, saw-like edge of the distant mountain range that barred the way to the west, even the clean-cut outlines of Eagle Butte, the landmark of the northward prairie, visible for fifty miles by day, where now all veiled in some intangible filament that screened them from the soldiers' searching gaze. Later in the season, on such a night, their crests would gleam with radiance almost intolerable, the glistening sheen of their spotless crown of snow. All over this broad expanse of upland prairie and wooded river-bed and boldly undulating bluff-line, not so much as a spark of fire peeped through the wing of night to tell the presence of human wayfarer, quite half-breed or Indian, even where the sue had swarmed perhaps two hundred strong at sunset of the day gone by. Close at hand, northernmost of the brown line, was the double set of quarters occupied by captains Blake and Ray, the latter as senior, having chosen the half nearest the bluff, because of the encircling veranda and the fine, far-extending view. A bright light gleamed now behind the blinds of the corner-room of the second floor, telling that the captain was up and dressing in answer to the commander's summons, but all the rest of the dozen houses were black, save where at the middle of the row a faint glow came from the open doorway at the commanding officers. Across the broad level of the parade were the long, low barracks of the troops, six in number, gable-ending east and west. Closing the quadrangle on the south, where the headquarters buildings and the assembly-room, the offices of the adjutant and quartermaster, the commissary and quartermaster's storehouses, etc. At the southwest angle stood the guardhouse, where oil lamps packed by their reflectors of polished tin sent brilliant beams of light athwart the roadway. Beyond these low buildings, the black bulk of the medicine-bow mountains, only a dozen miles away, tumbled confusedly against the sparkling sky. All spoke of peace, security, repose. For even in the flats under the westward bluff, where lay the wide-extended corrals, hay and wood-yards, and the stables, not one of the myriad dogs that hung about the post was lifting up his voice to bay the autumn moon. Even those easily started night-trumpeters, the big Missouri mules, sprawled about their roomy, sand-floored stables, and drowsed in placid comfort, wearied with their musical efforts of the earlier hours of the night, and gathering in Perus for the sonorous braying with which they should presently salute the dawn. Beyond the guardhouse, at the edge of the plateau overlooking the westward flats, but invisible from the flagstaff bluff, stood the big wooden edifice known as the store, with its card and billiard room for the officers on the southern side, another for the enlisted men upon the northern, the bar and general merchandise establishment compressed between them. Southward, farther still, surrounded by crude greenhouses abounding in potted plants and beds of vine and vegetables, was the big and somewhat pretentious house of the post-trader himself, his own stables and corral being halfway down the slope and well away from those of the garrison. Out of sight, muttered Webb, but by no means out of mind. Fort was safe to say the thoughts of more than half the men and women making up the social element of Fort Frayne had been centering within the last few days beneath the roof that gave shelter to that brilliant, fascinating beauty Nanette Flower. Ten days at Denison of the Fort, it seemed as though she had been there as many weeks, so completely had she accepted the situation and possessed herself of the ins and outs of garrison life. The women had called, of course, and gone away filled with unwilling admiration, for the girl's gowns and graces were undeniable. The married men, as was the army way, had called with their wives on the occasion of the first visit. The bachelors, from Webb down to the junior subaltern, had called in little squads at first. Afterwards, except the major, they sought to see Miss Flower when other fellows were not present. Even Hartley and Donovan, the two whose devotions to Esther Dade had been carried to the verge of oppression and who were on terms of distant civility only when compelled to appear together in the presence of women or their other superiors, had been moved to more than one visit at the haze. But Hartley speedily returned to his undesired siege at the quarters of Captain Dade, while Donovan joined forces with two other youngsters, Bruce and Putney, because it gave them comfort to bother field, who, being the adjutant, and a very busy man, could visit only at certain hours of the day or evening. Now it had become apparent to the boys that despite her general attitude of cordiality their attentions were not what Mrs. Hay so much desired as those of the major commanding. Twice had he been invited to dine within the week of Nanette's coming. Once he accepted, the second time he begged off on plea of a previous engagement subsequently made to go shooting with Blake. It was the bachelor heart and home of Major Webb, to which Mrs. Hay would have laid vicarious siege, small blame to her, for that indomitable cross-examiner Mrs. Wilkins, wife and manager of the veteran ranker now serving as post-quartermaster, had wormed out of Mrs. Hay the admission that Nanette had no fortune. She was the only daughter of a half-brother, very dear to Mrs. Hay whom she had lost, she said, long years before. To do her justice it was quite apparent that Miss Flower was no party to the plan, for though she beamed on web as she did on all, she frankly showed her preference for the younger officers who could dance as well as ride, and either dancing or riding was her glory. She danced like a silef. She seemed to float about the room as though on air. She rode superbly and shirked no leap that even Ray and Field took with lowered hands and close gripping knees. She was joyous, laughing, radiant with all the officers, and fairly glowed with cordiality for all the women. But it speedily developed that she would rather dance with Field than any of the others, probably because he was by far the best waltzer, and to ride with him because, Ray expected, there was none to excel him in the saddle. Ten days had she been a train, and within that time had become as thoroughly at ease and home as though it had been her abiding place since babyhood. It was plain to see that Big Bill Hay almost worshipped this lovely protege of the wife he more than worshipped. It was plain to see that Webb uneasily held a loof as though fearful of singing his shriveling wings. It was plain to see that the hitherto indomitable Mrs. Wilkins was puzzled. It was not so plain to see that there were two women at the post on whom Miss Flowers Charms made slight impression. Madame Blake and Ray, two wise young matrons who were known to have few secrets from each other and no intimacies, or rather no confidences, with any other woman at Fort Frayne, Mrs. Dade possibly accepted. But what they thought their liege-lord stood ready to swear to, and it was to them Webb turned in his perplexity when it became apparent that his young adjutant was ensnared. It was to Ray he promptly opened his heart as that veteran of a dozen Indian campaigns, then drawing his fourth foggy, came hastening out to join the commander. Here's confirmation of the telegram. Read that, Ray," said Webb, handing him the despatch from Fort Beecher. Then come with me to feel his missing. Missing! cried Ray in consternation as he hurriedly opened the page. In God's name what do you mean? I mean he isn't in quarters and hasn't been in bed to-night. Now I need him, and it's two o'clock." Even as he spoke, the voice of the sentry at the guard-house rang out the watch-call through the still and sparkling night. It was taken up by number two back of the store-houses, and his all's well was still echoing among the foothills, prolonged and powerful, when number three, down at the quarter-master's corral, began his soldier-song. And so, alert, cheery, reassuring, the sentry sent their deep-voiced assurance on its unbroken round to the waking guardian at the southwest angle, and as his final all's well went rolling away over the bluff stream and prairie, Ray lifted a grave and anxious face from the fateful paper. Lame-wolf out? That's bad in itself. He's old Red Cloud's nephew and a brute at best. Stabbers people there yet? he suddenly asked, whirling on his heel and gazing westward. Can't make out, even with my glasses, all darkest pitch among the cotton-woods, but Kennedy, who made the ride, says he saw smoke's back of Eagle Butte just before sunset. Then you can bet they won't be there at dawn, the worriers at least. Of course the women, the kids and old men will stay, if only for a blind. He had forty fighting men, and wolves got at least two hundred. What's start at the row? The arrest of those two young bucks on charge of killing Finn the sheep herder on the piney last week. I don't believe the Sue began it. There's a bad lot among those damn wrestlers," said Webb, snapping the glass into its well-worn case. But no matter who starts, we have to finish it. Old Plotter is worried and wants help. Reckon I'll have to send you, Ray. Ready whenever you say, sir, was the prompt and soldierly reply. Even marriage had not taken the edge from Ray's keen zest for campaigning. Shall I have out my sergeant and cooks at once? We'll need to take rations. Yes, but wait with me till I wire the chief at Laramie. Come to the office. Also saying the post-commander turned and strode away, the captain glanced at the upper window where the light now dimly burned, but blind and window were open and a woman's form appeared. It's all right, matey," called the captain softly, may have