Marion's Faith.

by Charles King

  CHAPTER XXV.

  WHOSE GAUNTLET?

  The duty of assorting the papers and caring for the property of the lateofficer had devolved upon Lieutenant Warner. Telegrams from relatives inthe distant East had requested that the remains be sent thither byexpress for burial, and only a few hours after the accused murderer wastaken into custody the body of the victim of the midnight assassinationhad been turned over to the undertaker in town for necessarypreparations. The garrison seemed still paralyzed by the shock, andexcept the sentries at the storehouses and stables, there was littleappearance of military duty going on. Guard-mounting was conductedwithout music, and the customary drills of the recruits were out ofsight. It was an atmosphere of gloom that pervaded the garrison, andonly one of its ladies had been seen on the promenade for two days. Mrs.Whaling, like some human fungus, seemed to thrive in the pall-likedepth of the social darkness and depression. She circled from house tohouse, and swooped down upon the inmates, flapping and croaking the oldstory of woe and foreboding; or, what was welcome in comparison, somenew tale of further entanglement for Ray. Judging from that righteouslady's conversation, there seemed no doubt that she and the OmnipotentJudge had settled it between them just when he was to be hanged. She wasone of the first to receive and to enlighten with her views a seriousyoung man who came from Denver with a letter to the commanding officer,and brought with him a prominent and rising attorney from Cheyenne.These gentlemen seemed a trifle disconcerted at the fact that the fewquestions they addressed to the colonel were promptly answered by hiswife, and when one of them finally looked at the other and remarked thatit was time to go and examine the premises and the effects, the bearerof the letter not unnaturally hesitated and coughed dubiously,--he didnot know whether to ask permission of the officer or the lady. Theydeclined her invitation to have a cup of tea and some luncheon, sayingthey had dined in town, and the colonel said he would walk down withthem. Only Mr. Warner had been allowed in the quarters since theinquest.

  They had gone but a few steps along the walk when a hack drove up, andMr. Blake, catching sight of them from its interior, shouted to thedriver, sprang out, and, stiffly saluting the commanding officer, handedthe lawyer a batch of telegraphic despatches, and, taking the little manfrom Denver to one side, said a few words to him in a whisper, thenturned, and was walking away, when the colonel concluded it time toassert himself.

  "Mr. Blake!" he called.

  "Sir," said Blake, facing him but coming no nearer.

  "You appear to have been in town, sir. Had you permission to leave thepost?"

  "I did not think to ask, sir. As the only friend Mr. Ray appeared tohave in this garrison I went with him to jail."

  "You will think, hereafter, and not presume to go without my consent."

  "Then I take this opportunity to ask permission, colonel; I desire toreturn to my friend this afternoon,--in ten minutes in fact."

  "The post regulations, sir, require that such applications should bemade at my office between nine and ten A.M. I am not disposed toconsider them at other times, especially where gentlemen absentthemselves without authority." And he turned majestically away.

  "Am I to understand, colonel, that you refuse me permission to return toMr. Ray in such an emergency as this?" choked Blake.

  "I will consider it, sir. I will take it into--ahem!--consideration whenI have finished other matters. Now, gentlemen, we will proceed." And so,having established the fact that after all he was the post commander,and laid the ghost of their lingering doubt, Colonel Whaling led on downthe row with the duly reassured civilians, and Blake, too much saddenedby recent events to feel the wrath that at other times would haveoverpowered him, contented himself with glaring after his chief amoment, ejaculating, "The bloodless old mummy!" and then turning on hisheel, he went to his lonely quarters.

  The lawyer read the despatches, handed them to his Denver friend,pointing significantly to a clause in one of them, and the colonel felthimself omitted from their confidences. The sentry at the door of thequarters lately occupied by Mr. Gleason presented arms to the postcommander and looked inquiringly at the civilians. "You may admit thesetwo gentlemen," he said, "and pass them in and out, but no one elseexcept the adjutant. Is he here now?"

  Mr. Warner's voice from within answered yes, and the party entered. Theadjutant was seated at a table in the front room with a pile ofenvelopes and letters before him. He rose as they entered.

  "Mr. Warner," said the colonel, "this gentleman is sent here from Denverunder telegraphic request from department headquarters. They failed tonotify me of such intention," he added, in a tone of official grievance,"but I presume it is all right. He is a member of the Mountain Detectiveforce, and desires to make full inspection of the premises. I presumeyou can confer with him and with Mr.--a--Green."

  He lingered a moment as though in expectation of an invitation toremain, but none came.

