by Charles King
CHAPTER XXVI
"WOMAN-WALK-NO-MORE"
More morning suns than could be counted in the field of the flag hadcome, and gone, but not a sign of Natzie. Wren's own troopers, hot onPunch's flashing heels, were cooling their own as best they couldthrough the arid days that followed. Wren himself was now recoveredsufficiently to be told of much that had been going on,--not all,--andit was Angela who constantly hovered about him, for Janet was taking aneeded rest. Blakely, too, was on the mend, sitting up hours of everyday and "being very lovely" in manner to all the Sanders household,for thither had he demanded to be moved even sooner than it wasprudent to move him at all. Go he would, and Graham had to order it.Pat Mullins was once again "for duty." Even Todd, the bewilderedvictim of Natzie's knife, was stretching his legs on the hospitalporch. There had come a lull in all martial proceedings at the post,and only two sensations. One of these latter was the formalinvestigation by the inspector general of the conditions surroundingthe stabbing at Camp Sandy of Privates Mullins and Todd of the ----thU. S. Cavalry. The other was the discovery, one bright, brilliant,winter morning that Natzie's friend and savior, Angela's Punch, wasback in his stall, looking every bit as saucy and "fit" as ever he didin his life. What surprised many folk in the garrison was that itsurprised Angela not at all. "I thought Punch would come back," saidshe, in demure unconcern, and the girls at least, began to understand,and were wild to question. Only Kate Sanders, however, knew howwelcome was the pet pony's coming. But what had come that was far fromwelcome was a coldness between Angela and Kate Sanders.
Byrne himself had arrived, and the "inquisition" had begun. Noexaminations under oath, no laborious recordings of question andanswer, no crowd of curious listeners. The veteran inspector took eachman in turn and heard his tale and jotted down his notes, and, wherehe thought it wise, cross-questioned over and again. One afteranother, Truman and Todd, Wren and Mullins, told their stories,bringing forth little that was new beyond the fact that Todd was sureit was Elise he heard that night "jabbering with Downs" on Blakely'sporch. Todd felt sure that it was she who brought him whisky, andByrne let him prattle on. It was not evidence, yet it might lead theway to light. In like manner was Mullins sure now "'Twas two ladies"stabbed him when he would have striven to stop the foremost. Byrneasked did he think they were ladies when first he set eyes on them,and Pat owned up that he thought it was some of the girls fromSudsville; it might even be Norah as one of them, coming home latefrom the laundresses' quarters, and trying to play him a trick. Heowned to it that he grabbed the foremost, seeing at that moment noother, and thinking to win the forfeit of a kiss, and Byrne gravelyassured him 'twas no shame in it, so long as Norah never found it out.
But Byrne asked Plume two questions that puzzled and worried himgreatly. How much whisky had he missed? and how much opium could havebeen given him the night of Mrs. Plume's unconscious escapade? Themajor well remembered that his demijohn had grown suddenly light, andthat he had found himself surprisingly heavy, dull, and drowsy. Theretrospect added to his gloom and depression. Byrne had not reoccupiedhis old room at Plume's, now that madame and Elise were once moreunder the major's roof, and even in extending the customaryinvitation, Plume felt confident that Byrne could not and should notaccept. The position he had taken with regard to Elise, her ladyship'scompanion and confidante, was sufficient in itself to make him, in theeyes of that lady, an unacceptable guest, but it never occurred toher, although it had to Plume, that there might be even deeperreasons. Then, too, the relations between the commander and theinspector, although each was scrupulously courteous, were nownecessarily strained. Plume could not but feel that his conduct ofpost affairs was in a measure a matter of scrutiny. He knew that histreatment of Natzie was disapproved by nine out of ten of his command.He felt, rather than knew, that some of his people had connived at herescape, and though that escape had been a relief to everybody atSandy, the manner of her taking off was to him a mystery and arankling sore.