to start out on scout at daybreak, that's all, home soon, and with the reassuring wave of the hand turned again to his stanch, friend and commander. I hate to send you again," said Webb. You were out in June and the others have had only short scouts since. Don't bother. What's a cavalryman for? Shall we? I can't believe it somehow. And Ray stopped, glanced inquiringly at the Major, and then nodded toward the doorway of the third house on the row. The ground floor was occupied by field as his quarters, the upstairs room by Putney and Ross. Come in, said the Major briefly, and pushing through the gate they softly entered the dark hallway and struck a light in the front room. A wood fire was smoldering on the andorans and the wide brick chimney-place. An open book face downward was on the center table. Two embroidered slippers lay as though hurriedly kicked off, one under the sofa beyond the mantelpiece, the other halfway across the one carpet. Striking another match at the doorway, Ray passed on to the little inner room, the bed-chamber. On the bed, carelessly thrown, were the young officers' best and newest forage cap, undress uniform coat, and trousers. He had used them during the evening when calling at the haze. On the floor were the enamored leather-buttoned boots he wore on such occasions. The bed was otherwise untouched. Other boots and shoes in orderly row stood against the wall beside the plain, unpainted wardrobe. The spurred riding-boots and the knee-tight breeches were gone. Turning back to the front room, Ray found the Major, his face gray and disturbed, holding forth to him an open envelope. Ray took it and glanced at the superscription. Lieutenant Beverly Field fortfrained, and returned it without a word. Both knew the strange angular slashing handwriting at a glance, for both had seen and remarked it before. It was Nanette Flowers. Holding the envelope on the table, he had found it on the floor, Webb led the way to the open air. There was then no time to compare views. There stood the Sergeant. Sir, said he, with the snap of the gloved left hand at the brown tube nestling in the hollow of the shoulder. Number five reports that he has heard galloping hoof-beats up the bench twice in the last half-hour, and though he saw distant horsemen, three couldn't say whether they were Indians or cowboys. Very good, Sergeant, was the Major's brief answer, sent for the telegraph operator and my orderly. The Sergeant turned. One moment, called Ray, your pardon, Major, my first Sergeant too, and Sergeant, have any sentries reported horses taken out from the stables tonight? Not once, sir, and stanch and sturdy the commander of the guards stood ready to vouch for his men. That's all. A quick salute, a face to the right about, and the Sergeant was gone. Webb turned and looked inquiringly at Ray. I asked, sir, was that officer's brief explanation, because wherever field has gone he wore riding-dress. CHAPTER III A NIGHT ENCOUNTER Comforted by abundant food, refreshed and stimulated by more than two or three enthusiastic toasts, to the health of the Major that men so loved. Trooper Kennedy, like a born dragoon and son of the old sod, bethought him of the gallant bay that had borne him bravely and with hardly a halt all the way from Beecher to Frayne. The field telegraph had indeed been stretched, but it afforded more fun for the suit than aid to the outlying posts on the powder and little horn, for it was down ten days after twelve. Plodder, Lieutenant Colonel of Infantry commanding at Beecher, had been badly worried by the ugly demonstrations of the Indians for ten days past. He was forever seeing in his mind's eye the hideous details of the massacre at Fort Philcurny, a few miles further on around the shoulder of the mountains, planned and carried out by red cloud, with such dreadful success in sixty-seven. Beecher had strong men at his back, whom even hordes of painted suit could never stampede. But there were few in number, and there were those ever-present helpless-dependent women and children. His call for aid was natural enough, and his choice of Kennedy, daring, dashing lad who had learned to ride in Galway, was the best that could be made. No peril could daunt the light-hearted fellow, already proud wearer of the Medal of Honor, but, duty done, it was Kennedy's creed that the soldier merited reward and relaxation. If he went to bed at F. Troop's barracks, there would be no more cakes and ale, no more of the Major's good grub and rye. If he went down to look after the gallant's deed he loved, sought to it that Kilmaine was rubbed down, bedded, given abundant hay and later water. Sure then, with clear conscience, he could accept the Major's bid, and call again on his bedward way and toast the Major to his Irish heart's and stomach's content. Full of pluck and fight and enthusiasm, and only quarterful, he would insist, of rye, was Kennedy, as he strode whistling down the well-remembered road to the flats, for he, with Captain Truscott's famous troop, had served some months at Frayne before launching forth to Indian story-land in the shadows of the Bighorn Range. Kennedy, in fact, essayed to sing when once out of earshot of Godhouse, and singing, he strolled on past the fork of the winding road, where he should have turned to his right, and in the fullness of his heart went striding southward down the slope, past the once familiar horn to the store, now dark and deserted, past the big house of the post-trader, past the trader's roomy stables and corral, and so went at his moon at way, along the Rawlins Trail, never noting until he had charted over half a mile, and most of the songs he knew, that Frayne was well behind him, and the rise of the medicine-bow in front. Then Kennedy began to laugh and call himself names, and then, as he turned about to retrace his steps by a short cut over the bottom, he was presently surprised, but in no wise disconcerted, to find himself face-to-face with the painted suit, there by the pathside, cropping the dreary grass, was the trained pony, here lounging by the trail, the thick black braids of his hair interlaced with beads, the quill gogette heaving at his massive throat, the heavy blanket swung negligently, gracefully about his stalwart form, his neverlimbs and feet, in embroidered buckskin, his long-lashed quirt in hand, and here stood, almost confronting him, as fine a specimen of the worry of the plains, as it had ever been Trooper Kennedy's lot to see, and see them he had, many a time adorbed. In that incomparable tale, my lord the elephant, the great Mulvaney, comes opportunity upon a bottle of whiskey and a goblet of water. The first and second drink I didn't taste, that he, being dry, but the fourth and fifth took hold, and I began to think scornful of elephants. At no time stood Kennedy in awe of a zoo, at this time he held him only in contempt. How, John, said he, with an Irishman's easy insolence, looking for a chance to steal something, is it? And then Kennedy was at both amazed and enraptured at the prompt reply in the fervent English of the Far Frontier. Go to hell, you pockmarked son of scut, where'd you steal your whiskey? For five seconds Kennedy thought he was dreaming, then convinced he was awake, an Irishman scorned and insulted, he dashed into the attack. Both fists shot out from the brawny shoulders, both missed the agile dodger, then off went the blanket, and the two lean red scenery arms, the zoo had locked his foaming round, and the two were straining and swaying in a magnificent grapple. At arm's length Pat could easily have had the best of it, for the Indian never boxes, but in a bear hug and a wrestle, all chances favoured the zoo. Cursing and straining, honours even on both for a while, not a wild Wyoming strove for the mastery. Whiskey is a wonderful starter, but a mighty poor stare of a fight. Kennedy loosed his grip from time to time to batter wildly with his clinched fists, at such sections of the zoo anatomy he could reach, but at range so close his blows lacked both swing and steam, and fell harmless on a sinewy back, and lean muscular flanks. Then he tried to gallway hitch and trip, but his lithe antagonist knew a trick worth ten of that. Kennedy tried many a time the next day to satisfactorily account for it, but never with success. He found himself speedily on the broad of his back, gasping for breath with which to keep up his vocal defiance, staring into the glaring vengeful black eyes of his furious and triumphed foemen. And then in one sudden awful moment he realised that the Indian was reaching for his knife. In another instant it gleamed aloft in the moonlight, and the poor lad shut his eyes against a swift and deadly blow. Curses changed to one wordless prayer to heaven for pity and help. He never saw the glittering blade go spinning through the air. Vaguely and faintly he heard a stern young voice ordering, Hold there! Then another, a silvery voice crying something in a strange tongue, and was conscious that an unseen power had loosed the fearful grip on his throat. Next, that obedient to the same power, one he dare not question, the Indian was struggling slowly to his feet. And then for a few seconds Kennedy soared away into cloudland, knowing nought of what was going on about him. When he came to again, he heard a confused murmur of talk about him, and grew dimly aware that his late antagonist was standing over him. Panting still and slightly swaying, and that an officer, a young athlete, was saying rebukeful words. Well he knew him, as what troop of the blank did not. Left tenant Beverly Field. But seeing the reopened eyes, it was the Indian again who sought to speak. With uplifted hand he turned from the rescuer to the rescued. You're saved this time, you cur of a mech! Were, expurgited