CHAPTER XVIII.
DESERTION.
In that species of mental athletics known as jumping at conclusions Mrs.Turner was an expert. That she always hit the mark is something a regardfor veracity will not permit us to assert. Indeed, it was not often thather intellectual subtlety enabled her to extract from outwardappearances the true inwardness of the various matters that entered theorbit of her observations. All the same she was a born jumper, and,like the Allen revolver immortalized by Mark Twain, if she didn't alwaysget what she went for she fetched something. Mrs. Turner could fetch aconclusion from everything she saw, and was happy in her facility. Timeand again her patient lord had ventured to point a moral from herrepeated mistakes of judgment, and to suggest less precipitancy in thefuture; but to no good purpose. Mrs. Turner's faith in the justice ofher prognostications was sublime, though not unusual. It has been withinthe compass of our experience to meet and know undaunted women who, dayafter day, could, with equal positiveness, announce their theories asincontrovertible facts, or flatly contradict the assertions of thosewhose very position enabled them to be well informed. When Mrs. Turnerwas confronted with the proof of her error, and gently upbraided by theplacid captain for being so positive in her affirmation or denial, thatpretty matron was wont to shrug her lovely shoulders, and petulantly setaside the subject with the comprehensive excuse, "Oh, well! I didn'tknow."
In vain had Turner pointed out to her that the fact was self-evident,that in view of that very fact she should have been less confident inthe discussion and should be more guarded in the future: his effortswere crowned with small success. Mrs. Turner's beliefs were only too apton all occasions to be heralded by her as undeniable facts.
She saw Miss Sanford and Captain Webb enter the Truscotts' soon afterRay. She saw Captain Webb come out almost immediately and go thence tothe Stannards', next door, while Ray soon appeared and walked offhomeward. She saw Mrs. Stannard come out with Webb, and while thelatter turned to come and say good-by to her, Mrs. Stannard had gone atonce into the Truscotts'.
"Is Mrs. Truscott ill?" she immediately asked.
"Well--a--she seemed to be. She was evidently a good deal cut up aboutsomething," said Webb, who was slow of speech and not quick ofintellect.
"Well, what do you think it was? What was she doing? Tell me, captain.I'm so worried about her, she has been so unlike herself since Mr.Truscott went away."
"Oh,--ah!--she was very pale and very--a--well, tearful, you know. Beencrying, I suppose," and Webb shifted uncomfortably. He couldn't get overthat picture exactly,--Mrs. Truscott springing up from the sofa alltears; Ray standing there burning a letter, all confusion. Still, hebelieved it something susceptible of explanation, and did not care totalk about it. But that Laramie stage would soon be along, and Mrs.Turner determined to make the best of her opportunities. Ray had neverbeen one of her satellites, and she never forgave too little admiration,though it would be manifestly unfair to assert that she would haveforgiven too much. She knew that he had been quite devoted to Mrs.Truscott in the days that succeeded the troublous times at Sandy, thoughthe days were very brief, and now it was her impulsive theory that Mrs.Truscott's odd behavior and Ray's presence at the house were symptoms ofa revival of that suspected flame. She was trying to draw Webb out whenGleason, looking black as a thunder-cloud and immensely melodramatic,came in to say good-by to her as she stood on the piazza. The stagecame cracking in at the front gate at the moment and stopped below atGleason's quarters, where the orderly began stowing in their lightluggage.
"Have you said good-by to Miss Sanford and Mrs. Truscott?" she asked,with mischievous interest.
"Er--no. I understand Mrs. Truscott is not well. I saw her this morninga moment, and promised to come round later, but I think it best not todisturb them."
The stage lumbered up to the front, and as it came Mrs. Stannardreappeared and hurried up the walk. Her usually placid face showedevidence of deep emotion and barely repressed excitement.
"Captain Webb, will you say to the major that I will have a long letterto go to him by the very next mail, and that I hope it will reach himwithout delay." She looked squarely at Gleason with her kind blue eyesblazing, and never so much as recognized him by a nod. "I must return toMrs. Truscott, who is far from well, but tell Captain Truscott not to bealarmed about her. Good-by, Captain Webb. Come back to us safe andsound."
Another moment and the two officers were borne away, and Mrs. Turnerwent down to the Truscotts' determined to find out what was the trouble,but came away dissatisfied. There was some mystery, and she could notsolve it. What did it portend that Mrs. Stannard should have cut Mr.Gleason dead?
