by Charles King
CHAPTER XIV.
A week rolled by, a week little Jim Lawrence and other small boys longremembered for the good things they had to eat and drink; and nowGalahad was sitting up again at his quarters, doing very well, said bothdoctors, so well that he could be out on the shaded piazza in areclining chair, said Brayton,--but wouldn't, said Blythe,--and for goodreasons, said the Fraziers feminine, "because then there'd be no dodgingLaura Winn, if, indeed, he has succeeded thus far." True, he had notventured outside his doors, and no one had seen her venture within them.True, Mrs. Frazier, Mrs. Blythe, and other motherly women had been tovisit him,--Mrs. Frazier frequently,--and Mrs. Winn had been mostparticular in her daily inquiries,--"most persistent," said the Fraziergirls. Those were days in which milk was a luxury in far-away Texas, butthe delicate custards, whips, creams, and what the colonel's Hibernianorderly described as "floating Irelands," which that messenger bore withMrs. Frazier's love, or Miss Frazier's compliments, or Miss 'MandaFrazier's regards and hopes that the captain was better this morning,could be numbered only by the passing days. What Mrs. Frazier wasprepared to see or hear of was similar attention on the part of Mrs.Winn; but Mrs. Winn's attentions took a form more difficult to see, and,even in a frontier, old-time garrison, to hear of.
What Mrs. Frazier was not prepared to see was Mrs. Blythe in frequentconfidential chat with the officer whom the colonel's wife chose toconsider her own invalid. She had always fancied Mrs. Blythe before, butnow she met her with that indescribable tone suggestive of unmerited yetmeekly, womanfully borne injury, which is so superior to eitherexplanation or resentment. Mrs. Winn was frequently on her piazzachatting with Mr. Brayton or Dr. "Funnybone," as the wits of the posthad designated Collabone's right bower, "who has more brains in onehead," said Collabone, "than the mess has in ten;" but she greeted Mrs.Frazier with an austere and distant dignity even more pronounced thanMrs. Frazier's manner to Mrs. Blythe, which plainly showed that Laurahad not "been raised in the army for nothing," and that she had a willand temper and pluck that would brook no airs and tolerate no aspersionson Mrs. Frazier's part. Aspersions there had been, for her friend Mrs.Faulkner had not failed in that sisterly duty which so many women soreluctantly yet faithfully perform, and everything Mrs. and the MissesFrazier had even hinted, and some things they even hadn't, were dulyconveyed to Laura's ears. She was angered at the Fraziers for daring tosay such things, at Mrs. Faulkner for daring to repeat them, and atBarclay for daring to keep her beyond the possibility of their beingtrue. Never before had she known what it was to strive for a look orword of admiration and to meet utter indifference. Yet those blue eyesof Barclay's had once fairly burned with passionate delight in hergirlish beauty, and his words had trembled with their weight of love forher. No other woman, she believed, had yet come into his life andbanished all memory of her; and, now that her beauty was but the riperfor her years, she rebelled in her soul against the whisper that itcould no longer move him.
Wedded though she was to Harry Winn, loving him after the fashion of hershallow nature so long as there was no man at the post from whom shesought to exact homage, she had time and again within the year felttowards her husband a sense of injury. What business had he had to wooher if he was so poor? What right had he to subject her to the annoyanceof dunning letters, of suggestive inquiries on the part of herneighbors? Why should she submit to parsimonious skimping andcheese-paring, to living with only one servant when several other womenhad two, to all the little shifts and meannesses poor Harry had declaredto be necessary? It was his business to provide for her needs. Herfather had always supported her in style; why couldn't Harry do thesame? True, she knew when she married him he had nothing but his pay. Hetold her everything, but she had never taken thought for the morrow,though she had taken perhaps too much thought of what she should wear oreat or drink. Laura loved the good things of this life, and had beenfreely indulged throughout her petted girlhood; and now, in the dayswhen every woman seemed turning against her, purse, cellar, and larderwere empty and her husband gone on a stupid foray to the mountains. Nonecould say when he would return, or what new sorrow would meet him then.Other men managed to earn money or make money somehow outside their pay.Why should she, whose tastes, she said, were so much more refined, bemated with one who could only spend?