of unprintable blasphemy, the exact words of the semi-savage lord of the frontier. But by the god that made us both, I'll get you before another moon, dash dash you, and when I do, I'll cut your blagged heart and eat it. Then bowding on his pony, away he sped at mad gallop westward. For a moment no further word was spoken. The officer presently helped the soldier to his feet and slayed him, for the latter's legs seemed wobbly. Field let his salvage get its breath, before asking questions, but he was puzzled, for the man's face was strange to him. Who are you, he asked at length, and what on earth are you doing out here in this time of night? Kennedy, sir, Captain Truscott's troop, at Fort Beecher, I got in with dispatches an hour ago. What! cried Field, dispatches, what did you do, gave him to the major, sir. Beg pardon, they wasn't looking for the adjutant, sir, and Sergeant Hogan said he wasn't home. Even in the moonlight the Irishman saw the colour fade from the young officer's face. The hand that stayed him dropped nervous. With utter consternation in his big blue eyes, Field stood for a moment, stunned and silent. Then the need of instant action spurred him. I must go, at once, he said. You are all right now, you can get back. You've been drinking, haven't you? The major's health, sir, just a sup or two. I have no time now to listen to how you came to be out here. I'll see you by and by." But still the young officer hesitated. One hand grasped the rain of his horse. He half turned him out. Then turned again. Kennedy, he faltered, you'd have been a dead man if we—if I hadn't reached you at that moment. I know it, sir, burst in pat impetrously. I'll never forget it. Hush, Kennedy! You must forget. Forget that you saw or spoke with me. Whether you saw or heard any other soul on earth out here tonight. Can you promise? I'll cut my tongue out before I ever spake the word that'll harm the lieutenant, or the—the—or anyone, he says, sir, but never will I forget. It ain't in me, sir. Let it go at that, then. Here, shake hands, Kennedy. Now, good night. Another instant, and Field was in saddle and speeding away toward the post where the lights were now dancing about the quartermaster's corral, and firefly lamps were flitting down the slope towards the stables on the flats. Ray's men were already up and doing. Slowly, stiffly following, Pat Kennedy rubbed his aching head, with a hand that shook as never did in his resolution. His bewildered brain was puzzling over a weighty problem. The lieutenant's safe alright, he muttered, but what's gone with the score that was shouting at Sue at the murdering buck? Meantime, all thought-frain had seemed to wake to life. No call had sounded on the trumpet. No voice had ever been raised to save the invariable call of the centuries, passing from post to post the half-hours of the night. But the stir at the guardhouse, the bustle over the ballots, swift footsteps of sergeants or orderlies, on the plank walk or resounding galleries, immediately roused the first one sleeper, then another, and blinds began to fly open along the second floor fronts, and white-robed forms seemed to appear at the windows, and the inquiring voices, male or female, hailed the passer-by with, what's the matter, sergeant? And the answer was all sufficient to rouse the entire goussen. Captain Ray's troop ordered out, sir, or ma'am, as the case might be. No need to add the well-informed cause of such night excursions. Indians. The office was brightly lighted, and there, sleepy-eyed and silent, were gathered many of the officers about their alert commander. Ray was down at his stables, passing judgment on the mounts. Only fifty were to go, the best half-hundred in the sole troop. For it was to be a forced march. Neither horse nor man could be taken, unless in prime condition, for a breakdown on part of either on the way meant delay to the entire command, or death by torture to the hapless troop left behind. Small hope was there of a march made unobserved, for Stabba's band of a galliless had been for weeks encamped within plain view. Less hope was there of Stabba's holding aloof now that his brethren at the bighorn had declared for war. He was a recalcitrant of the first magnitude, a sub-chief who had never missed the war-path when the Sue were afield, or the consolation-trip to Washington between times. Where Stabba went, his young men followed him questioning. It was a marvel that Kennedy had succeeded in getting through. It meant that the Indian runners, or the Indian smokes and signals, had not at once so covered the country with scouts, that couriers could by no possibility slip between them. But now the signal-fire was gleaming at Eagle Butt. And an answering blaze had flared from Stabba's camp. Invisible from Fort Frayne, they had both been seen by shrewd non-commissioned officers, since scouting up the plait by major Webb within half an hour of the coming of the alarm. �Rae will push ahead at once,� said Webb, to his silence of ordinance. �He will see Colonel Plodder has only two troops up there, and he will need all his infantry to defend the post. I've wired to Lamarie and to Department Headquarters. And further orders will come before noon. Let all the cavalry be ready. Then if we push out, Dade, we leave Fort Frayne to you. They'll hardly venture south of the plait this time. �Is Mr. Field going with Captain Ray?� presently ventured young Ross. Who knew Ray had but one subaltern for duty at that moment, and whose soul was burning with eagerness to accompany the first troop to take the field? �No� said the Major shortly. �Captain Ray needs no more. I only asked because Field isn't here, and I thought, maybe� stumbled Ross ungroriously. But the mischief was done. �Mr. Field is busy� answered the Major, still more shortly. Then reddened to his bushy brows, put the doorway in riding-dress, and with a face the colour of parchment stood the officer in question. It was a moment that threatened panic, but Webb met the crisis with Mark de Plombe. �Oh, Field� he cried, �there's another matter. I want two good men to slip out at once, and see how many of Stabba's people start, or have started. It may be daybreak before they can tell. Sergeant Shriver would be a tip-top man for one, and little Duffy. You tend to it. And so, mercifully, he sent the lad away until the crowd should have dispersed. When you Blake and Ray were with him when, after a while, Mr. Field returned and stood silently before them. Well he knew that the post-commander could hardly overlook the absence of his adjutant at such time. �Have you anything to tell me, Field?� was the Major's only query, his tone full of gentle yet grave approach. �I was restless. I could not sleep, sir. I went out, purposely. You know no horse can be taken from the Stabba's at night, but in the presence of the sergeant or corporal of the guard. I took an answer, was the answer, and now both faces were right. I rode one of Mr. Hayes. For one moment there was no sound, but the loud ticking of a big office clock. Then came the question. �Who rode the other's field?� the centuries say they heard three. �There was another moment of silence. Hayes stepped on tiptoe to the door, as though he wanted not to hear. Blake looked blankly out the window. Then the young soldier spoke. �I cannot tell you, sir.� For full ten seconds the post-commander sat with grave, pallid face, looking straight into the eyes of the young staff officer. �White is his senior, but with eyes his unflinching. Field returned the gaze. At last the Major's voice was heard again, sad and constrained. Field, Captain Ray, starts on the fourth march at one, for Fort Beecher. I wish you to go with him. End of Chapter 3. Section 4 of A Daughter of the Sioux. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Christine Blashford. A Daughter of the Sioux by General Charles King. Chapter 4. Nine of the Bar Shoe. Many a time has it happened in the old days of the old army that the post-adjutant has begged to be allowed to go with some detachment sent after Indians. Rarely has it happened, however, that without any request from the detachment commander or of his own has the post-adjutant been ordered to go. No one could say of Beverly Field that he had not abundantly availed himself of every opportunity of active service in the past. During his first two years with the regiment he had spent more than half the time in saddle and a field, scouting the trails of war-parties or marauding bands, or watching over a peaceable tribe when on the annual hunt. Twice he had been out with Ray, which meant a liberal education in planescraft and frontier duty. Twice twenty times, probably, had he said he would welcome a chance to go again with Captain Ray, and now the chance had come, so had the spoken order, and so far from receiving it, with rejoicing, it was more than apparent that he heard it with something like dismay. But Webb was not the man to either explain or defend an order, even to a junior for whom he cherished such regard. Field felt instinctively that it was not because of a wish expressed in the past he was so suddenly bidden to take the field. Ray's senior sub-altern, as has been said, was absent, being on duty at West Point, but his junior was on hand, and Ray really did not need, and probably had not applied for, the services of Mr. Field. It was all the majors doing, and all the reasoned he, because the major deemed it best that, for the time being, his young adjutant should be sent away from the post. Impulse prompted Field to ask wherein he had offended or failed. Reflection taught him, however, that he would be wise to ask no questions. It might well be that Webb knew more of what had happened during the night than he, Beverly Field, would care to have mentioned. You