  Blake meantime had been searching about Ray's room. He ransacked throughan old valise that lay under the camp-bed, tossing diaries, scoutingbooks, itineraries, rough field maps and sketches out on the floor,until he came to a package marked "Mem. Receipts." This he glancedthrough, gave it a satisfied slap, and stowed it in a portablewriting-desk, replaced in the valise the disturbed items, and then wenton packing some changes of underclothing and linen in Ray's littletrunk. Twice he called for Hogan, but the shouts were unanswered. Hewent to the door to summon the hack-driver to take the trunk, and theman said that a lady had just stepped down to ask if he would come upthere to number eleven when he could find time. Looking thither, he sawMrs. Stannard at the open door of Truscott's quarters, and went at once.Her voice trembled so that she could hardly ask for Ray.

  "He is just what those who know him would expect him to be, Mrs.Stannard, calm and resolute. I never saw a man appear to betteradvantage than he did before the officials there in town. I never knewhow much there was in him until to-day. Mr. Green tendered his legalservices and had a short talk with him, and he's out here now; so is adetective from Denver, and Colonel Rand will get here from departmentheadquarters to-morrow. Oh, we shan't be without friends, though it didlook mighty like it at first."

  "But what about bail, Mr. Blake? How soon can he--will he return here?"

  "He desires no bail, Mrs. Stannard; jail is preferable to Fort Russellso far as his treatment is concerned," he said, indignantly. "You seemto be the only friend he has."

  Mrs. Stannard flushed and lowered her voice.

  "Did you explain to him, or rather did he ask why Mrs. Truscott couldnot receive his letter?"

  "What was there to explain? What was there to ask?" he broke forth inwrath. "Only one explanation was possible, and of course I would notspeak of it. What could any one think but that she believed him guilty,and would have no communication with him?"

  That was a shot that told. Before Mrs. Stannard could reply there was arustle of skirts and a stifled sob within the hall-way, a rush of lightfootsteps up the stairs, but the door opened and Marion Sanfordappeared. Blake started to see how white and wan and sad she looked, butshe came straight to him.

  "Good-morning, Mr. Blake; we were coming out to see you as you spoke,Mrs. Truscott and I. We do not wonder that you and Mr. Ray should feelas you do, but that was all a piteous mistake about that letter lastnight." She held forth her soft white hand. "Shake hands, Mr. Blake. Itwasn't at all what you thought; it was a very, very different reason,and he will forgive when he knows. You brought a note from him lastnight. Will you take this to him from me?"

  "Let me run in and see Mrs. Truscott a moment," said Mrs. Stannard atthis juncture, and hurried into the hall, leaving them alone on thepiazza.

  Blake noted the dark circles under her pleading eyes; he saw plainly theevidences of anxiety and sorrow; he could not but see that, despite theresolution of her words and manner, her voice was tremulous, and thebrave eyes that looked unflinchingly into his were filling with tearsshe could not repress. He recalled all her enthusiasm in that stilluncompleted pur
chase of Dandy, in her munificence to Hogan. He knew wellthat no matter how he might have misjudged Mrs. Truscott's motives hehad no right or reason, whatever, in letting himself think that thisbrave, glorious, loyal girl could have been shaken one instant in herfaith in his friend. Why, even Ray had checked him sternly when, duringthe night, he had once burst forth in an impetuous tirade against theworthlessness of a woman's faith, and now he could have kicked himselfhad it been anatomically possible even for his marvellous length andloose-jointedness of leg. In default thereof he would have dropped onhis knee; but somebody, several somebodies, watched the interestinginterview from a distance. He bowed over the extended hand as a courtiermight over that of a queen; he wished he dare kiss it on the same--onany basis, but he took it warmly.

  "Forgive me for every word, Miss Sanford; but I've been sore tried oflate."

  "I would be less apt to forgive you if you did _not_ resent everysuspicion of Mr. Ray. It is too late to undo last night's wretched work,or the misery it caused us. I have tried to explain it all for Mrs.Truscott, but what I want now is to know what he needs. Is it money, orinfluence, or anything? Tell me truly, Mr. Blake; I want to know all youcan tell me."

  "You shall know before I tell another soul. As yet,--forgive meagain,--this will supply his greatest need." And holding up her note, heturned quickly away.

  She was blushing now--crimson,--but there was something she had to know,and so recalled him.

  "Has anything new been discovered,--have any steps been taken towardsfinding the murderer?"

  "Mr. Green, the lawyer whom we have consulted, has had an interviewwith Ray, and he has a clue now of some kind that is beinginvestigated."

  "And you know whom he suspects?"

  "He has not told me, Miss Sanford, and--something that occurred recentlyin the garrison had set me to asking him questions which he declined toanswer,--another matter entirely,--I saw he had reasons for keeping itto himself----"

  "Mr. Blake, have you still that note he sent last night?"