There is a time when many a homely face becomes radiant with a beautytoo deep for sallow skin or heavy features to hide, and when a reallywinsome face becomes well-nigh angelic; but, even as Laura Winn bentover her sleeping child or nestled the unconscious little one in herbosom, the sullen fire of discontent, thwarted ambition, and woundedself-love smouldered in her deep, slumberous eyes. There were hours nowwhen Baby Winn was left to the scant care of the household nurse, whilethe mother took the air upon the piazza during the day or flitted aboutfrom parlor to parlor along the row at night. She was restless, nervous,as all could see. She frequently assailed Brayton with queries for news,always decorously asking first if couriers had come or were expectedfrom the command afield, yet speedily coming back to the real object ofher constant thoughts, the now much honored officer, her next-doorneighbor. For three days after he was pronounced able to sit up she didnot succeed in seeing him at all, though so many other and, it should beexplained, much older women did; but that did not abate one whit herdetermination that he should speedily see her.
Just what her object was she herself could not have told. It was aninstinct, an impulse, a whim, perhaps; but he who had been her lover andwas rejected had dared to gaze into her face with eyes serene anduntroubled, had met her but half-veiled references to old days withpolite but positive indifference. She had nothing to ask of him, shetold herself; she meant no disloyalty to Harry, no wrong of any kind.Not a bit of it! She had treated Barclay very badly. She had done him awrong that was much greater in her own estimation than it was in that ofany one of her neighbors, among whom the women, at least, considered theloss of his inamorata a blessing in disguise; but Laura fully believedthat Barclay's heart must have been crushed in the depth of his woe, andthat it was now her duty to make friends again,--perhaps in some way toconsole him; not, of course, in any way to which Harry could object,not, of course, in any way to which the post ought to object, but--well,even to herself, as has been said, she could not entirely andsatisfactorily explain her motives; it was impossible, therefore, thatshe could hope to do so to anybody else; and yet she had dared to writeto him. It was only a little note, and yet, with all itsinconsistencies, it said so much:
"DEAR CAPTAIN BARCLAY,--I cannot tell you my distress at hearing of youragain being severely wounded, especially at a time when I had hoped tohave you meet and better know my husband, but now in his distressingabsence I, who more than any woman at this post am anxious to show mysympathy and sorrow, am practically helpless. Do tell me if there isanything I can do,--though I am sure I can't see what is left for me,with no cook or kitchen, and Mrs. Frazier and the Misses Frazier sendingsuch loads of things. I really envy them and Mrs. Blythe the privilegeof their years in going to see you personally, for am I not at least
"Your oldest friend, "L. W."
This ingenuous note was sent by Hannibal at an hour when the captain wasalone, and when, had he been disposed, he might have hobbled to the doorand answered in person; but hobble he did not, nor did he answer untilafter long thought. He received the little missive with surprise, readit without a tremor of hand or lip, but with something of shame and pitythat overspread his face like a cloud. Was he only just beginning toknow her, after all?
"Pray do not give my scratch a thought," he answered, in writing, latethat afternoon, "and believe, my dear Mrs. Winn, that I have everycomfort that one can possibly desire. Every one is most kind. I expectto be out with my men in a week, and shall be delighted to take thefield and send Mr. Winn back to you forthwith.
"Most sincerely."
And that was how, with polite but positive indifference, he had treatedher reference to old times and old friends. Shallow as she was, LauraWinn was deep eno
ugh to see that he meant to hold himself far aloof fromher. He could hardly have told her more plainly he would have none ofher. He had even dared to say it would be a pleasure to go, that hemight send her husband back to her arms. And this was the man she oncethought she loved, the man who, she believed, adored her and would neveroutlive the passion of his sorrow at losing her!
Even now the foolish heart of the woman might have accepted its lesson;but it was time for friends again to come, and, as Laura expressed it,"pry and prod and preach," and that brought on a climax.