Later that afternoon, just before sunset, there was a pretty picture infront of Truscott's quarters. It had been a lovely day, at the very endof July, but the air was cool and bracing, and many of the ladies,seated on the long row of piazzas, or strolling up and down thegravelled walk, had found it necessary to wear their shawls or wraps.The band was playing sweetly in the circular stand on the parade, and adozen little children were romping about the few patches of green turfor splashing the water in the narrow _acequias_. The newly-plantedsprigs of trees looked like so many tent-poles stuck up on the edge ofthe diamond so far as verdure was concerned, and the dingy brown of thebarracks on the southern side had little that could attract the eye. Butfar beyond, across the creek valley, lay the rolling expanse of openprairie; far beyond that, those glistening, gleaming battlements ofeternal snow standing against the Colorado skies. Only three or fourofficers could be seen along the row--only half a dozen soldiers in allthe great garrison. The recruits were all in at supper. The officers andtrained men were all far away to the north. To the delight of thechildren Mr. Ray's orderly came up the road leading Dandy, and afterthey had crowded around and petted and lauded him while a new halter wasbeing put on, and his glistening coat touched up for the third timesince his supper of oats, Dandy was slowly led on up the row, stoppingevery few rods to be patted and admired by the ladies, and at lastreached Truscott's house, where Ray went and knocked softly, and MissSanford appeared. Together they walked to the gate, and there theystood. Ray expatiating on the many good points of his pet and comrade,Miss Sanford stroking the sorrel's arching neck and velvet nozzle, andlooking volumes of adulation into his intelligent eyes. Dandy pawed andpricked up his ears, and seemed proud and conscious as any human, andwould have purred like a kitten had he only known how, so soft was thetouch of her caressing hand, so sweet was the praise of her gentlevoice. Ray stood and watched her with delight in his eyes.
"Oh, you beauty! Oh, you dear, dear fellow! how I would prize you if youwere mine! Do you dream what a hero you are, I wonder?"
Both her white hands were holding his glossy head now, and Dandy stoodthere looking into her animated face as though he loved every feature init,--or was it Ray? Both of them could hardly keep their eyes off her aninstant. She was a puzzle to Dandy. She was an angel to his master.
"He was hit twice, was he not?" she asked; and when he showed her thescars, she mourned over them like a mother over a baby's bumpedforehead.
"I declare, Mr. Ray is growing positively handsome!" said Mrs. Stannard,looking out of the window at the pretty group. "How delighted he is thatMiss Sanford should make so much of Dandy!" she added, turning to Mrs.Truscott, who lay there very white and weary looking.
Grace smiled. "I must creep up to the window and see," she said; and fora moment they gazed in silence. He was bending down over her, so brightand brave and gallant, that the next thing the two ladies lookedsuddenly into each other's face, smiling suggestively.
"Just what I was thinking!" said Mrs. Stannard, laughing; and thereseemed no need to ask what the simultaneous thought could be. Then theylooked out again. "Oh!" said Mrs. Truscott, impatiently, "I wish shewould keep away!" for down came Mrs. Turner, all smiles and whitemuslin, to join them. That woman could never understand that she couldbe _de trop_, was Mrs. Stannard's reflection, but it was characteristicof her that she gave
the (possibly) disproportioned thought noutterance. Ray lifted his cap with his customary grace and courtesy, butlooked only moderately rejoiced at the coming of even so bewitching anaddition to Dandy's circle of admirers. Possibly some years ofexperience at poker had given him such admirable control of all facialexpression as to enable him to disguise the annoyance he really felt.Ray couldn't bear "humbug" in any form, and when horses were thesubjects of discussion he was fiercely intolerant of the wise looks andbook-inspired remarks of the would-be authorities in the regiment. Tohis cavalry nature the horse had an affiliation that was simply strongas a friendship. Nothing could shake Ray's conviction in the reasoningpowers, the love, loyalty, gratitude, and devotion of the animal thatfrom his babyhood he had looked upon as a companion,--almost as aconfidant. He had little faith in Mrs. Turner's voluble admiration ofDandy. To use his Blue Grass vernacular, he "didn't take any stock (hecalled it stawk) in that sort of gush." He knew that there was only onefour-legged domestic animal of which Mrs. Turner was more desperatelyafraid, and that was a cow. She made a ninny of herself when she wentout to drive, and the mere pricking up of the horses' ears was to hermind premonitory symptom of a runaway, and excuse for immediate demandto be set down on the open prairie and allowed to walk home. As forriding, she couldn't be induced to try. To her a horse was a thing thatkicked or bit or showed the whites of his eyes and set his ears back andswitched his tail and gave other evidences of depraved moral nature, andshe would no more touch or approach one than she would a wild-cat,except when in so doing, with an admiring audience, she could become thecentral figure in an effective tableau. Ray wished her in Jericho, asshe stood at arm's length and touched Dandy with the tips of her daintyfingers and began to speak of him as "it." Equine sex was a matterbeyond Mrs. Turner's consideration, and with eminent discretion shecompromised on "it" as a safe descriptive.
Then old Whaling came along with his better half, and the lady stoppedto see the now celebrated sorrel, and when Ray cordially addressed hispost commander with the natural question, "What do you think of him,colonel?" he was genuinely surprised at the embarrassed, lifelessresponse. The colonel looked away as he replied,--
"Very pretty, very pretty, Mr. Ray," and then walked on as though hedesired to keep aloof, and Mrs. Whaling, announcing that she was goingto see poor Mrs. Muldoon, who was living outside the gate, moved onafter her husband with hardly a glance for Ray.