  "No; he burned that this morning."

  "Has he said nothing--nothing to indicate whom he suspects?"

  "Not to me--as yet. We have had too much to attend to, perhaps, but itis plainly something he hates to allude to."

  "Look! Mr. Blake; they are calling you--down the row. You will come backand tell us what it is?"

  "Yes, and at once."

  Warner and Mr. Green were indeed calling him. Among the letters in thebreast-pocket of Gleason's blouse were three signed Rallston. They werereading them with eager interest when the little detective from Denversauntered in from the rear room.

  "This--a--gauntlet, lieutenant, was lying with some other things on topof the bureau. Were you going to pack it in the trunk?"

  "Yes. Why?"

  "Well, a single right-hand glove won't be of much use to the relativesof the deceased, especially an old worn one like this. Where's themate?"

  "I don't remember seeing one."

  "Well, you soldiers don't generally keep one glove without the other.Where was this before you put it with the things?"

  "I picked it off the floor near the head of the bed."

  "And there wasn't another thereabouts?"

  "I saw none."

  The detective went back to his work, and the officers with Mr. Green tothe letters. When they had read them through to the end, Blake arose.

  "You will admit, Mr. Warner, that I have excellent reason for asking andexpecting permission to rejoin my incarcerated friend now," said he,with sarcastic emphasis. "If _that_ doesn't knock the court-martialcharges cold as a wedge, what will?"

  "I never fully believed Mr. Ray guilty of those charges, Blake, and youknow it. I must see the colonel, of course, and show him these letters."

  "Pardon me, Mr. Warner," said the lawyer. "Tell him of them if you seefit, but as Mr. Ray's legal adviser I do not propose to let suchimportant evidence for the defence fall into the hands of theprosecution." (Warner flushed hotly.) "I do not refer to you, my dearsir, but to your commanding officer, who is understood to have worked upthe case against my client, and will naturally feel chagrined to findwhat liars his witnesses were. Human nature, sir; human nature."

  "No, Warner, I don't mean you either,--in that case, that is," saidBlake, all excitement over the late discoveries; "but these are _ours_,and by gad! we mean to hold them. Whoop! _Fiat justitia_, rue it,Whaling's! Go and tell your distinguished chief that I will be pleasedto know whether he has considered my application yet. Here! Hold on,Warner. D--n it all, man! I'm unpardonable for mixing you and him up inthe matter. Forgive me, but I'm all unstrung these last few days. If youfellows only knew Ray as we do there wouldn't have been this trouble."

  And they shook hands, and Warner went off to see his chief, and had aquick conversation with him that brought the blood to the usuallycolorless face of the well-preserved veteran. The colonel arose hastilyand said he would go with them. _He_ wanted to see those letters, and hedid, and looked strangely perturbed as they were read to him, and thenBlake again preferred his request for permission to visit town and toremain all night. The colonel hemmed and hawed. These papers, of course,had an important bearing on the case as it originally stood before thecourt-martial as ordered, but matters had changed materially. "Mr. Rayis now on trial for his life, you see, and before, he was only on trialfor--a----"

  "Only for his honor," put in Blake, at the instant. "Very true, colonel,only for his honor, and we have a singular fashion in our regiment oflooking upon the one as quite as important as the other."

  The colonel was wrathy. He was essentially what is called an officesoldier. He had regulations and papers at his fingers' ends; his wholearmy existence had been spent in the preservation of his health and thecultivation of the peaceful branches of his art. No one ever heard ofhis shooting, riding, hunting, or taking a risk of any kind. His habitswere methodical as those of the office clock, and his one dissipationwas the billiard-table. His theory of success was founded on commonsense: Take care of your health, avoid dissipation, shun any and alldanger, volunteer for nothing, do only what you are compelled to do,shift all possible work on somebody else's shoulders, preserve a purelynegative record, and--you are bound to rise to the highest grades in thearmy. It must be admitted that the laws of promotion are admirablycalculated to foster just such a line of argument, and that Whaling's"head was level." Now, though wrathy at Blake, he saw at once that hehad been egregiously deceived as to the evidence to be given by Rallstonon the pending court; it was better policy to avoid all that might looklike persecution of Ray or Ray's friends; he gave a moment of thought tothe matter, and then said,--

  "You may go, Mr. Blake, because I desire you and your regiment tounderstand that I have no wish to obtrude my ideas of discipline uponyou at such a time. At any other I would not have overlooked yourmisconduct."

  "At any other time, sir, it probably would not have occurred," saidBlake, still hotly; but the entrance of the detective put an end to thetalk. He still carried the gauntlet in his hand.

