CHAPTER X.
"WOMAN-WALK-IN-THE-NIGHT" AGAIN
So swift had been the succession of events since the first day of theweek, few of the social set at Sandy could quite realize, much lessfathom, all that had happened, and as they gathered on the verandas,in the cool of the evening after Daly's funeral, the trend of talk wasall one way. A man who might have thrown light on certain matters atissue had been spirited away, and there were women quite ready to vowit was done simply to get him beyond range of their questioning.Sergeant Shannon had been sent to the agency on some missionprescribed by Colonel Byrne. It was almost the last order issued byMajor Plume before turning over the command.
Byrne himself still lingered at the post, "watching the situation," asit was understood, and in constant telegraphic correspondence with thegeneral at Prescott and the commander of the little guard over theagency buildings at the reservation--Lieutenant Bridger, of theInfantry. With a sergeant and twenty men that young officer had beendispatched to that point immediately after the alarming andunlooked-for catastrophe of the reveille outbreak. Catastrophe waswhat Byrne called it, and he meant what he said, not so much becauseit had cost the life of Daly, the agent, whose mistaken zeal hadprecipitated the whole misunderstanding, but rather because of thedeath of two such prominent young warriors as "Shield" and his friend,who had fallen after dealing the fatal blow to him who had laidviolent hands, so they regarded it, on two young girls, one achieftain's daughter and both objects of reverent and savagelysentimental interest. "If war doesn't come at once," said Byrne, "itwill be because the Apache has a new sense or a deep-laid scheme. Lookout for him."
No news as yet had come from the runners sent forth in search of thescattered fugitives, who would soon be flocking together again in thefastnesses of the Mogollon to the east or the Red Rock countrynorthward--the latter probably, as being nearer their friends at thereservation and farther from the few renegade Tontos lurking in themountains toward Fort Apache. Byrne's promise to the wanderers, sentby these runners, was to the effect that they would be safe from anyprosecution if they would return at once to the agency and reportthemselves to the interpreter and the lieutenant commanding the guard.He would not, he said, be answerable for what might happen if theypersisted in remaining at large. But when it was found that, so farfrom any coming in, there were many going out, and that Natzie'sfather and brother had already gone, Byrne's stout heart sank. Themessage came by wire from the agency not long after the return of thefuneral party, and while the evening was yet young. He sent at oncefor Wren, and, seated on the major's front piazza, with an orderlyhovering just out of earshot, and with many an eye anxiously watchingthem along the row, the two veterans were holding earnest conference.Major Plume was at the bedside of his wife, so said Graham when hecame down about eight. Mrs. Plume, he continued, was at least noworse, but very nervous. Then he took himself back to the hospital.
Another topic of talk along the line was Blakely's watch and itsstrange recovery, and many were the efforts to learn what Blakelyhimself had to say about it. The officers, nearly all of them, ofcourse, had been at intervals to see Blakely and inquire if there werenot something that they could do, this being the conventional andproper thing, and they who talked with him, with hardly an exception,led up to the matter of the watch and wished to know how he accountedfor its being there on the post of No. 5. It was observed that, uponthis topic and the stabbing of Private Mullins, Mr. Blakely was oddlyreticent. He had nothing whatever to suggest as explanation of eithermatter. The watch was taken from the inner pocket of his thin whitecoat as he lay asleep at the pool, of this he felt confident, but bywhom he would not pretend to say. Everybody knew by this time thatAngela Wren had seen him sleeping, and had, in a spirit of playfulmischief, fetched away his butterfly net, but who would accuse Angelaof taking his watch and money? Of course such things had been, saidone or two wise heads, but--not with girls like Angela.