Mrs. Faulkner had dropped in and dropped out again, and Laura, whoseemed forever going to the porch these days, followed and called herback.
"One thing you said I don't understand," she began, and Mrs. Faulkner'spretty face showed plainly there had been something of a storm.
"I said this, Laura," her friend responded, permitting her to go nofurther, but turning at the step and looking up into her indignant eyes."You do yourself injury by showing such concern about Captain Barclay.Everybody says so, and it's all wasted as far as he's concerned. Henever notices your messages in any way."
It was galling to feel herself censured or criticised, but Mrs. Winn wasbecoming used to that. It was worse than galling to be told that herwhilom lover now turned from her almost with contempt. She could bear itthat they should say that Galahad Barclay was again circling withindanger of her fascinations and would speedily find himself powerless toresist. She could not bear it that they should declare him dead to her.The anger ablaze in her eyes and flushing her cheeks was something evenMrs. Faulkner had never seen before. It was as though she had rousedsome almost tigerish trait. For a moment Laura stood glaring at hervisitor, one hand nervously clutching at the balcony rail, the other atthe snugly buttoned bodice of her dark gown. At that instant the door ofBarclay's quarters opened and the sound of glad voices preceded but asecond or two the appearance of feminine drapery at the threshold. Mrs.Brooks came backing into view, chatting volubly with some one stillinvisible. Mrs. Frazier came sidling after, and then as they reached theopen air the deep tones of their invalid host were heard mingling withthe lighter, shriller, if not exactly silvery accents of his visitors.One glance they threw towards the young matron at the opposite end ofthe piazza, and then it seemed as though Mrs. Frazier promptlyprecipitated herself into the doorway again, as though to block itagainst Barclay's possible egress. "Determined not to let him see me,nor me him," were the unspoken words that flashed through Laura'sthoughts. Some devil of mischief seemed to whisper in her ear, for whenMrs. Faulkner turned again, there stood her hostess holding forth forher inspection a little note addressed to Mrs. H. H. Winn in a hand Mrs.Faulkner recognized at once as that of Barclay. With an icy sneer theirate lady spoke:
"You think he doesn't write. This came only an hour ago."
Not five minutes later Mrs. Frazier turned to Mrs. Faulkner and asked,"What was Laura Winn showing you?--a letter?"
Mrs. Blythe was passing at the moment, Ada Lawrence, a tall, pallid slipof a girl, in her first black dress, walking sadly at her side. Mrs.Faulkner nodded assent to the question, but glanced significantly at thepassers-by, on their way seemingly to the house the elders had justleft. Mrs. Blythe bowed courteously and smiled, but the smile was one ofthose half-hearted attempts that seemed to wither instantly at Mrs.Frazier's solemn and distant salutation.
"Now what's that woman taking Ada Lawrence there for?" was Mrs.Frazier's query the instant the two were out of earshot, and for themoment she forgot the letter and the significant glance in Mrs.Faulkner's eyes. But Mrs. Brooks had not, and no sooner had the door ofBarclay's quarters opened and swallowed up the new callers than themajor's wife turned back to it.
"You don't mean a letter from--_him_?" she asked, with a nod of the headat Barclay's quarters.
"I didn't mean to say anything about it," said Mrs. Faulkner, withproper hesitation, "but you seem to know as much as I do, and she madeno secret of it whatever. Indeed, I don't know that there's anything init that anybody mightn't see."
"I think she has no business whatever receiving letters now that herhusband's away--nor any other time, for that matter," said Mrs. Frazier,hotly; "and I mean to tell her so; and I'm astonished at him."
"For heaven's sake don't tell her I let it out!" exclaimed Mrs.Faulkner. "You've just got to say you saw it away from his door."
"Well, I think the sooner Mr. Harry Winn gets back the better it will befor this garrison, and I'll say so to Colonel Frazier this very night,"exclaimed the colonel's wife, bristling with proper indignation. "Andhe'll come back, if we have to send couriers to order him."
