by Charles King
CHAPTER II.
"Come and dine with us this evening, you two," the "Old Man" wassaying, a few minutes later. He had been home long enough to consultthe "Commanding General," as he frequently referred to that smilingbetter half, and to compare notes as to the condition of the larder andcellar. He had flung conventionality to the winds, as most of us had toin early Arizona days. "You others," he said, "have suffered so oftenfrom my steaks and stories, you're glad not to be included. To-day I'mbidding only these two youngsters. You know our dining table holds onlysix. No, never mind about the call!" he interposed, with upliftedhands, one to receive the toddy Briggs was stirring for him, the otherin kindly protest, for both the youngsters were on their feetconfusedly striving to make it understood that they had only beenwaiting for the cool of the evening to come to pay their respects. "Andnever mind about spike tail and shirt fronts either--come just as youare!"
"Indeed, I'll _have_ to, sir," said Willett, whose undress uniformfitted him like a glove and was cut and made by the then expertmilitary artist of the far East. They had not taken it too kindly,these others in white cotton sack coats, hewed and stitched by thecompany tailor, or even in canvas shooting rig, as was Harris, that theyoung aide-de-camp, after brief siesta in the mid-day lazy hour, shouldhave appeared among them all, fresh-shaved and tubbed, and infaultless, bran-new, spick-and-span cap and blouse and trousers, withblack silk socks and low-cut patent leather "Oxford ties." Harris,hammock slung, and moodily studying 'Tonio, looked approvingly, butmade no remark whatever. Stannard, ever blunt and short of speech, hadshoved his hairy hands deep in his trousers' pockets, a thing no subwould twice venture in his presence, looked Willett over from head tofoot, then, with a sniff, had turned away, but Bentley and Turner hadindulged in whimsical protest, "Gad, man, but you put us all to shame,"said the surgeon. "I've seen no rig to match that since I came to thispost. It's rarer than rain."
"What _do_ you wear when you call on the commanding officer?" queriedthe Latest Arrival, with jovial good-nature. "Thank you, Briggs. That_was_ a good toddy."
"Never had a family here until this week," said Bentley, "and suchcalling as I've done has been in what I happened to have on, and eventhen I've wished we dressed like 'Tonio there. Why, Mr. Willett, onlyonce since I came to this post has there been an officer's daughterwith us. Only twice has there been an officer's wife. Even Mrs. Archerwouldn't have tried it if the general hadn't been sick."
Willett laughed again, good-naturedly as before. "Well," said he, "inthe field 'The Lost and Strayed' didn't dandy much, but here I had noteven unpacked my trunk; had a whole buckboard to myself after we leftCaptain Wickham at the Big Bug, so I just fetched 'em along. This islight, you see--nothing but serge," and he held forth his arm. "Upthere, of course, we had no use for white. Gunboats and 'plebeskins'was full dress half the year round----" And just then it had occurredto him to put that question: "Does it never rain here?" and in so doinghe had appealed rather to Stannard and his fellows of the line, quiteas though he thought Bentley doing too much of the talk, especiallysince Bentley's bent was criticising. But Stannard, as we have seen,had referred back the question, whereat the doctor, defrauded of hisgame, yawned languidly and turned over the matter to 'Tonio, thusdragging Harris, all unwilling, into the tide of talk, and presentlyout of his hammock. Next thing noticed of him he had disappeared.
To no man as yet, save the lieutenant-colonel commanding, had Willetttold the purpose of his coming. Late the previous evening Archer hadcome to his office to receive the aide-de-camp, and there listened tohis message. "The Old Man" looked up suddenly as he sat in thelamplight at the rude wooden table that served for his official desk,surprise and concern mingling in his kindly face.
"The _general_ said that?" he asked.
"No, sir: the adjutant-general who was left in charge. The general isaway hunting."