But who could say what, all this while, Angela herself was thinking?Once upon a time it had been the way of our young folk well over theNorth and West to claim forfeit in the game of "Catching the weaselasleep." There had been communities, indeed, and before co-educationbecame a fad at certain of our great universities, wherein the maidcaught napping could hold it no sin against watchful swain, or evenagainst her, that he then and there imprinted on her lips a kiss. Onthe other hand, the swain found sleeping might not always expect akiss, but must pay the penalty, a pair of dainty gloves. Many aforfeit, both lip and glove, had there been claimed and allowed inarmy days whereof we write, and Angela, stealing upon Blakely as hedozed beneath the willows, and liking him well and deploring herfather's pronounced aversion to him--perhaps even resenting it anundutiful bit--had found it impossible to resist the temptation tosoftly disengage that butterfly net from the loosely clasping fingers,and swiftly, stealthily, delightedly to scamper away with it againsthis waking. It was of this very exploit, never dreaming of the fatefulconsequences, she and Kate Sanders were so blissfully bubbling over,fairly shaking with maiden merriment when the despoiled victim,homeward bound, caught sight of them upon the _mesa_. Ten minutesmore, and in full force she had been made to feel the blow of herfather's fierce displeasure. Twenty minutes more, and, under the blowof her father's furious wrath, Blakely had been felled like a log.
When with elongated face and exaggerated gloom of manner Aunt Janetcame to make her realize the awful consequences of her crime, Angela'sfirst impulse had been to cry out against her father's unreasoningrage. When she learned that he was in close arrest,--to be tried,doubtless, for his mad assault,--in utter revulsion of feeling, inlove and tenderness, in grief and contrition inexpressible, she hadthrown herself at his feet and, clasping his knees, had sobbed herheart out in imploring his forgiveness for what she called her wicked,heedless, heartless conduct. No one saw that blessed meeting, thatscene of mutual forgiveness, of sweet reconciliation; too sweet andserene, indeed, for Janet's stern and Calvinistic mold.
Are we ever quite content, I wonder, that others' bairnies should beso speedily, so entirely, forgiven? All because of this had allJanet's manifestations of sympathy for Robert to be tempered with afine reserve. As for Angela, it would never do to let the child sosoon forget that this should be an awful lesson. Aunt Janet's manner,therefore, when, butterfly net in hand, she required of her niece fullexplanation of the presence in the room of this ravished trophy, wassomething fraught with far too much of future punishment, of wratheternal. Even in her chastened mood Angela's spirit stood _en garde_."I have told father everything, auntie," she declared. "I leave it allto him," and bore in silence the comments, without the utterance ofwhich the elder vestal felt she could not conscientiously quit thefield. "Bold," "immodest," "unmaidenly," "wanton," were a choice fewof Aunt Janet's expletives, and these were unresented. But when sheconcluded with "I shall send this--thing to him at once, with mypersonal apologies for the act of an irresponsible child," up sprangAngela with rebellion flashing from her eyes. She had sufferedpunishment as a woman. She would not now be treated as a child. ToJanet's undisguised amaze and disapprobation, Wren decided that Angelaherself should send both apology and net. It was the first missive ofthe kind she had ever written, but, even so, she would not submit itfor either advice or criticism--even though its composition cost hermany hours and tears and sheets of paper. No one but the recipient hadso much as a peep at it, but when Blakely read it a grave smilelighted his pallid and still bandaged face. He stowed the little notein his desk, and presently took it out and read it again, and stillagain, and then it went slowly into the inner pocket of his white sackcoat and was held there, while he, the wearer, slowly paced up anddown the veranda late in the starlit night. This was the evening ofDaly's funeral, the evening of the day on which he and his captain hadshaken hands and were to start afresh with better understanding.
Young Duane was officer of the day and, after the tattoo inspection ofhis little guard, had gone for a few minutes to the hospital whereMullins lay muttering and toss
ing in his feverish sleep; then, meetingWren and Graham on the way, had tramped over to call on Blakely,thinking, perhaps, to chat a while and learn something. Soon after"taps" was sounded, however, the youngster joined the little groupgossiping in guarded tones on the porch at Captain Sanders', far downthe row, and, in response to question, said that "Bugs"--that beingBlakely's briefest _nom de guerre_--must be convalescing rapidly, he"had no use for his friends," and, as the lad seemed somewhat ruffledand resentful, what more natural than that he should be called uponfor explanation? Sanders and his wife were present, and Mrs. Bridger,very much alive with inquiry and not a little malicious interest.Kate, too, was of the party, and Doty, the adjutant, and MesdamesCutler and Westervelt--it was so gloomy and silent, said these latter,at their end of the row. Much of the talk had been about Mrs. Plume'sillness and her "sleep-walking act," as it had been referred to, andmany had thought, but few had spoken, of her possible presence on thepost of No. 5 about the time that No. 5 was stabbed. They knew _she_couldn't have done it, of course, but then how strange that she shouldhave been there at all! The story had gained balloon-like expanse bythis time, and speculation was more than rife. But here was Duane witha new grievance which, when put into Duane's English, reduced itselfto this: "Why, it was like as if Bugs wanted to get rid of me andexpected somebody else," and this they well remembered later. Nobodyelse was observed going to Blakely's front door, at least, but ateleven o'clock he himself could still be dimly heard and seen pacingsteadily up and down his piazza, apparently alone and deep in thought.His lights, too, were turned down, a new man from the troop havingasked for and assumed the duties formerly devolving on the wretchDowns, now doing time within the garrison prison. Before eleven,however, this new martial domestic had gone upstairs to bed andBlakely was all alone, which was as he wished it, for he had things toplan and other things to think of that lifted him above thepossibility of loneliness.