can be ready, can you not?" asked the major. I am ready now, sir, was the brief firm reply, but the tone told unerringly that the lad resented, and in heart rebelled at the detail. To whom shall I turn over the post fund, sir? I do not care to have you transfer funds or anything, Field. This is but a temporary affair, one that will take you away perhaps a fortnight. I prefer that it should be permanent, sir, was the young officer's sudden interruption, and though his eyes were blazing, he spoke with effort, his face still white, with mingled sense of indignity and indignation. Gently, Mr. Field said Webb, with unruffled calm, even while uplifting a hand in quiet warning, we will consider that, if need be, on your return. Meantime, if you desire, I will receipt to you for the post fund or any other public money. That is the trouble, sir. The best I can do is give you an order for it. Post-treasurers, as a rule, have not had to turn over their funds at four o'clock in the morning, which statement was true enough, however injudicious it might be to brood it. Mild-mannered commanding officers sometimes amaze their subordinates by most unlooked-for and unwelcome eruptiveness of speech, when they feel that an unwarrantable liberty has been taken. Webb did not take fire, he turned icy. The quartermaster's safe can be opened at any moment, Mr. Field, said he, the blue-gray eyes glittering dangerously, I presume your funds are there. It was because the quartermaster would not open it at any moment that I took them out and placed them elsewhere, hotly answered Field, and not until then did Webb remember that there had been quite a fiery talk, followed by hyperborean estrangement between his two staff officers, and now as the only government safe at the post was in the office of the quartermaster, and the only other one was Bill Hayes' big phoenix at the store, it dawned upon the major that it was there Mr. Field had stowed his packages of currency, a violation of orders pure and simple, and that was why he could not produce the money on the spot. Webb reflected. If he let Ray start at dawn and held Field back until the trader was a stir, it might be eight o'clock before the youngster could set forth, by that time Ray would be perhaps a dozen miles to the northward, and with keen-eyed Indian scouts noting the march of the troop and keeping vigilant watch for possible stragglers, it might be sending the lad to a certain death. For plodder had said in so many words the sue about him had declared for war, had butchered three ranchmen on the dry-fork, had fired on and driven in his herd-guards and woodchoppers, and what started with Lain-Wolfe's big band would spread to Stabber's little one in less than no time, and what spread to Stabber's would soon reach a host of the sue. Moreover there was another reason. It would give Field opportunity for further conference with inmates of the trader's household, and the major had his own grave reasons for seeking to prevent that. Your written order will be sufficient, Mr. Field said he. Send me memorandum of the amounts and I will receipt at once, so that you can go without further thought of them. And now, with a glance at the clock, you have hardly half an hour in which to get ready. Raising his hand in mechanical salute, Field faced about, cast one look at Blake, standing uncomfortably at the window, and then strode, angering away to his quarters, smarting under a sense of unmerited rebuke, yet realizing that, as matters looked, no one was more to blame than himself. Just as the first faint flush of coming day was mantling the pallid eastern sky, and while the stars still sparkled aloft, and the big bright moon was sinking to the snow-tipped peaks far away to the Occident, in shadowy column a trooper fifty horse filed slowly from the sorrel's big coral, and headed straight for the Platte. Swiffed and unfordable in front of Frayne in the early summer, the river now went murmuring sleepily over its stony bed, and ray-led boldly down the bank, and plunged girth deep into the foaming waters. Five minutes more, and every man had lined up safely on the Northwood bank. In low tone the order was given, starting, as ray ever did, in solid column of fours. In dead silence the little command moved slowly away, followed by the eyes of half the garrison on the bluff. Many of these were women and children who gazed through a mist of tears. Ray turned in saddle as the last of his men went by. Looked long at the dim light in the upper window of his home, where, clasping her children to her heart, his devoted wife knelt, watching them, her fond lips moving in ceaseless prayer. Dimly she could see the tried leader, her soldier husband, sitting in saddle at the bank. Bravely she answered the flutter of his hand-chef in farewell. Then all was swallowed up in the shadows of the distant prairie, and from the nursery adjoining her room there rose a querulous wail that told that her baby-daughter was waking, indifferent to the need that sent the soldier farther to the aid of distant comrades, threatened by a merciless foe, and conscious only of her infantile demands and expectations. Not yet ten years is wed that brave devoted wife and mother had known but two summers that had not torn her husband from her side on just such quest and duty, for these were the days of the building up of the West, resisted to the bitter end by the red wards of the nation. The sun was just peering over the rough-jagged outline of the eastward butts, when a quick yet muffled step was heard on the major's veranda, and a picturesque figure stood waiting at the door. Scout, of course, a stranger would have said at a glance, for from head to foot the man was clad in beaded buckskin, without sign of soldier garb of any kind. Soldier, too, would have been the expert testimony the instant the door opened and the commanding officer appeared. Erect as a Norway pine the strange figure stood to attention, heels and knees together, shoulders squared, head and eyes straight to the front, the left-hand fingers extended after the precise teachings of the antebellum days, the right hand raised and held at the salute. Strange figure indeed yet soldierly to the last degree, despite the oddity of the entire makeup. The fur-trimmed cap of embroidered buckskin sat jauntly on black and glossy curls that hung about the brawny neck and shoulders. The buckskin coat, heavily fringed as to the short cape and the shorter skirt, was thickly covered with Indian embroidery of bead and porcupine quill. So, too, were the fringed trousers and leggings. So, too, the moccasins, sold with thick yet pliant hide. Heen black eyes shone from beneath heavy black brows just sprinkled as were the thick moustache and imperial, with grey. The lean jowls were closely shaved. The nose was straight and fine, the chin square and resolute. The face and hands were tanned by sun and wind, well nigh as dark as many as sue. But in that strange garb there stood revealed one of the famous sergeants of a famous regiment, the veteran of a quarter-century of service, with the standard wounded time and again, bearing the scars of Stuart Sabre and of southern lead, of Indian arrow and bullet both, proud possessor of the Medal of Honor that many a senior sought in vain, proud of the Lucifer from whom he took his Christian name, brave, cool, resolute, and ever reliable, Shriver. First sergeant of old K. Troop for many a year, faced his post-commander with brief and characteristic report. Sir, Chief Sabre, with over thirty warriors, left camp about three o'clock, heading for Eagle Butt. Well done, sergeant, I knew I could count on you, answered Web, in hearty commendation. Now, one thing more, go to F. Troop's quarters and see how Kennedy is faring. He came in with dispatches from Fort Beecher and later drank more, I fancy, than was good for him, for which I assume all responsibility. Keep him out of mischief this morning. I will, sir, said the sergeant, and saluting turned away, while Web went back to set a dismantle pantry in partial order, against the appearance of his long-suffering housekeeper, whose comments he dreaded as he did those of no Inspector General in the army. For fifteen years, and wither soever Web was ordered, his bachelor Minaj had been presided over by Mistress Margaret McGann, wife of a former trooper, who had served as Web's striker for so many a year in the earlier days that, when discharged for disability due to wounds, rheumatism, and advancing years, and penchant, as only Uncle Sam rewards his veterans, McGann had begged the Major to retain him and his Buckson better half at their respective duties, and Web had meekly, weakly yielded, to the end that, in the fullness of time, Dame Margaret had achieved an ascendancy over the distinguished cavalry officer, little short of that she had exercised over Honest Michael, since the very day she consented to become Mistress McGann. A sound sleeper was she, however, and not until morning police call was she want to leave her bed. Then her brief toilet completed she would descend to the kitchen, and set the Major's coffee on the fire, started by her dutiful spouse an hour earlier. Then she proceeded to lay the table, and put the rooms in order against the Major's coming, and Web atied him if cigar-stubs littered the bachelor sitting-room, or unrinsed glasses, and half-empty decanters told of even moderate symposium overnight. Returning that eventful morning from his office at first call for reveal, after seeing the last of Ray's gallant troopers it moved away across the dim vista of the Northwood Prairie, Web had been concerned to find his decanter of Monongahaler half empty on the pantry-table, and the debris of a hurried feast on every side. Kennedy, who had begun in