"I might have known that," said Archer to his inner self. To theaide-de-camp he merely bowed--bowed most courteously. He liked boys,and the Lord had seen fit to take back to himself the one lad poorArcher had liked most, and loved unspeakably.
"I think I shall say--nothing of it," said he, presently, after somereflection, "and--you can find out, through Harris, all there is to betold."
And not a word had he said, even to the post adjutant, from the momentof Willett's reporting to him at nine the night before, yet every manof the officers' mess knew well that something had sent the young staffofficer to Almy--that something was to be looked into--and every man,including Harris, felt it in his bones that that something was therecent and unprofitable scout. That being the case, it placed them allon the defensive, and Willett, unhappily, upon his mettle.
A silence fell upon the party when it was found Harris was gone. 'Toniohimself had risen again, had stood gazing awhile along the eastwardmountains, tumbling up toward a brazen sky, then had slowly vanishedfrom sight round the corner of the adobe wall.
"Sticks closer'n a brother," said Stannard, epigrammatically, with alook at Turner, his comrade captain, whereat the latter shot a warningglance, first at Stannard, then toward the unconscious N.A., nowhobnobbing with Briggs at the mess-room door.
"Harris doesn't like the young swell! What's the matter, d'ye s'pose?"asked Bucketts, the post quartermaster, a man of much weight, but nottoo much discrimination.
"Bosh! They're classmates and old chums," was Stannard's quick reply."Harris is hipped because his scout was a fizzle, and he simply doesn'tfeel like talking."
"All the same, he doesn't like Willett, classmate or no classmate. Youmark my words," persisted the man of mops and brooms, and Stannard, whohad seen the youngster's face as he turned away, knew well thequartermaster was right. Therefore was it his duty, for the sake of theregiment, said he, to stand by Harris as hailing from the cavalry. Hescoffed at the quartermaster and began to pace the veranda. 'Twas hightime for evening stables, and the brief and perfunctory grooming theshort-coupled, stocky little mountain climbers daily received. Theherds had been driven in, watering in the shallows as they forded thestream full fifteen minutes before. There were only the surgeon, theadjutant, the quartermaster, and Lieutenant Willett seated on theveranda when Harris presently came back, silent as before, but clad inundress uniform, as neat and trim as that of the Latest Arrival, if notso new. Then came General Archer, his daughter, and the meeting. Then,a few minutes later, the bid to dinner, and then, barely an hour fromthat time, the dinner itself--a function the classmates marched toalmost arm in arm when either would rather have been without the other.
The members of what there was of the mess, six officers in all, satwaiting the summons to their own board, and gazing idly after. Stannard,the only married captain whose wife had had the nerve to go to thatdesolate and distant station, was sitting under his own figurative vineand fig-tree represented by a pine veranda, about which neither vinenor fig nor other tree had ever been induced to grow, but that was notwithout other extravagances, since it represented to Uncle Sam anaggregate sum that could be best computed at a shilling a shingle.Stannard, hearing footsteps on the sandy soil, glanced up from thecolumns of an _Alta California_, ten days old, and growled through theadjacent blinds "They're coming now," whereat there was sound ofrustling skirt within, and between the slats there came a glimpse ofshining, big blue eyes, alive with womanly interest, and parted lipsdisclosing two opposing rows of almost perfect teeth, all the whiter bycontrast with the sunburned, "sonsy" face that framed them. Together,yet separated, this Darby and Joan of the far frontier sat and watchedthe coming pair. "Isn't it good to see the real uniform again?" saidshe. "Isn't it absurd to think of trying a dinner here?" said he. Thenboth subsided as the two young officers stepped upon the resoundingboards of the next veranda to the south, knocked at the commander'sopen door and were promptly welcomed.
"Now, Luce, they're going to have a very _nice_ dinner," protestedMrs. Stannard. "I was in there helping over an hour, and Mrs. Archer'sa wonder! Even if the dinner didn't amount to much, there would beLilian."
"They can't eat _her_," persisted, grimly, the man.