Down the line of officers' quarters only in two or three houses couldlights be seen. Darkness reigned at Plume's, where Byrne was stillrooming. Darkness reigned at Wren's and Graham's, despite the factthat the lords of these manors were still abroad, both at the bedsideof Trooper Mullins. A dozen people were gathered by this time atSanders'. All the other verandas, except Blakely's with its solitarywatcher, seemed deserted. To these idlers of the soft and starlitnight, sitting bareheaded about the gallery and chatting in thefriendly way of the frontier, there came presently a young soldierfrom the direction of the adjutant's office at the south end. "Thenight operator," he explained. "Two dispatches have just come forColonel Byrne, and I thought maybe--"
"No, Cassidy," said Doty. "The colonel is at his quarters. Dispatch,is it? Perhaps I'd better go with you," and, rising, the young officerled the way, entering on tiptoe the hall of the middle house where,far back on a table, a lamp was burning low. Tapping at an inner door,he was bidden to enter. Byrne was in bed, a single sheet over hisburly form, but he lay wide awake. He took the first dispatch and toreit open eagerly. It was from Bridger at the agency:
Runners just in say Natzie and Lola had turned back from trail to Montezuma Well, refusing to go further from their dead. Can probably be found if party go at dawn or sooner. Alchisay with them. More Indians surely going out from here.
Byrne's brow contracted and his lips compressed, but he gave no othersign. "Is Captain Wren still up?" he briefly asked, as he reached forthe other dispatch.
"Over at the hospital, sir," said Doty, and watched this famouscampaigner's face as he ripped open the second brown envelope. Thistime he was half out of bed before he could have half finished eventhat brief message. It was from the general:
News of trouble must have reached Indians at San Carlos. Much excitement there and at Apache. Shall start for Camp McDowell to-morrow as soon as I have seen Plume. He should come early.
The colonel was in his slippers and inexpressibles in less than notime, but Plume aloft had heard the muffled sounds from the lowerfloor, and was down in a moment. Without a word Byrne handed him thesecond message and waited until he had read, then asked: "Can youstart at dawn?"
"I can start now," was the instant reply. "Our best team can make itin ten hours. Order out the Concord, Mr. Doty." And Doty vanished.
"But Mrs. Plume--" began the colonel tentatively.
"Mrs. Plume simply needs quiet and to be let alone," was the joylessanswer. "I think perhaps--I am rather in the way."
"Well, I know the general will appreciate your promptness. I--did notknow you had asked to see him," and Byrne looked up from under hisshaggy brows.
"I hadn't exactly, but my letter intimated as much. There is so verymuch I--I cannot write about--that of course he's bound to hear,--Idon't mean you, Colonel Byrne,--and he ought to know the--facts. NowI'll get ready at once and--see you before starting."
"Better take an escort, Plume."
"One man on driver's seat. That's all, sir. I'll come in presently, incase you have anything to send," said Plume, and hurried againupstairs.
It was barely midnight when Plume's big black wagon, the Concord, allspring and hickory, as said the post quartermaster, went whirling awaybehind its strapping team of four huge Missouri mules. It was 12.30 bythe guard-house clock and the call of the sentries when Wren came hometo find Angela, her long, luxuriant hair tumbling down over her soft,white wrapper, waiting for him at the front door. From her window shehad seen him coming; had noted the earlier departure of the wagon; hadheard the voice of Major Plume bidding good-by, and wondered what itmeant--this midnight start of the senior officer of the post. She hadbeen sitting there silent, studying the glittering stars, andwondering would there be an answer to her note? Would he be able towrite just yet? Was there reason, really, why he _should_ write, afterall that had passed? Somehow she felt that write he certainly would,and soon, and the thought kept her from sleeping. It was because shewas anxious about Mullins, so she told herself and told her father,that she had gone fluttering down to meet him at the door. But nosooner had he answered, "Still delirious and yet holding his own,"than she asked where and why Major Plume had gone.