moderation, must have felt the need of further creature comfort after his bout with the stalwart Sue, and had availed himself to the limit of his capacity of the Major's invitation. Web's first thought was to partially remove the traces of that single-handed spree, then refilling the decanter from the big five-gallon demi-chon, kept under lock and key in the cupboard, for Michael, too, had at long intervals weaknesses of his own, he was thinking how best to protect Kennedy from the consequences of his, Web's, rash invitation, when Shriver's knock was heard. Ten minutes more, and the sergeant was back again. Sir, I have to report that Trooper Kennedy has not been seen about the quarters, said he. Then try the stable, sergeant, answered the veteran campaigner, and thither would Shriver next have gone, even had he not been sent, and sure enough there was Kennedy, with rueful face and a maudlin romont about a moonlit meeting with a swarm of painted Sue, over which the stableguard were making merry, and stirring the Trooper's soul to wrath ungovernable. I can prove it, he howled, to the accompaniment of clinching fists and bellicose lunges at the laughing tormentors nearest him. I can whip the hide off in the skirt that says I didn't. Ask Lutent Field Bejabers. He saw it. Ask, oh, mother of God, what's this I'm saying? And there, with stern rebuking gaze, stood the man they knew and feared, every soul of them, as they did no commissioned soldier. Sergeant Shriver, the redoubtable, and Shriver had heard the insane and damaging boast. Come with me, Kennedy, was all he said, and Kennedy snatched his battered felt headgear down over his eyes, and tacked wafely after his swift striding master, without ever another word. But it was to his own room, Shriver took the unhappy Irishman, not to the quarters of Company F. He had heard words that, coupled with others that fell through the darkness on his keenly listening ears some two hours earlier, had given him cause for painful thought. Lie down here, Kennedy, pull off your boots, said he, and if you open your fool head to any living soul until I give you leave, pie, God, I'll kill you! It was Shriver's way, like Marriott's famous boatswain, to begin his admonitions in exact English, and then as wrath overcame him to lapse into dialect. It was but a few minutes after seven when Major Webb, having previously dispatched a messenger to the post-traders to say he had need to see Mr. Hay as soon as possible, mounted his horse, and, followed by Sergeant Shriver and an orderly, rode quietly past the guardhouse, touching his hat to the shouted, turn out the guard commanding officer of the sentry on number one. Mr. Hay was dressing hurriedly, said the servant, so Webb bade Shriver and the orderly ride slowly down to the flats, and await him at the forks of the road. It was but five minutes before Hay appeared, pulling on his coat as he shot from the door, but even before he came the Major had been carefully, cautiously scanning the blinds of the second story, even while feigning deep interest in the doings of a little squad of garrison prisoners, the inevitable inmates of the guardhouse, in the days before we had our safeguard in shape of the soldier's club, the post-exchange, and now again in the days that follow its ill-judged extinction. The paymaster had been at frame but five days earlier, the prison-room was full of aching heads and Hay's coffers of hard-earned, ill-spent dollars. Webb sighed at sight of the crowded ranks of this whimsically named Company Q, but in no wise relaxed his vigilance, for the slats of the blind of the corner window had partially opened. He had had a glimpse of feminine fingers, and purposely he called Hay well out into the road, then bent down over him. All your horses in and all right this morning, Hay? None have been out, said Hay, stoutly, unless they've gone within the hour, and never let them have the keys you know overnight. Pete brought them to me at eight last evening, and got them at six this morning, the usual time. Where does he get them without waking, you asked Webb. They hang behind the door in my sleeping-room. Pete gets them when he takes my boots to black at six o'clock. Come over to the stables, said the commanding officer, and wondering, Hay followed. They found the two hostlers busily at work, grooming. In his box-stall, bright as a button, was Harnie, Hay's famous runner, his coat smooth as sat in. Hay went rapidly from stall to stall. Of the six saddlers owned by him, not one gave the faintest sign of having been used overnight, but Webb, riding through the gangway, noted that Krapow, the French half-breed grooming in the third stall, never lifted his head. Whatever evidence of night-riding that might earlier have existed had been deftly groomed away. The trader had seen suspicion in the soldier's eye, and so stood forth, triumphant. No major Webb said he in loud, confident, or ocular tone. No horse of mine ever gets out without my knowing it, and never at night, unless your eyes so order it. No, queried the major placidly. Then had you account for this? Among the fresh hoof-prints in the yielding sand, with which the police-party had been filling the ruts of the outer roadway, was one never made by government horse or mule. In half a dozen places within a dozen rods, plain as a pike-staff, was the print of a bar-shoe, worn on the off-four-foot of just one quadruped at the post, Hay's swift-running general Harnie. End of Chapter Four Reading by Shirley Anderson Adulter of the Sioux by General Charles King Chapter Five A Grave Discovery Only an hour was the major away from his post. He came back in time for guard-mounting, and the reports of the offices of the day. He had reason to be on the parade at the assembly of the details, not so much to watch the work of the post adjutant pro tempore, as the effect of the sudden and unlookful change on certain of the customary spectators. He had swiftly ridden to the camp of the Recreant Stabber, and purposely demanded speech with that influential chieftain. There had been the usual attempt on part of the old men left in charge to hoodwink and temporise. But when sharply told that Stabber, with his warriors, had been seen riding away toward Eagle Butt at three in the morning, the sages calmly confessed judgment, but declared they had no other purpose than a hunt for a drover-velk reported scene about the famous Indian race-course in the lower hills of the Big Horn. Circling the camp, however, Webb had quickly counted the pony-trucks across the still, dewy bunch-grass of the bench, and found Shriver's estimate substantially correct. Then, stopping at the lodge of Stabber's uncle, old spotted horse, where that superannuated but still sagacious chief was squatted on his blanket and ostentatiously puffing a long Indian pipe, Webb demanded to know what young men remained in the village. Over a hundred strong, old men, squaws, and children, they thronged about him, silent, beguied, and attentive, Shriver interpreting as best he could, resorting to the well-known sign language when the crafty Sue professed ignorance of the meaning of his words. No young men, all gone, was the positive declaration of the venerable head of the bailiwick, when compelled at last to answer. But Shriver had studied the pony-head and knew better. Moreover, not more than six of their ponies had been led along with the war party that set forth in the early hours of the moon its morning. Others, both men and mouths, unavoidably left behind, would surely be sent forward at the first possible opportunity, and, much as Webb might wish to turn back to capture the party, well as he might know that other bands were in revolt and stagger gone to help them, he was powerless under his orders to interfere, until by some openly hostile act these laggards of the little band invited his reprisal. The rule of the road, as prescribed by the civil authorities, to which the soldier had sworn obedience, being practically, don't defend until you are hit, don't shoot until you are shot. Webb came cantering back, assured that these frowsy, melodious lodgers concealed, perhaps half a score of fighting men, who were a menace to the neighbourhood, and who could be counted on to make it more than interesting for any couriers, that might have to be sent between the fort and the forces at the front. Calling Shriver to his side, as, with long, easy stride, and their trained mouths went loping swiftly homeward, he gave instructions the veteran heard with kindling eyes. Then, parting from him at the corals, the commander rode on and dismounted at his quarters, just as the trumpeters were forming on the broad, grassy level of the parade. Even without a band, young Fields had managed to make his guard mount a pretty and attractive ceremony. Frain was a big post and needed a daily guard of twenty-four men, with the usual quota of non-commissioned officers. Cowboys, herders, miners, prospectors, rustlers, those pirates of the plains, and occasional bands of Indians, Sue, or Arapaho, were forever hovering about its borders in search of supplies, solid or fluid, and rarely averse to the conversion of public property to personal use. Like many a good citizen of well-ordered municipalities within the confines of civilisation, they held that what belonged to the government belonged to them, and the fact that some officer would have to pay for whatever they stole, from a horse to a hammer, cut no figure in their deliberations. Frain had long been a favourite place for fitting out depleted stock, animal, vegetable, or mineral, and there had been time when Webb had found as many as forty men almost too small a guard, and so gave it to be understood that centuries whose carbines were unlawfully discharged at night, without the