But no courier was needed to summon Lieutenant Winn. Two days later,fast as jaded horse could carry him, followed by a single orderly, hewas coming, full of hope and pluck and enthusiasm, the bearer of tidingsthat meant so much to him, that might be of such weight in the removalof some portion, at least, of the serious stoppages against his pay.Away out in the Apache mountains, where the remnants of the Friday gangseemed to have scattered into little squads of two or three, one partyhad been trailed and chased to its hole, a wild nook in the rocks, andthere in brief, bloody fight two more of the gang bit the dust inreaching that height of outlaw ambition, "dying with their boots on."Others were wounded and captured, and still another, neither wounded norcombatant, but a trembling skulker, was dragged out from a cleft inamong the boulders and kicked into the presence of the commandingofficer by a burly Irishman who would have lost the bliss of a dozenpay-day sprees rather than that one achievement, for the skulkingcaptive was Marsden, and Marsden was English.
A more abject, pitiable, helpless wretch even Texan troopers had neverseen. Imploring his captors to protect him against the illimitablepossibilities of lynch law,--for there were veteran soldiers present towhose thinking drum-head court-martial and summary execution were alltoo good for Marsden,--the ex-sergeant told the story of his stealings,and the names of his accomplices, but declared that all his ill-gottengains were gone. Every cent he had at the time of his flight was takenfrom him, he protested, by the gang of desperadoes among whom he hadfound refuge.
"He's lyin', sorr," declared Sergeant Shaughnessy at this juncture."He's hidin' the hoith av it somewheres, an' there's nothin' like thenoose av a lariat to frishen his mimory." But old Mullane orderedsilence.
"Go you back to Worth fast as you can," said he to Winn. "Write thereport for me to sign before you start. Tell the colonel where what isleft of the stolen property can be found, and we'll bring Marsden alongwith us. The quicker you get there the more you can save."
Worth was one hundred and fifty miles away on a bee-line, and Winn hadto twist and turn, but he rode with buoyant heart. By prompt measuresmuch of his misfortune might be wiped out. Then, with the profferedloan with which to settle his accounts and pay off certain pressingcreditors, he could start afresh, his head at last above the waters thathad weighed him down. He would lead a simple, inexpensive life, andLaura would have to help him. He could set aside one-fourth, or even,perhaps, one-third, of his pay to send each month to the bank at SanAntonio. It would be hard, but at least he would be honest and manful,and Laura would have to try to dress and live inexpensively. She used tosay she would rather share exile and poverty with him than a palace withany other man, but that seemed a bit like hyperbole in the light of hersubsequent career. Long before this, he said, the bank would have sentthe money to Worth. It was doubtless now awaiting him in Fuller's safe,or possibly Trott's. How blessed a thing it was that the cashier shouldhave been an old and warm friend of his father,--that he should havewritten proffering aid for old times' sake to the son of the soldier hehad known and been aided by and had learned to love in bygone days! Itwas odd that Mr. Cashier Bolton had not made himself known to him, HarryWinn, when he and his lovely bride were in San Antonio, but all the morewas the offer appreciated. It was odd that he should couple with theoffer a condition that Winn should give his word not to tell the nameof his father's friend and his own benefactor, and furth
er to agreeneither to drink any intoxicant nor bet a cent on any game of chanceuntil the money was repaid. He was not given to drinking, but he hadheard of a fondness on his father's part for cards, and had felt thefascination himself. All right: he would promise gladly.
They got fresh horses at a midway camp where a small detachment guardedthe Cougar Springs, rested during the hot hours of the first day after along night ride, then set forth, chasing their long shadows in the lateafternoon, and, riding on through the night, hove in sight of thetwinkling lights in the company kitchens at Worth just as the dawn wasspreading over the eastward prairie. At the guard-house, aroused by thesentry's warning, a sergeant tumbled off his bench and ran sleepily outto meet them. It was a man whom Winn had frequently seen hovering abouthis quarters in attendance upon their maid-of-all-work.
"All well at home, Quigley?" he queried, hopefully.
"All well, sir; leastwise Mrs. Winn and the baby is, so Miss Purdy saidyesterday evenin'. Mrs. Blythe with her children and Colonel Lawrence'shave gone to San Antonio. They're all goin' home together. Any luck,sir?"