"The general wired for him," answered Wren. "And what is my tallgirlie doing, spiering from windows this time of night? Go to bed,child." She may be losing beauty sleep, but not her beauty, thought hefondly, as she as fondly kissed him and turned to obey. Then came aheavy footfall on the gallery without, and a dark form, erect andsoldierly, stood between them and the dim lights of the guard-house.It was a corporal of the guard.
"No. 4, sir, reports he heard shots--two--way up the valley."
"Good God!" Wren began, then throttled the expletive half spoken.Could they have dared waylay the major--and so close to the post? Amoment more and he was hurrying over to his troop quarters; fiveminutes, and a sergeant and ten men were running with him to thestables; ten, and a dozen horses, swiftly saddled, were being led intothe open starlight; fifteen, and they were away at a lunging broncolope, a twisting column of twos along the sandy road, leaving thegarrison to wake and wonder. Three, four, five miles they sped, pastBoulder Point, past Rattlesnake Hill, and still no sign of anythingamiss, no symptom of night-raiding Apache, for indeed the Apachedreads the dark. Thrice the sergeant had sprung from his horse,lighted a match, and studied the trail. On and on had gone the mulesand wagon without apparent break or interruption, until, far beyondthe bluff that hid the road from sight of all at Sandy, they had begunthe long, tortuous climb of the divide to Cherry Creek. No. 4 mighthave heard shots, but, if intended for the wagon, they had beenharmless. It was long after one when Wren gave the word to put back tothe post, and as they remounted and took the homeward trail, they rodefor the first five minutes almost directly east, and, as they ascendeda little slant of hillside, the sergeant in advance reined suddenlyin. "Look there!" said he.
Far over among the rocky heights beyond the valley, hidden from thesouth from Sandy by precipitous cliffs that served almost as areflector toward the reservation, a bright blaze had s
hot suddenlyheavenward--a signal fire of the Apache. Some of them, then, were inthe heart of that most intractable region, not ten miles northeast ofthe post, and signaling to their fellows; but the major must haveslipped safely through.
Sending his horse to stable with the detachment, Wren had found No. 4well over toward the east end of his post, almost to the angle withthat of No. 5. "Watch well for signal fires or prowlers to-night," heordered. "Have you seen any?"
"No signal fires, sir," answered the sentry. "Welch, who was on beforeme, thought he heard shots--"
"I know," answered Wren impatiently. "There was nothing in it. But wedid see a signal fire over to the northeast, so they are around us,and some may be creeping close in to see what we're doing, though Idoubt it. You've seen nothing?"
"Well, no, sir; we can't see much of anything, it's so dark. Butthere's a good many of the post people up and moving about, excited, Isuppose. There were lights there at the lieutenant's, Mr. Blakely's, awhile ago, and--voices." No. 4 pointed to the dark gable end barelyforty yards away.
"That's simple enough," said Wren. "People would naturally come up tothis end to see what had become of us, why we had gone, etc. Theyheard of it, I dare say, and some were probably startled."
"Yes, sir, it sounded like--somebody cryin'."
Wren was turning away. "What?" he suddenly asked.
No. 4 repeated his statement. Wren pondered a moment, started tospeak, to question further, but checked himself and trudgedthoughtfully away through the yielding sand. The nearest path led pastthe first quarters, Blakely's, on the eastward side, and as thecaptain neared the house he stopped short. Somewhere in the shadows ofthe back porch low, murmuring voices were faintly audible. One, inexcited tone, was not that of a man, and as Wren stood, uncertain andsurprised, the rear door was quickly opened and against the faintlight from within two dark forms were projected. One, the taller, herecognized beyond doubt as that of Neil Blakely; the other he did notrecognize at all. But he had heard the tone of the voice. He knew theform to be, beyond doubt, that of a young and slender woman. Thentogether the shadows disappeared within and the door was closed behindthem.