formality of preliminary challenge, or other intimation of business intentions, would be held blameless, provided they had something to show for their shot. A remarkable feature of the winter's deportation had been that Hayes' coil was never molested, although unguarded by the garrison, and quite as much exposed, as the most remote of the government shops, shanties, or stables. Field mounted his guard, except in cold or stormy weather, in full uniform, and the daily march pass in review brought many of the garrison ladies, most of the children, and all of the dogs, to the scene. Some of the households, breakfasted before, and some just after, guard mounting. But, as a rule, no one sat at the table, when almost everybody else was gathered along the westward edge of the broad parade. It was there the plans for the social day were discussed and determined. Rides, drives, hunts, or picnics, up away from the post, dances, dinners, croquet, or tennis within the garrison limits. It was the hour when all the girls were out, looking fair and fresh as daisies, their daughters brightly chatted in little groups, or, as might often be, paced slowly with downcast eyes and mantling cheeks, at the side of some young gallant, who had no thought for other duty than that of the thrilling moment. And here they were, well nigh a dozen of them, of all ages from twelve to twenty, as the major sent his mount to the stables, and made quick survey of the scene, and a moment's glance was sufficient to show that among them all there was stir and excitement beyond that, which would be caused by so common an incident as the sending forth of a troop on scout. It was the fact that Fields had gone, and that young Ross was acting in his place, that set them all to speculating on the cause. One of their number, promenading the Lieutenant Hartley, glanced up at Major Webb as they passed him by, with such a world mingled question and reproach in her soft blue eyes, that his heart for the moment smote him. He had never seen Esther Dade, looking so languid or so one, yet more of her and for her, had he been thinking, during the week, gone by, than of any other girl in or out of the army. Today, however, there was another he eagerly sought to see, and with something akin to keen disappointment, noted that she was not among the strollers along the broadwalk, or the chatting groups about the steps and gateways. Not once during her brief visit, had she as yet missed guard mounting, now her absence was significant. In the very eyes of the little party, hastening towards him, three young girls and a brat of subalterns, he read question and cross question, and was thankful to see hey, the trader, trudging up the walk to join him. So seldom did the old frontiersman enter the quadrangle, that people remarked upon his coming, remarked on more when Webb hurried down to meet him. You're right about the horses major, said hey, mopping a moist and troubled face with a big bandana. My race and my best single footer, Dan, were out last night. Dan's saddlecloth was wet, and so was Harney's. Someone outside has got false keys. I'll put new padlocks on at once, but for the life of me I can't think he would play me such a trick. To steal the horses, when I'm after Rawlins or up to the street water or after the hills, I could understand that, but to borrow them for an hour or two. Why, it beats me hollow. And hey, in deep perplexity, leaned against the low fence and almost imploringly gazed into the major's face. They all leaned on Webb. Any idea who they were? asked the commander. Not the skin of a shadow, said that one man read shorter stoops than I do. They forgot to set him back. They had my California saddle on Dan, and that light Whitman of mine on Harney. Sure it was two men, queried Webb, looking straight into the trader's eyes. What else could it be? demanded Haye, in no little excitement. Well, I thought possibly Miss Flower might have been moved to take a moonlit ride, and no reason why she shouldn't, you know, and not wishing to disturb you. Then she would have used her own side saddle, what she's doing with the man's. Besides, she'd have told me. Oh, you've seen her this morning. I thought perhaps she wasn't up, has it, did Webb? Up? Why hang it? She was up at daybreak hours ago, my wife says. Haven't you seen her? She's over here somewhere. No, Webb had not seen her. And together the two men started in search, first to the flag staff, and there at the point of bluff, toward the rays. There she stood, gazing up the plat, toward the Indian village, through a pair of signal glasses that weighed heavily in her dataly gloved hands. Captain Tracy, a bachelor assistant surgeon, stood faithfully by her side, listening to her lively tatter, with ears that absorbed and eyes that worshipped. Come away, said Webb. I have an order on you for field's currency, and you're safe. When are you going to try and get your cash to bank? And Webb keenly eyed his man as he asked the question. Tomorrow, or next day, sure, even if I have to go partway with the state myself. When do you want this money? Said Hay, tapping the envelope Webb had given him. Well, now, if it's agreeable to, I prefer to keep such friends at the quarter-masters. Oh, good morning, Mrs. Ray! He cheerfully called, lifting his cat at sight of a young matron at an upper window. Can you see them still? He added, For the elder of the two boys was peering through a long telescope, perched on its brass tripod upon a little shelf projecting from the cell. Many a time had the raised spyglass been the last to discern some departing troop, as it crossed the low divide ten miles away to the north. Many a time had the first announcement of courier coming, reached the headquarters through Master Sandy, the first born of their olive branches. There were unshed tears in the gentle voice that answered. There was wordless anxiety in the sweet pallid face that smiled so bravely through its sorrow. The troop passed out of sight caught of an hour ago, Major, said Mrs. Ray. But Sandy could see the flankers on their left, until within the last five minutes. Way out on the left, Major, interposed that young gentleman big with importance. If old Stabber tries to leave his tricks with that troop, he'll get his belly full. And Master Sandy plainly intimated both in tone and manner, not to mention the vernacular of the soldier, that Stabber might take his liberties with any other troop or company at the post, but he would best beware of daddies. And yet, not three months ago, he had stoutly taken up the cudgels for the fraying garrison as a whole against the field, the wordy battle with the sun and air over the kernel, commanding it Laramie culminating in the combat only terminated by the joint efforts of the stable sergeant and sentry, for both youngsters were as game as their sires. What Sandy Ray was now praying to see was an attack by Stabber's band upon the isolated troop, but Stabber, it may be said, knew a trick worth ten of that. There was no sense in pitching into the sole troop, on even terms, when by waiting another day, perhaps, and the answer of Lay Wolf to the appeal of his speedy messenger, he might outnumber and overwhelm them with five to one. We should be hearing from Omaha and Laramie by ten o'clock, Mrs. Ray, said the major reassuringly, and I will send you word at once, and, of course, Corporal Ray, he continued, and now with martial formality addressing the lad at the telescope, I can rely on you to report at once in case you see anything suspicious toward the big horn. Yes, sir, answered the boy, straightening up to attention. Then, scrupulously exchanging its salutes, the old soldier and the young parted company, and the major returned to receive the reports of the old and new officers of the day. These gentlemen were still with him, Captain Chew, of the infantry, and the senior first lieutenant for duty with a blank. When Hay came hurrying up the boardwalk from the direction of the store, for reasons of his own, Webb had sent his orderly to the guardhouse to say to the officers in question that he would await them at his quarters instead of the little building known as the Adjutant's Office, in which were the officers of the commander, the record room in which were placed the desks of the sergeant major and his three clerks, and the sleeping rooms of the special duty soldiers. It had happened more than once in the past that garrison stories of matters not supposed to be known outside the office had been traced back to that desk room. And now Webb's questions of his old officer of the day, and his instructions to the new were not things he cared to have brooted around the post. He was listening intently to the captain's report of the sentry's observations during the night gone by, when Hay reached the gate and stopped, not wishing to intrude at such a moment. Come in, Mr Hay, said the commander cordially. This all will interest you. And, thus bidden, the trader joined the soldiers three on the veranda, and some of the young people of the garrison, setting up their croquet arches on the parade, looked curiously toward the group, and wondered what should keep the old officer of the day so long. Sauntering down the walk, smiling radiantly upon the occupants of the various verandas that she passed, then beaming between times into the face of her smitten escort. Her black eyes and white teeth flashing in the rare sun shine, Nanette Flower was gradually nearing the major's quarters. She was barely 20 yards away when, in obedience to some word of the majors, Mr Hay held forth two wide packages that, even at the distance, could be recognised, so far as the outer covering was concerned as official envelopes. She was too far away, perhaps, to hear what was said. It seems, began