Last man to be examined was Blakely, and now indeed there was light.He had been sitting up each day for several hours; his wounds werehealing well; the fever and prostration that ensued had left him weakand very thin and pale, but he had the soldier's best medicine--theconsciousness of duties thoroughly and well performed. He knew that,though Wren might carry his personal antipathy to the extent ofofficial injustice, as officers higher in rank than Wren have beenknown to do, the truth concerning the recent campaign must come tolight, and his connection therewith be made a matter of record, as itwas already a matter of fact. Wren had not yet submitted his writtenreport. Wren and the post commander were still on terms severelyofficial; but, to the few brother officers with whom the captaintalked at all upon the stirring events through which he and his troophad so recently passed, he had made little mention of Blakely. Not so,however, the men; not so Wales Arnold, the ranchman. To hear theseworthies talk, the Bugologist, next to "Princess Natzie," was thecentral figure of the Red Rock campaign--the one officer, "where allhad done so well," whose deeds merited conspicuous mention. Byrne knewthis better than Wren. Plume knew it not as well as Byrne, perhaps.Sanders, Lynn, and Duane had heard the soldier stories in a dozenways, and it stung them that their regimental comrade should sodoggedly refuse to open his lips and give Blakely his due. It is notsilence that usually hurts a man, it is speech; yet here was a case tothe contrary.
Now just in proportion as the Wrens would have nothing to say inpraise of Blakely, the Sanders household would have nothing _but_praise to say. Kate's honest heart was hot with anger at Angela,because the girl shrank from the subject as she would from evilspeaking, lying, and slandering, and here again, to paraphrase theIrishman, too much heat had produced the coldness already referred to.Sanders scoffed at the idea of Natzie's infatuation being sufficientground for family ostracism. "If there is a man alive who owes morethan Wren does to Blakely, I'm a crab," said he, "and as soon as he'swell enough to listen to straight talk he'll get it from me." "Ifthere's a girl in America as heartless as Angela Wren," said Mrs.Sanders, "I hope I never shall have to meet her." But then Mrs.Sanders, as we know, had ever been jealous of Angela on account of herown true-hearted Kate, who refused to say one word on the subjectbeyond what she said to Angela herself. And now they had propped theirpatient in his reclining-chair and arranged the little table for "theinquisitor general," as Mrs. Bridger preferred to refer to him, andleft them alone together behind closed doors, and had then gone forthto find that all Camp Sandy seemed to wait with bated breath for theoutcome of that interview.
Sooner than was believed possible it came. An hour, probably, beforethey thought the colonel could have gathered all he wished to know,that officer was on the front piazza and sending an orderly to theadjutant's office. Then came Major Plume, with quick and nervous step.There was a two-minute conference on the piazza; then both officersvanished within, were gone five minutes, and then Plume reappearedalone, went straight to his home, and slammed the door behind him, asolecism rarely known at Sandy, and presently on the hot and pulselessair there arose the sound of shrill protestation in strangevernacular. Even Wren heard the voice, and found something reminiscentin the sound of weeping and wailing that followed. The performer wasunquestionably Elise--she that had won the ponderous, yet descriptive,Indian name "Woman-Walk-in-the-Night."
And while this episode was still unexpired the orderly went forLieutenant Truman, and Truman, with two orderlies, for a box, a bulkylittle chest, strapped heavily with iron, and this they lugged intoSanders's hall and came out heated and mystified. Three hours later,close-veiled and in droopy desolation, "Mademoiselle Lebrun" wasbundled into a waiting ambulance and started under sufficient escort,and the care of the hospital matron, _en route_ for Prescott, whileDr. Graham was summoned to attend Mrs. Plume, and grimly went. "Themean part of the whole business," said Mrs. Bridger, "is that nobodyknows _what_ it means." There was no one along the line, except poorMrs. Plume, to regret that sudden and enforced departure, but therewas regret universal all over the po
st when it was learned, stilllater in the afternoon, that one of the best soldiers and sergeantsin the entire garrison had taken the horse of one of the herd guardand galloped away on the trail of the banished one. Sergeant Shannon,at sunset parade, was reported absent without leave.