"She looks sweet enough to eat," responded the woman. "You ought to seeher. After a six hours' ride she looks fresh as a daisy, all creamywhite with--but you wouldn't understand----"
"What on earth kept them out so long?"
"Didn't I tell you? Why, they went away to Bennett's ranch. Couldn'tfind a vestige of vegetables nearer. Mrs. Bennett has a little patchwhere she raises lettuce and radishes. The orderly carried a basketfull of truck, and leaves and flowers, poppies and cactus, you know,and you've no idea how pretty they've made the table look."
Stannard sniffed. "Take their Sauterne hot or lukewarm?" he asked."Fancy a dinner without ice, fruit or cream!"
"Of course they haven't white wine here, Luce! But there's claret--famousclaret, too, and the water in the big _olla's_ even cooler than thespring. They'll have French dressing for the salad. They have tomatosoup even _you_ couldn't growl at, and roast chicken, with real potatoes,and _petits pois_, and corn, and olives; then salad cool as the spring;then there's to be such an _omelette soufflee_--and coffee!--but it'sthe way the table _looks_, Luce!"
"Men don't care how a thing looks, so long as it tastes right. How_does_ it look?"
"So white and fresh, and sprinkled with green and purple and crimson,the leaves and the poppies, you know. She----" But Mrs. Stannard brokeoff suddenly. "What is it, Wettstein?" she asked, for their ownparticular _chef_, a German trooper, with elementary culinary gifts,appeared in the hallway.
"It's Suey, mattam, says would Mrs. Stannard come over a minute. He'sstuck, mattam."
"Stuck! Heavens! how?" cried Mrs. Stannard, up at once in alarm, andvanishing through the dim light of the blanketed window. The presumablypunctured Chinaman was even then in full flight for his own kitchendoor, some fifty feet away, and Mrs. Stannard followed. No Roman inRome's quarrel was ever more self-sacrificing than were our army womenof the old days in their helpfulness. Had the hounds ravished the roastagain, as once already had happened? If so, the Stannard dinner stoodready to replace it, even though she and her captain had to fall backon what could be borrowed from the troop kitchen. No, the oven door wasopen, the precious chickens, brown, basted and done to a turn, werewaiting Suey's deft hands to shift them to the platter. (No need toheat it even on a December day.) Mrs. Stannard's quick andcomprehensive glance took in every detail. The "stick" was obviouslyfigurative--mere vernacular--yet something serious, for Suey'solive-brown skin was jaundiced with worry, and the face of Doyle, thesoldier striker, as he came hurrying back from the banquet board, wasbeading with the sweat of mental torment. Soup, it seems, was alreadyserved, and Doyle burst forth, hoarse whispering, before ever he caughtsight of the visiting angel.
"Sure I _can't_, Suey! _The General's sittin' on it!_"
And Suey's long-nailed Mongolian talons went up in despair as he turnedappealingly to their rescuer.
"Sitting on what, Doyle? Quick!" said Mrs. Stannard.
"The sherry, ma'am! The doctor sent it over wid his comps to s'prisehim, an' my orders was to fill the little glasses when I'd took in thesoup, an' I put it under the barrel chair----"
But Mrs. Stannard had heard enough. Even though convulsed withmerriment, she seized a pencil and scribbled a little line on a card."Give this to Mrs. Archer," she said, and a moment later, in the midstof his first story, the veteran was checked by these placid words fromthe head of the table:
"Pardon me, dear, but you are on the lid of the wine cooler. Let Doyleget at it a moment."
The general was not the nimblest-witted man in the service, but longexperience had taught him the wisdom of prompt observance of anysuggestion that came from his wife. Dropping his napkin, and the threadof his tale, he rose to his feet. Blushing furiously, Doyle bent, andwith vigorous effort pried off a circular, perforated top, revealing adark, cylindrical space beneath, from the depths of which he lifted adripping bucket of galvanized iron, and sped, thus laden, away to thekitchen, to the music of Mrs. Archer's merry laughter and a guffaw ofjoy from the general's lips.
