by Charles King
CHAPTER III
MOCCASIN TRACKS
When Mr. Blakely left the post that afternoon he went afoot. When hereturned, just after the sounding of retreat, he came in saddle.Purposely he avoided the road that led in front of the long line ofofficers' quarters and chose instead the water-wagon track along therear. People among the laundresses' quarters, south of the _mesa_ onwhich stood the quadrangular inclosure of Camp Sandy, eyed himcuriously as he ambled through on his borrowed pony; but he lookedneither to right nor left and hurried on in obvious discomposure. Hewas looking pale and very tired, said the saddler sergeant's wife, anhour later, when all the garrison was agog with the story of Wren'smad assault. He never seemed to see the two or three soldiers, men offamily, who rose and saluted as he passed, and not an officer in theregiment was more exact or scrupulous in his recognition of suchsoldier courtesy as Blakely had ever been. They wondered, therefore,at his strange abstraction. They wondered more, looking after him,when, just as his stumbling pony reached the crest, the rider reinedhim in and halted short in evident embarrassment. They could not seewhat he saw--two young girls in gossamer gowns of white, with armsentwining each other's waists, their backs toward him, slowly pacingnorthward up the _mesa_ and to the right of the road. Some old croquetarches, balls, and mallets lay scattered about, long since abandonedto dry rot and disuse, and, so absorbed were the damsels in theirconfidential chat,--bubbling over, too, with merry laughter,--theygave no heed to these until one, the taller of the pair, catching herslippered foot in the stiff, unyielding wire, plunged forward andfell, nearly dragging her companion with her. Blakely, who had hungback, drove his barbless heels into the pony's flanks, sent himlurching forward, and in less than no time was out of saddle andaiding her to rise, laughing so hard she, for a moment, could notspeak or thank him. Save to flowing skirt, there was not the faintestdamage, yet his eyes, his voice, his almost tremulous touch were allsuggestive of deep concern, before, once more mounting, he raised hisbroad-brimmed hat and bade them reluctant good-night. Kate Sanders ranscurrying home an instant later, but Angela's big and shining eyesfollowed him every inch of the way until he once more dismounted atthe upper end of the row and, looking back, saw her and waved his hat,whereat she ran, blushing, smiling, and not a little wondering,flustered and happy, into the gallery of their own quarters and theimmediate presence of her father. Blakely, meanwhile, had summoned hisservant:
"Take this pony at once to Mr. Hart," said he, "and say I'll be backagain as soon as I've seen the commanding officer."
When Downs, the messenger, returned to the house about half an hourlater, it was to find his master prostrate and bleeding on the bed inhis room, Dr. Graham and the hospital attendant working over him, themajor and certain of his officers, with gloomy faces and mutteringtongues, conferring on the piazza in front, and one of thelieutenant's precious cases of bugs and butterflies a wreck ofshattered glass. More than half the officers of the post were present.A bevy of women and girls had gathered in the dusk some distance downthe row. The wondering Milesian whispered inquiry of silent soldierslingering about the house, but the gruff voice of Sergeant Clancy badethem go about their business. Not until nearly an hour later was itgenerally known that Captain Wren had been escorted to his quarters bythe post adjutant and ordered to remain therein in close arrest.
If some older and more experienced officer than Duane had been thereperhaps the matter would not have proved so tragic, but the latter wasutterly unstrung by Wren's furious attack and the unlooked-for result.Without warning of any kind, the burly Scot had launched his big fiststraight at Blakely's jaw, and sent the slender, still fever-weakenedform crashing through a case of specimens, reducing it to splintersthat cruelly cut and tore the bruised and senseless face. A corporalof the guard, marching his relief in rear of the quarters at themoment, every door and window being open, heard the crash, the wildcry for help, rushed in, with his men at his heels, and found thecaptain standing stunned and ghastly, with the sweat starting from hisbrow, staring down at the result of his fearful work. From the frontCaptain Sanders and his amazed lieutenant came hurrying. Together theylifted the stricken and bleeding man to his bed in the back room andstarted a soldier for the doctor on the run. The sight of this man,speeding down the row, bombarded all the way with questions he couldnot stop to answer, startled every soul along that westward-facingfront, and sent men and women streaming up the line toward Blakely'squarters at the north end. The doctor fairly brushed them from hispath and Major Plume had no easy task persuading the tearful, pallidgroups of army wives and daughters to retire to the neighboringquarters. Janet Wren alone refused point-blank. She would not gowithout first seeing her brother. It was she who took the arm of theawed, bewildered, shame-and conscience-stricken man and led him, withbowed and humbled head, the adjutant aiding on the other side, back tothe door he had so sternly closed upon his only child, and that now assummarily shut on him. Dr. Graham had pronounced the young officer'sinjuries serious, and the post commander was angry to the very core.
One woman there was who, with others, had aimlessly hastened up theline, and who seemed now verging on hysterics--the major's wife. Itwas Mrs. Graham who rebukefully sent her own braw young broodscurrying homeward through the gathering dusk, and then possessedherself of Mrs. Plume. "The shock has unnerved you," she charitably,soothingly whispered: "Come away with me," but the major's wiferefused to go. Hart, the big post trader, had just reached the spot,driving up in his light buckboard. His usually jovial face was full ofsympathy and trouble. He could not believe the news, he said. Mr.Blakely had been with him so short a time beforehand and was comingdown again at once, so Downs, the striker, told him, when some soldierran in to say the lieutenant had been half killed by Captain Wren.Plume heard him talking and came down the low steps to meet and conferwith him, while the others, men and women, listened eagerly, expectantof developments. Then Hart became visibly embarrassed. Yes, Mr.Blakely had come up from below and begged the loan of a pony, sayinghe must get to the post at once to see Major Plume. Hadn't he seen themajor? No! Then Hart's embarrassment increased. Yes, something hadhappened. Blakely had told him, and in fact they--he--all of them hadsomething very important on hand. He didn't know what to do now, withMr. Blakely unable to speak, and, to the manifest disappointment ofthe swift-gathering group, Hart finally begged the major to step asidewith him a moment and he would tell him what he knew. All eyesfollowed them, then followed the major as he came hurrying back withheightened color and went straight to Dr. Graham at the sufferer'sside. "Can I speak with him? Is he well enough to answer a question ortwo?" he asked, and the doctor shook his head. "Then, by the Lord,I'll have to wire to Prescott!" said Plume, and left the room atonce. "What is it?" feebly queried the patient, now half-conscious.But the doctor answered only "Hush! No talking now, Mr. Blakely," andbade the others leave the room and let him get to sleep.