Major Plume had come forth from his quarters at the sounding of theretreat, accurately dressed as ever, white-gloved, and wearing hissaber. He seemed to realize that all eyes would be upon him. He had,indeed, been tempted again to turn over the command to the seniorcaptain, but wisely thought better of it, and determined to face themusic. He looked very sad and gray, however. He returned scrupulouslythe salute of the four company commanders as, in turn, each cameforward to report the result of the evening roll-call; Cutler andWestervelt first, their companies being the nearest, then LieutenantLynn, temporarily in charge of Wren's troop, its captain and firstlieutenant being still "on sick report." The sight of this youngofficer set the major to thinking of that evening not so many moonsagone when Captain Wren himself appeared and in resonant, far-carryingtone announced "Lieutenant Blakely, sir, is absent." He had beenthinking much of Blakely through the solemn afternoon, as he wanderednervously about his darkened quarters, sometimes tiptoeing to thebedside of his feebly moaning, petulant wife, sometimes pacing thelibrary and hall. He had been again for half an hour closeted withByrne and the Bugologist, certain letters being under inspection. Hehardly heard the young officer, Lynn, as he said "Troop 'C,' allpresent, sir." He was looking beyond him at Captain Sanders, comingstriding over the barren parade, with import in his eye. Plume feltthat there was trouble ahead before ever Sanders reached theprescribed six paces, halted, raised his hand in salute, and, just asdid Wren on that earlier occasion, announced in tones intended to beheard over and beyond the post commander: "Sergeant Shannon, sir, withone government horse, absent without leave."
Plume went a shade white, and bit his lips before he could steadyhimself to question. Well he knew that this new devilment was due insome way to that spirit of evil so long harbored by his wife, andsuffered by himself. All the story of the strife she had stirred inthe garrison had reached him days before. Downs's drunkenness anddesertion, beyond doubt, were chargeable to her, as well as anotherand worse crime, unless all indications were at fault. Then there wasthe breach between Carmody and Shannon, formerly stanch friends andcomrades, and now Carmody lay buried beneath the rocks in Bear Canon,and Shannon, as gallant and useful a sergeant as ever served, hadthrown to the winds his record of the past and his hopes for thefuture, and gone in mad pursuit of a worthless hoyden. And all becauseClarice would have that woman with her wherever she might go.
"When did this happen?" he presently asked.
"Just after stable call, sir. The horses were all returned to thecorral except the herd guard's. The men marched over, as usual, withtheir halters. Shannon fell out as they entered the gate, took youngBennett's rein as he stood ready to lead in after them, mounted androde round back of the wall, leaving Bennett so surprised that hedidn't know what to say. He never suspected anything wrong untilShannon failed to reappear. Then he followed round back of the corral,found the sergeant's stable frock lying halfway out toward the bluff,and saw a streak of dust toward Bowlder Point. Then he came andreported."
Plume, after a moment's silence, turned abruptly. He had suffered muchthat day, and to think of his wife lying stricken and whimpering,professing herself a sorely injured woman because compelled at last topart with her maid, angered him beyond the point of toleration.Tossing his saber to the China boy, he went straightway aloft, failingto note in the dim light that two soft-hearted sympathizers werecooing by the gentle sufferer's side.
"Well, Clarice," he broke in abruptly, "we are never to hear the endof that she-cat's doings! My best sergeant has stolen a horse and gonegalloping after her." It is always our best we lose when our betterhalf is to blame, nor is it the way of brutal man to minimize thecalamity on such occasions. It did not better matters that hermuch-wronged ladyship should speedily reply: "It's a wonder you don'tcharge the Indian outbreak to poor Elise. I don't believe she had athing to do with your sergeant's stealing."
"You wouldn't believe she stole my whisky and gave it to Downs, thoughyou admitted she told you she had to go back that night for somethingshe'd dropped. You wouldn't believe she married that rascally gamblerat St. Louis before her first husband was out of the way! You shieldedand swore by her, and brought her out here, and all the time theproofs were here in Blakely's hands. It was _she_, I suppose, whobroke off--"
But here, indeed, was it high time to break off. The visitors were nowvisibly rising in all proper embarrassment, for Mrs. Plume had startedup, with staring eyes. "Proofs!" she cried, "in Blakely's hands! Why,she told me--my own letters!--my--" And then brutal man was brought tohis senses and made to see how heartless and cruel was his conduct,for Mrs. Plume went into a fit and Mrs. Lynn for the doctor.