"How came you to put it there, sir?" demanded he, a moment later, asDoyle circumnavigated the table, filling, as ordered, the five littleglasses with fragrant Amontillado. "I must tell you, gentlemen, this isone of the pleasant surprises that most admirable woman yonder isforever putting up on me. Life would be a desert without such."
"Indeed it wasn't mine!" expostulated madam, "though I'm deeplyindebted to somebody. Who was it, Doyle?"
"Docther Bentley, ma'am. He said I was to keep it dark, ma'am--'an' inthe coolest place I could find----"
But here the peals of laughter silenced the words and rang the gladtidings to listening, waiting ears in the kitchen that all was well.Mrs. Stannard scurried away to explain to her Luce, and the dinner wentblithely on.
"You did right, Doyle! you did right!" shouted the general, "and we'lldrink the doctor's health. Keep it dark, indeed! Haw, haw, haw!" Andthen nothing would do but he must tell the story of this precious andparticular chair. Furniture, even such as he bought at San Francisco,and would live to a green old age along the Pacific, came speedily topieces in the hot, dry atmosphere of Arizona. Little enough there wasof cabinet ware, to be sure, because of the cost of transportation; butsuch as there was, unless riveted in every seam and joint, fell apartat most inopportune moments. Bureaus and washstands, tables, sofas andchairs, were forever shedding some more or less important section, andthe only reliable table was that built by the post carpenter, thequartermaster.
And so these pioneers of our civilization, the men and women of thearmy, had had no little experience in cabinetmaking and upholstering.While the emigrants and settlers, secure under its wing, could turnswords into ploughshares and spears into pruning-hooks, as saith theScriptures, their soldier folk turned clothing boxes into couches, soapboxes into cradles, and pork barrels into _fauteuils_. Chintz andcalico, like charity, covered a multitude of sins, as declared inunsightly cracks and knotholes. The finest reclining chair in all CampAlmy belonged to the doctor, a composite of condemned stretchers andshelter tent. The best dining-room set was sawed out from sugarbarrels, and, being stuffed with old newspapers and gayly covered withcheese cloth and calico, rivaled in comfort, if not in airy elegance,the twisted woodwork of Vienna. When it was known that Mrs. and MissArcher had descended upon the camp, and their beloved commander hadnext to nothing by way of furniture with which to deck their army home,every officer hastened to place his household goods--such "C. and G.E."as did not belong to the hospital--at the general's disposal. TheStannards sent three riveted, cane-bottomed, dining-room chairs andtheir spare room outfit complete. Captain Turner, whose fair-complectedpartner had not yet ventured to these destructive suns, sent bedsteadand bureau, the latter without knobs, but you could pry the drawersopen with the point of a sabre. The post trader drove up from the storewith a lot of odds and ends. Even the bachelors were keen to dosomething. All of which Mrs. Archer most gratefully and smilinglyaccepted and made mental note of for future return in kind. But, inspite of the Stannards' contribution, the general stood firmly to hisprerogative and sat close on his throne--"The finest dining chair inall Arizona, sir," as he often declared. "Sawed out from a standard oakwhiskey barrel at Old Port Buford in '58, according to my own ideas andlines, and sound as a dollar to-day, sir, and it's only been coveredthree times in all. Look at it!" And here, with a flourish, he wouldwhip off the seat. "Combination chair and butler's pantry, sir. Used tokeep my whiskey and tobacco there when the redskins had the run of thepost and thought nothing of searching our quarters. And now Doyle'sused it as the doctor prescribed, and then gone and forgotten it! Haw,haw, haw! By Jove, but that's capital sherry! Cool almost as if it hadbeen iced! Harris, my boy, you don't drink!"
There was a moment's silence. Then the young officer answered, simply,yet almost apologetically:
"Why--I never have, sir."