Webb to his officers, as he mechanically opened the first packet, that field took fire at Wilkins-Gwells about the bother of keeping his funds, so the youngster stowed his money with hay. He insisted on turning over everything before he left, so I receded to him. Let's see, he continued, glancing at the memorandum in his hands. $372.85 post-fund, and $400 belonging to various enlisted men. I may as well count it in your presence. By this time, the long-lean fingers had ripped open the package, marked $400, and worked extracting the contents, a sheet of official paper with figures and memoranda, and then a flat package, apparently of currency. Topmost was a $5 treasury note, bottommost another of the same denomination. Between them, deftly cut, trimmed and sized, were blank slips of paper, to the number of perhaps $30, and the value of not $0.01. With paling faces, the officers watched the trembling fingers slash open the second, its flap, as was that of the first envelope, securely gummed, not sealed. In nickel or two, and a few dimes, slid out before the package came. It was of light consistency with the first, and of about the same value. Webb lifted up his eyes, and looked straight into the amazed, almost livid face of the trader. "'My God! Major Webb!' cried Hay, aghast and bewildered. Don't look at me like that. No man on earth has ever accused me of a crime. This means that not only my stable, but my safe has been robbed, and there is a traitor within my gates.' Dr. Tracy, absorbed in contemplation of Miss Flower's radiant face, and in the effort to make his own words elegant, had no ears for those of others. He never heeded the traders' excited outburst. He only saw her suddenly flinch, suddenly pale, then his ready arm was round her in a twinkling. In a twinkling she twisted free from the undesired grasp. "'Just my foot turned! A pebble!' she gasped. But, when all aciduity, Tracy would have seated her on the horse-block, and examined the delicate ankle, she refused straight away. And with almost savage emphasis, and with rigid lips from which all loveliness had fled, bait him lead on home, where, despite protest and appeal, personal and professional, she dismissed him curtly. Took the route for the North at break of day. Before them spread the open prairie, apparently lovelin' unbroken, for full five miles to the front, and either flank. The distant slopes and ridges bounding the lovel expanse growing more distinct, with every moment, and presently lighting up an exulting radiance in response to the rosy blushes of the eastward sky. Scorning the dusty stage road, the troop commander pointed to a distant height, just visible against the northward horizon. Bade the leading guide march straight on that, then gave the order right by twos, that he might the more readily note the gait and condition of every horse, and the bearing and equipment of his rider. There was still time to weed out the weaklings of either clash, should any such there be. Riding slowly along the left flank, one after another, he carefully scanned every man and mount in his little detachment, then at quicker pace, passed around to the eastward side of the column, and is critically carefully studied them from that point of view. The light of the quiet satisfaction shone in his fine dark eyes, as he finished for, next to his wife and children, that the troop was raised supreme delight. The preliminary lookover by lantern light had been all sufficient. This later inspection on the move revealed not a steed amiss, not an item of equipment either misplaced or lacking, steady as planets, barring the irrepressible tendency of some young high-spirited horse to dance a bit until quieted by the monotony of the succeeding miles. At quick, light-huffed walk, the sorrows tripped easily along in precise, yet companionable couples. One yard from head to crop, said the drill-book of the day, and but for that the riders might have dropped their reins upon the pommel as practically unnecessary. But for the first hour or so, at least, the tendency toward the rear of the column was ever to crowd upon the file-leaders. A proceeding resented not infrequently in less disciplined commands than raised by well-delivered kicks, or at least such signs of equine disapprobation, as switching tail or set-back ears. But raised troop horses moved like so many machines, so constant and systematic as been their drill, and raised men rode in the perfection of uniform, so far as armament and equipment were concerned. Each great coat, precisely rolled, was strapped with its encircled poncho at the pommel. Each blanket, as snugly packed with the sidelines, festened upon the top, was strapped at the cantile. Lariat and picket pin coiled and secure hung from the near side of the pommel. The canteen, suspended from its snapper, hung off the side, saddlebags with extra horseshoes, nails, socks, underwear, brushes, and comb, extra packages of carbine and revolver cartridges, and minor impedimenta, equally distributed as to weight, swung from the cantile and underneath the blanket roll, from the broad black leather carbine sling over each trooper's left shoulder, the hard-shooting brown barrel little spring-field hung suspended. Its muzzle thrust, as was the fashion of the day, into the crude socket imposed so long upon our frontier fighters by officials who had never seen the West, save as did a certain writer of renown, from a car window, thereby limiting their horizon. Ray despised that socket as he did the shoemaker bit, but believed with President Grant that the best means to end obnoxious laws was their rigorous enforcement. Each men's revolver, a trusty brown cold, hung in its holster at the right hip. Each man was grit with ammunition belt of webbing, the device of an old-time Yankee Calvary man that had been copied round the world, the dull-hued copper cartridges bristling from every loop. Each man wore, as was prescribed, the heavy cumbersome Calvary boot of the day and generation, but had stolen his saddle-bags like moccasins and leggings, with which to replace them when farther afield their clear-headed commander should give the word. Each man, too, wore the gauntlets of Indian tan buckskin, special pattern that Ray had been permitted to use experimentally. Each man was clad in dark blue flannels, shirt, and blouse, the ladders soon probably to be stored with the big weighty boots in Truscott's saddle-room at Beecher. With probably too many of the light-blue riding breeches, saddle-pieced with canvas, the uniform at the start destined in the case of veteran troopers, at least, to be shed in favor of the brown duck-hunting trousers, or even among certain extremists, fringed, beaded, and embroidered buckskin, that which the present chronicler knows no more uncomfortable garb when soaked by pelting rains or immersion in some icy mountain stream. Even the brown campaign hats, uniformly creased, as the fifty left the ford, would soon be knocked out of all semblance to the prescribed shape, and made at once comfortable and serviceable, add to these items the well-fitted haversack and battered tin quart cup, for on a forced march of two or three days Captain Ray would have no pack mills, and the personal equipment of his men was complete. As for the mounts, each sorrel tripped easily along under the sextuple folds of the saddle-blanket and the black-skinned McClellan saddle-tree, with its broad horsehair cincha and hooded wooden strips, minus useless skirts and sweat-leathers. Neither a breast-strap, cupper, nor martin-gale hampered the free movements of the sturdy stocky little weight carriers. The black single-rain curb bridle, fastened as to the throat latch by a light buckle, was slipped over the head-stall of the so-called watering bridle, whose toggled and detachable snaffle-bit was generally toted from start to finish of a field-scout in the saddle-bags, a twist of the flexible lariat Indian fashion between the complacent jaws of his pet, being the troops' ready substitute. Add to this that full, free, and unmutilated in glossy waves the beautiful mains and tails tossed in the upland breeze, for the heresies of Algomania never took root in the American Calvary, and you have Ray's famous troop as it looked, fresh-started from old Fort Frayne, this glorious autumn morning of the 1880s, and with a knot of approbation, and it couldn't be better sergeant, to his devoted right-hand man, the veteran senior non-commissioned officer of the troop, Ray rang out of the command, at ease, and placed himself beside the silent young lieutenant at the head of column. As has been said, Ray's senior sublatern was on detached service. His junior, Mr. Clayton, had joined but the year before, and this threw Mr. Field in command of the leading platoon, and to the side of the leading guide. Now, as a senior officer took the head of the column and Mr. Clayton fell back to the rear, the silence of the first mile of March was broken, and, though sitting erect in saddle and forbidden to lounge or slouch, the troop began its morning interchange of shaft and comment. Every mother's son of them rejoiced to be once more afield with a chance of stirring work ahead. It's time to throw out our advance field, said Ray in kindly cordial tone, as he scanned the low divide still some miles ahead and reigned in beside the stern-faced young soldier. Send sergeant Scott forward with three men, and the same number on each flank, corpals in charge. He had more than like webs adjutant. He had been his staunchest friend and supporter among the troop and company commanders, and was eager to be friend of now. He had expressed no wish to have him sent on the hurried move, but well he knew the post-commander's reason and approved his course. Still, now that Field was being