"I should say so! Hit 'em hard twice, and caught Marsden alive."
"Great---- Beg pardon, lieutenant, but that's the best news yet!" Thesoldier's eyes danced and pleaded for more, but Winn was eager to reachhome, to tiptoe up to Laura's room, to kneel by the bedside and foldher, waking, in his strong, yearning arms, to bend and kiss his baby'ssleeping face. He spurred on across the parade. The long, low line ofofficers' quarters lay black and unrelieved against the reddening sky.Only in one or two were faint night-lights burning, one down near thesouthern end, the room of the officer of the day, another in his own.The slats of the blinds, half turned, revealed the glimmer of a lampwithin. Probably baby was awake and demanding entertainment, and therecould be no surprising Laura as he had planned. Still, he guided hishorse so as to avoid pebbles or anything that would click against theshod hoofs. The home-coming would be the sweeter for its beingunheralded.
"Never mind the saddle-bags now," he murmured to his orderly. "Take thehorses to stables, and bring the traps over by and by." Then he tiptoedaround to the back of the house. The front door, he knew, would belocked; so would that opening on the little gallery in rear; but therewas the window of his den; he could easily raise it from outside and lethimself in without any one's being the wiser. A glance at his watchshowed him that in ten minutes the morning gun would fire and the postwake up to the shrill reveille of the infantry fifes and drums. Eventhough Laura should be awake and up with her baby, the surprise might beattempted. The back porch was lighted up with the glow from the east.The back door of the Barclay-Brayton establishment was ajar, and someone was moving about in the kitchen,--Hannibal, probably, getting coffeefor his master in time for morning stables. Just to try it, Winn tiptoedup the low steps to the rear door, and there it stood, not wide open,but just ajar. "Miss Purdy" had mended her ways, then, and was risingbetimes, he said. Softly entering, he passed through the little kitcheninto the dark dining-room beyond, felt his way through into his desertedden to the left,--the blinds were tightly closed,--thence to the narrowhall, and up the carpeted, creaking stairs. The door of the back room atthe east, the nursery, as right at the landing. The light of the dawnwas strong enough to reveal dimly objects within. That door, too, waswide open, and there by the bedside was the cradle of his baby, and thelittle one placidly asleep. There in her bed, innocent of thepossibility of masculine observation, her ears closed, her mouth wideopen in the stupor of sleep, lay the domestic combination of nurse andmaid-of-all-work. He tiptoed past the door and softly approached that ofthe front, the westward room,--his and Laura's. It, too, was partlyopen. A lamp burned dimly on the bureau. The broad, white bed, with itstumbled pillows and tossed-back coverlet, was empty, as he found theroom to be. Laura, then, and not the maid, was the early riser. Softlyhe searched about the upper floor. She had heard him, after all, and washiding somewhere to tease him. No; there on the back of herrocking-chair hung the pink, beribboned wrapper that was so becoming toher, and on another the dainty, lace-trimmed night-robe. She must be upand dressed,--his languid, lazy Laura, who rarely rose before nineo'clock, as a rule, and now it was only five. A strange throbbing beganat his heart. Quickly he turned and scurried down the stairs, struck amatch in the parlor, another in the dining-room. Both were empty. Theden and its closets were explored. No one there.
Out he went through the kitchen to the eastward porch again. The lightwas stronger. Over the level _mesa_ to the edge of the bluff, not fiftyyards away, his eager eyes swept in search of the truant form. Therestood at the very brow of the projecting point at the northeast side alittle, latticed summer-house where sentimental couples sometimes satand looked over the shallow valley of moonlight nights; and there, closebeside it, switching the skirt of her stylish riding-habit with herwhip, stood Laura Winn. Just as she turned and glanced impatiently overher shoulder, out from the adjoining door came a soldierly form inriding-dress. For an instant three forms seemed to stand stock-still;then came the shock and roar of the reveille gun, and before the echoesrolled away Lieutenant Winn, striding up to Barclay with fury in hiseyes, struck the captain full in the face and sent him crashing over akitchen chair.