That was a wild night at Sandy. Two young matrons had made up theirminds that it was shameful to leave poor Mrs. Plume without anybody tolisten to her, when she might so long for sympathetic hearers, andhave so much to tell. They had entered as soon as the major came forthand, softly tapping at the stricken one's door, had been with herbarely five minutes when he came tearing back, and all this tremendousscene occurred before they could put in a word to prevent, which, ofcourse, they were dying to do. But what _hadn't_ they heard in thatswift moment! Between the two of them--and Mrs. Bridger was theother--their agitation was such that it all had to be told. Then, likethe measles, one revelation led to another, but it was several daysbefore the garrison settled down in possession of an array of factssufficient to keep it in gossip for many a month. Meanwhile, many achange had come over the scene.
At Prescott, then the Territorial capital, Elise Layton, _nee_ Lebrun,was held without bail because it couldn't be had, charged withobtaining money under false pretenses, bigamy as a side issue, andarson as a possible backstop. The sleep-walking theory, as advanced infavor of Mrs. Plume, had been reluctantly abandoned, it appearingthat, however dazed and "doped" she may have been through thetreatment of that deft-fingered, unscrupulous maid, she wassufficiently wide awake to know well whither she had gone at thatwoman's urging, to make a last effort to recover certain letters ofvital importance. At Blakely's door Clarice had "lost her nerve" andinsisted on returning, but not so Elise. She went again, and hadwell-nigh gotten Downs drunk enough to do as she demanded. Frankly,sadly, Plume went to Blakely, told him of his wife's admissions, andasked him what papers of hers he retained. For a moment Blakely hadblazed with indignation, but Plume's sorrow, and utter innocence ofwrong intent, stilled his wrath and led to his answer: "Every letterof Mrs. Plume's I burned before she was married, and I so assured her.She herself wrote asking me to burn rather than return them, but therewere letters and papers I could not burn, brought to me by a poordevil that woman Elise had married, tricked into jail, and thendeserted. He disappeared afterward, and even Pinkerton's peoplehaven't been able to find him. Those papers are his property. You andColonel Byrne are the only men who have seen them, though they weresomewhat exposed just after the fire. She made three attempts to getme to give them up to her. Then, I believe, she strove to get Downs tosteal them, and gave him the money with which to desert and bring themto her. He couldn't get into the iron box; couldn't lug it out, andsomehow, probably, set fire to the place, scratching matches in there.Perhaps she even persuaded him to do that as a last resort. He knew Icould get out safely. At all events, he was scared out of his wits anddeserted with what he had. It was in trying to make his way eastwardby the Wingate road that there came the last of poor Ups and Downs."
And so the story of this baleful influence over a weak, half-druggedgirl, her mistress, became known to Plume and gradually to others. Itwas easy for Elise to make her believe that, in spite of the word of agentleman, her impulsive love letters were still held by Blakelybecause he had never forgiven her. It was Elise, indeed, who hadroused her jealousy and had done her best to brea
k that engagementwith Blakely and to lead to the match with the handsome and devotedmajor. Intrigue and lying were as the breath of the woman's nostrils.She lived in them. But Sandy was never to see her again."Woman-Walk-in-the-Night" was "Woman-Walk-no-More."
And now the friendless creature stood charged with more crimes thanwould fill the meager space of a Territorial jail, and yet the oneoriginally laid at her door, though never publicly announced, was nowomitted entirely--that of assault with deadly weapon, possibly withintent to kill. Even Mother Shaughnessy and Norah were silenced, andPat Mullins put to confusion. Even the latest punctured patient at thehospital, Private Todd, had to serve as evidence in behalf of Elise,for Graham, post surgeon, had calmly declared that the same weaponthat so nearly killed Pat Mullins had as nearly and neatly done thedeed for Todd--the keen Apache knife of Princess Natzie.
"The heathen child was making her usual night visit to her whitelover," said Wren grimly, having in mind the womanly shape he had seenthat starlit morning at Blakely's rear door.
"You're right in one guess, R-robert Wren," was the prompt answer ofhis friend and fellow Scot, who glared at Janet rather than hisconvalescent as he spoke. "And ye're wrang in twanty. She _was_tryin', and didn't know the way. She _was_ tryin', for she had hiswatch and pocketbook. You're wrang if ye think she was ever therebefore or after. The slut you saw cryin' at his back door was thatquean Elise, an' ye well know there was no love lost between them. Gosay yer prayers, man, for every wicked thought ye've had of him--or ofthat poor child. Between them they saved your Angela!"