removed, for the time at least, from the possibility of entangling alliance that might prove disastrous in every way in his power Ray meant to show the mortified indeed sorely angered officer, that his personal regard for him had suffered no change whatsoever. If he could succeed in winning Field's confidence, it might well be that he could bring him to see that there were good and sufficient grounds for the post-commander's action. That for Field's own good, in fact, it was a most desirable move. The soul of loyalty and square-dealing himself, Ray, had never for a moment dreamed that anything other than a foolish escapade had occurred. A ride by moonlight, perhaps, demanded of her devotee by a thoughtless, thoroughbred co-cat whose influence over the young fellow was beginning to mar his usefulness, if not, indeed, his future prospects. Just what to think of Nanette Flower, Ray, really did not know. Marion, his beloved better half, was his unquestioned authority in all such matters, and it was an uncommon tenet of that young matron, never to condemn until she had cause. Instinctively, she shrank from what she had seen of Miss Flower, even though her woman's eyes rejoiced in the elegance of Miss Flower's abundant toilets and conscious of her intuitive aversion. She would utter no word that might later prove unjust. Oddly enough, that instinctive aversion was shared by her closest friend and neighbor, Mrs. Blake, but as yet the extent of their condemnation had found vent only in the half whimsical, half-pential expression on part of the younger lady, Blake's beautiful wife. I wish her name weren't so near like mine, for Nan had been her pet name almost from babyhood, vaguely conscious they were both, these lords of creation, Messers Blake and Ray, that the ladies of their love did not approve of Miss Flower's, but Ray had ridden forth without ever asking or knowing why, and so unknowing was he'll prepare to grapple with the problem said before him. It is easier to stem a torn with a shingle than to convince a lover that his idol is a shrew. Without a word of reply, field reigned out of column, glanced along the double file of a splatoon, nodded a signal, Fall out, to Sergeant Scott, and the men nearest him at the front merely said, Advanced Guard! and then proceeded to choose his corpals and men of flankers. No need to tell Scott what to do. He had been leading scouts in Arizona, long airfield had even dreamed of West Point. In five minutes, riding at an easy lope, carbines advanced. Three little parties of four troopers, each were spreading far out to the front and flank, guarding the little column against the possibility of sudden assault from hidden foe. Hereupon the level prairie one would think such precaution needless, but every acre of the surface was seamed and gullied by twisting little water-courses, dry as a chip at the moment, and some of them so deep as to afford cover even for the biggest pony of the wild warriors of the plains. Then to the front of the barrier ridges streaked with deep winding ravines were now billowing against the northward sky, and once among these tangled land waves no chances could be taken now that it was known that the Sioux had declared for war, and that Straber's band was out to join the Red Brethren in the oft-reoccurring outbreak until their lands were crisscrossed by the railways and their mountain haunts re-echoed to the scream of the iron horse next to nothing would start an Indian war. It took so long to reach the scene with troops and sufficient numbers to command their respect, and at this moment the situation was grave in the extreme. There had been bad blood and frequent collision between the cattlemen, herders, hustlers, especially hustlers, and the hunting parties of the Sioux in the northern Cheyenne, who clung to the big horn range on the superb surrounding country, with almost passionate love and with jealous tenacity. There had been aggression on both sides, then bloodshed, then attempts on part of frontier sheriffs to arrest accused or suspected red men, and equally determined and banded effort to prevent arrest of accused and identified whites. By due process of law, as administered in the days whereof we write, the Indian was pretty sure to get the worst of every difference, and therefore preferred, not unnaturally, his own time honored method of settlement, in accordance their with, had they scalped the sheriff's posse, that had shot to other young braves who had availed themselves of a purposely given chance to escape, and then, in their undiscriminating zeal, the Sioux had opened fire from ambush on plotters, hunting parties, and the choppers at Wood Camp, who defended themselves as best they could to the end that more men, red and white, were killed. The Indians rallied in force and closed in about Fort Beecher, driving the survivors to shelter within its guarded lines, and then, when plotter needed every man of his force to keep the foe at respectful distance, so that his bullets could not reach the quarters occupied by the women and children at the post, they reached him by night, a runner from the stage station far over to the southeast, on a dry fork of the powder, saying that the north and southbound stages had taken refuge there, with only ten men all told to stand off some fifty warriors, and therefore imploring assistance. Not daring to send a troop, plotter called for volunteers to bear dispatches to Major Webb at Frane, and Pat Kennedy, with half a dozen brave lads had promptly stepped forward. Kennedy had managed to slip through the encircling Sioux by night, and to reach Fort Frane after a daring and almost desperate ride. Then Ray was ordered forth, first to raise the siege at the stage station, then either to hold the important relay ranch, or go on to reinforce plotter, as his judgment and situation might dictate. He knew enough about stout Adobe walls of the corral on the dry fork, and of the grid of the few defenders to feel reasonably sure that with ammunition, provisions, and water and plenty, they could easily hold out a weak if need be against a Sioux, so long as they fought on the defensive, and the Indians were not strongly enforced. He reasoned that Straber and his people were probably gone to strengthen the attack, and that having an hour's start at least and riding faster, they would get there somewhat ahead of him, but one of his own old sergeants, a veteran of twenty years in the cavalry, was now station master on the dry fork, and all the Sioux from the Platt to Paradise couldn't stamp eight old Jim Kelly. Many a forced march had Ray made in the past, and well he knew that the surest way to bring his horses into action strong and sound at the finish was to move slow and steady at the start. To move at the walk until the horses were calm and quiet was his rule. Then on this bright September day would come the alternating trot and lope, with brief halts to reset saddles, then later still the call upon his willing men in mounts for sustained effort, and by sunset he and they could count on riding in, triumphant to the rescue, even though Straber himself should seek to bar the way, and that Straber meant to watch the road, if not to block it, became evident before the head of the column began the gradual ascent of Muckison Ridge, from whose sharp crest the little band could take their last look, for the time at the distant walls of Frane. Somewhere toward 730, Corporal Connors Foremost Man, far out on the left flank, riding suddenly over a low divide, caught sight of a bonded warrior bending flat over his excited pony, and lashing that nimble fleet-footed creature to mad gallop in the effort to reach the cover of the projecting point of bluff across the shallow ravine that cut in toward the foothills. Stoned the trooper, lifted his campaign hat on high once, and then lowered his arm to the horizontal, hat in hand, pointing in the direction of the darting savage was seen, and this, without a syllable having been spoken at the front, word was passed into ray, that one Indian had been sighted far out to the northwest. They may try to hold us among the brakes of the many poosa," he said, to his still unreconsiled second-in-command. Field had been civil, respectful, but utterly uncommunicative in his replies to the captain's repeated cordualities. Any attempt, even remotely, referred to the causes that led to his being ordered out with the detachment, had been met with chilling silence. Now, however, the foe had been seen and could be counted on to resist if his rallied force much exceeded that of the troop, or to annoy it by long-range fire if too weak to risk other encounter. The command halted one moment at the crest to take one long, lingering look at the now far distant post beyond the plat, then swinging again into the saddle, moving briskly down into the long, wide hollow between them and the next divide. Well nigh, three miles across, as they reached the low ground and traversed its little draining gully, a muttered exclamation, Look there! From the lips of the first sergeant called their attention again to the far left front. Stone, the trooper who had encountered the first Indian, had turned his horse over to the second man as had the corporal on that flank, and together they were crouching up along the eastward face of the billowing hillock. While straight to the front, sergeant Scott, obedient to the signal from his left-hand man, was speeding diagonally along the rise to the north, for all three advanced troopers had halted, and two were cautiously dismounting. Ray watched one moment with kindling eyes, then turned to his young chief of platoons. Take your men field, and be ready to support. There's something behind that second ridge. End of Chapter 6. Recorded by Ken Campbell.