  "There is no mate to this in that room. What is more, this glove neverbelonged to Lieutenant Gleason; it is four sizes too small for him. Whatofficer or soldier ever wore one like that?" he asked.

  It was a worn and rein-soiled gauntlet, originally of whitewash-leather, finely stitched in silk, and with a cuff or gauntletheavily stiffened with leather inside; and this cuff instead of beingjoined was slashed from wrist to end on the under side, and three littlebuttons and straps were used to fasten it snugly to the arm after beingslipped over the hand. It was utterly unlike any gauntlet in use in theUnited States cavalry at the time; it was utterly unlike those for salein the stores of Cheyenne. Blake examined it curiously, but couldremember none that resembled it. Leaving the others examining the glove,he walked up the row.

  Mrs. Stannard and Marion both came down. The mere sight of his facebrought eagerness and hope into their eyes. It was to be observed atthis juncture that Mrs. Stannard's arm was around that slender waist.
The symptom has no significance, of course, among school-girls orwomanhood in general, but it meant a good deal where either one of thesewomen was concerned, and Blake knew it.

  "What wouldn't I give if the major were only here!" he exclaimed,impetuously. "There are three letters from Rallston there with a lot ofothers, showing clearly what a conspiracy had been worked up against Rayby that--by Gleason. The last one was written in Denver only two daysbefore--only three days ago, and it shows that he had completely goneback on Gleason, and accuses him of all manner of blackguardly work. He_had_ some conscience after all, for he swears he never thought Gleasonwould use what he told him to get Ray into trouble. He was mad becauseRay wouldn't pass his horses. Oh, it breaks up the whole business! Greenthinks he should be secured at once, and is going to have the detectivesafter him the moment we can telegraph. Whew! Excuse me, ladies, but I'mwarm!" And Blake leaned limply against the railing and mopped his brow.

  "Mr. Blake, have you eaten a thing to-day?" asked Mrs. Stannard. "Docome in and let me get you a sandwich and a glass of wine."

  "Not a morsel! I want to hurry back to town to hug Billy. I'm onlywaiting for Green. He tells me that everything can be arranged so thatRay shall stay where I left him,--in a comfortable room in the jailor'shome instead of where that old bag of skin and bones thought he'd gethim." And he vengefully shook his fist at the colonel, who was returninghomeward to tell his wife the wonderful tidings of the discoveries inGleason's pockets. Mrs. Stannard had not smiled for two entire days, butBlake's reviving spirits and the welcome news combined to bring back thesunshine to her tired face. Marion, too, though listening in silence towhat was said, clung closer to her friend, and looked up withthanksgiving in her eyes. Just then the lawyer and the little detectivecame, talking earnestly together, up the row, and, naturally, all threestudied their looks and gestures with eager attention.

  "That little Denverite is on a scent," said Blake in a low tone; "he hasbeen hunting high and low for a mate to a peculiar gauntlet that wasfound there. He says Gleason could never have owned it."

  "A gauntlet? What was it like?" asked Miss Sanford, with a start.

  "Like nothing we wear, that I ever saw. It's old and worn, but was ahandsome glove once."

  "Mr. Blake, I--I want to see it! ask him if I may." And she steppedeagerly forward, her blue eyes dilating, her whole frame tremulous.

  Blake sprang from the railing, and was by the detective's side in threelong strides. At the whispered words he spoke both the lawyer and thedetective glanced quickly and keenly at the ladies: the former took offhis hat to them, the latter seemed to hesitate for a moment, thenstepping forward, he courteously bowed, took the gauntlet from an innerpocket, and handed it to her. The instant she caught sight of it sheshuddered and shrank, though an eager, triumphant light shot into hereyes; then, as though by an effort, she overcame the horror andrepugnance that had seized her, took it as she might a frog or worm,between thumb and forefinger, and darted into the house, leaving all butMrs. Stannard petrified with amaze. "Never fear," said Mrs. Stannard. "Iknow where she has taken it. She will be back in a moment."

  Up the stairs she flew and into the front room, where Mrs. Truscott satby the window in a low rocking-chair.

  "Grace Truscott! Look at this. _Don't_ touch it! Look at thosefastenings--those buttons. Who was the only person you ever saw wear aglove like that?"

  "Sergeant Wolf, Marion. Where--how?"

  But she was gone like a flash. Down the stairs again, her feet twinklinglike magic, out in the free air among them all, her heart bounding, herblue eyes blazing, her color vivid, brilliant.

  "Take it!" she cried. "Take it! The man who murdered him, the man whowore that glove, was Wolf, the deserter."