But tattoo had not sounded that still and starlit evening when astrange story was in circulation about the post, brought up from thetrader's store by pack-train hands who said they were there when Mr.Blakely came in and asked for Hart--"wanted him right away, bad," wasthe way they put it. Then it transpired that Mr. Blakely had found nosport at bug-hunting and had fallen into a doze while waiting forwinged insects, and when he woke it was to make a startlingdiscovery--his beautiful Geneva watch had disappeared from one pocketand a flat note case, carried in an inner breast pocket of his whiteduck blouse, and containing about one hundred dollars, was also gone.Some vagrant soldier, possibly, or some "hard-luck outfit" ofprospectors, probably, had come upon him sleeping, and had made waywith his few valuables. Two soldiers had been down stream, fishing forwhat they called Tonto trout, but they were looked up instantly andproved to be men above suspicion. Two prospectors had been at Hart's,nooning, and had ridden off down stream toward three o'clock. _There_was a clew worth following, and certain hangers-on about the trader's,"layin' fer a job," had casually hinted at the prospect of a game downat Snicker's--a ranch five mile
s below. Here, too, was something worthinvestigating. If Blakely had been robbed, as now seemed more thanlikely, Camp Sandy felt that the perpetrator must still be close athand and of the packer or prospector class.
But before the ranks were broken, after the roll-call, then invariablyheld at half-past nine, Hart came driving back in a buckboard, with alantern and a passenger, the latter one of the keenest trailers amongthe sergeants of Captain Sanders' troop, and Sanders was with themajor as the man sprang from the wagon and stood at salute.
"Found anything, sergeant?" asked Plume.
"Not a boot track, sir, but the lieutenant's own."
"No tracks at all--in that soft sand!" exclaimed the major,disappointed and unbelieving. His wife had come slowly forward fromwithin doors, and, bending slightly toward them, stood listening.
"No boot tracks, sir. There's others though--Tonto moccasins!"
Plume stood bewildered. "By Jove! I never thought of that!" said he,turning presently on his second troop commander. "But who ever heardof Apaches taking a man's watch and leaving--him?"
"If the major will look," said the sergeant, quietly producing ascouting notebook such as was then issued by the engineer department,"I measured 'em and made rough copies here. There was _two_, sir. Bothcame, both went, by the path through the willows up stream. We didn'thave time to follow. One is longer and slimmer than the other. If Imay make so bold, sir, I'd have a guard down there to-night to keeppeople away; otherwise the tracks may be spoiled before morning."
"Take three men and go yourself," said the major promptly. "Seeanything of any of the lieutenant's property? Mr. Hart told you,didn't he?" Plume was studying the sergeant's pencil sketches, by thelight of the trader's lantern, as he spoke, a curious, puzzled look onhis soldierly face.
"Saw where the box had lain in the sand, sir, but no trace of thenet," and Sergeant Shannon was thinking less of these matters than ofhis sketches. There was something he thought the major ought to see,and presently he saw.
"Why, sergeant, these may be Tonto moccasin tracks, but not grownmen's. They are mere boys, aren't they?"
"Mere girls, sir."
There was a sound of rustling skirts upon the bare piazza. Plumeglanced impatiently over his shoulder. Mrs. Plume had vanished intothe unlighted hallway.
"That would account for their taking the net," said he thoughtfully,"but what on earth would the guileless Tonto maiden do with a watch orwith greenbacks? They wouldn't dare show with them at the agency! Howfar did you follow the tracks?"
"Only a rod or two. Once in the willows they can't well quit them tillthey reach the shallows above the pool, sir. We can guard thereto-night and begin trailing at dawn."
"So be it then!" and presently the conference closed.
Seated on the adjoining gallery, alone and in darkness, stricken andsorrowing, a woman had been silently observant of the meeting, andhad heard occasional snatches of the talk. Presently she rose; softlyentered the house and listened at a closed door on the northwardside--Captain Wren's own room. An hour previous, tortured between hisown thoughts and her well-meant, but unwelcome efforts to cheer him,he had begged to be left alone, and had closed his door against allcomers.
Now, she as softly ascended the narrow stairway and paused for amoment at another door, also closed. Listening a while, she knocked,timidly, hesitatingly, but no answer came. After a while, noiselessly,she turned the knob and entered.
A dim light was burning on a little table by the white bedside. Along, slim figure, white-robed and in all the abandon of girlishgrief, was lying, face downward, on the bed. Tangled masses of hairconcealed much of the neck and shoulders, but, bending over, Miss Wrencould partially see the flushed and tear-wet cheek pillowed on oneslender white arm. Exhausted by long weeping, Angela at last haddropped to sleep, but the little hand that peeped from under thethick, tumbling tresses still clung to an odd and unfamiliarobject--something the older woman had seen only at a distancebefore--something she gazed at in startled fascination this strangeand solemn night--a slender, long-handled butterfly net of filmygauze.