Something strange in the colonel's manner, something constrained anddistant in that of the adjutant, had occurred to him once or twicebefore, but he had given little thought to it. Now he felt that it couldno longer be overlooked. Even Mrs. Turner, who knew that in the regimentfrom the colonel down almost everybody had a cordial word for Ray, andthat now he was the idol of the hour,--even Mrs. Turner looked after thecolonel in amaze and then quickly at Ray. A light flashed over her busyintellect. This was further confirmation of her theory. The colonel,too, had heard of Ray's devotions to Mrs. Truscott and was offendedthereat.
But now the sunset call was sounding, the band marched away, and Ray andhis fair companion stood watching Dandy, who was being led back to hispaddock. A deep flush was on her cheek. She, too, had noted thecolonel's cold and distant manner to Ray. She saw that he was stung byit, but was trying to give no sign so long as they were together. Shehad learned many things since her return from town. She and Mrs.Stannard knew all about the terrible affair of the morning, and fullyunderstood Ray's presence at the house and Mrs. Truscott's agitation.They had recalled many of Gleason's bitter sneers and insinuationsagainst Ray, and all three felt that, unknown to him, some covertinfluence was at work here at the post to do him injury, and that hisloyal services this day in Mrs. Truscott's behalf had but intensifiedthe hatred against him. It was agreed among them that not one wordshould be breathed of the affair, except what Mrs. Stannard should writeto the major. Mrs. Truscott was sure that Jack would shoot Mr. Gleasonon sight the moment he was informed, and Mrs. Stannard thought it quiteprobable. Miss Sanford was silent in this discussion, but all agreedthat Ray must be warned that there was some plot against him. It wasmysteriously whispered among the ladies about the garrison. Knowingthis, and knowing that she could not well be the one to tell him, MarionSanford, with her whole heart in her beautiful eyes, stood there by hisside as the sun went down. She liked him for his frank, manly ways; shehonored him for his loyalty; she respected him for the lack of certaintraits which every one had been so careful to ascribe to him ashabitual. She gloried in the daring, the self-sacrifice, the heroism ofhis conduct in the recent events on the campaign. She felt personalgratitude--deep and earnest--for his invaluable service to Grace--tothem all--this day; and just because she could not give utterance to himof any one of these emotions, was it to be wondered at that, as heturned towards her again and caught the earnest look in her swimmingeyes, Ray's heart gave one great bound?
"I want you to ride him some day, Miss Sanford. I cannot yet. Will you?"And his voice was low, and there was an odd tremor in it for Ray.
"Ride Dandy?" she said, after an instant's pause, "Mr. Ray. If he weremy horse, after what he has done,--after such a deed,--do you think Iwould let any one use him?"
"That would rule me out, Miss Sanford," he answered, smiling.
"You?" She had clasped her hands. She was looking down nervously at thetip of her little boot. Her eyes were half suffused, her face flushing,then growing suddenly hot and cold by turns. She knew his eyes wereglowing upon her. She knew there was no earthly excuse for such absurdsensations. She knew that it was highly unconventional to experienceany such difficulty of expression where acquaintance had been so brief;but was there, after all, anything unwomanly in letting him see that shewas proud of him,--of his friendship, his daring? Had not every otherwoman gushed over him and called him splendid and some of them "lovely,"while she had never yet dared speak of it at all? He had simply laughedoff their adulation; but he was not laughing now. She never saw suchintensity in his face. Why! this very silence was dangerous,distracting. If she--she cared for him she could not be more nervous andshy. With sudden effort she looked up in his face.
"You? Why, Mr. Ray, I never think of one without the other. How could Itell you," she broke forth impulsively, "how simply splendid I thoughtyou--both?"
And now, with flaming cheeks, she turned and ran into the house, leavinghim all astir with delight at the gate.
And yet when he called that evening to inquire after Mrs. Truscott, andMarion, with Mrs. Stannard, received him in the parlor, she was allanimation, self-possession, and mistress of the situation again. Evenwhen Mrs. Stannard found means to leave them alone, Ray could find nopretext for diverting the talk into the delicious channel in which itflowed at sunset. Perhaps, after all, it was only the glow of departingday, like the throes of the dying dolphin lending hectic radiance to hiscolors, that so dazzlingly, bewilderingly, beautifully tinged thecurrent of her words, and gave him glimpses of a heaven of hope hiswildest dream had never pictured.
But Mr. Ray had still a stern duty for that night. Having disposed ofGleason during the afternoon, he had sent for the soldier Wolf, but wastold he would be on pass until tattoo. Until he had sifted the matter tothe bottom he would not know how to proceed with regard to Gleason.Charges of conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman, court-martialand publicity, were not to be thought of as involving her name in such ascandal. After what she had said of Wolf, his first theory--that it wasall a forgery of Gleason's--was abandoned. He must see Wolf, obtain fromhim any similar letter he might have, clearly point out to him themadness of his conduct, and satisfy himself whether indeed Wolf mightnot be insane. Immediately after tattoo, therefore, he had againdespatched his orderly for the bandsman, and in two minutes the latterappeared, knocked, and stood, cap in hand, within the door. Ray turnedup the lamp and coolly surveyed his man. The two stood a momentconfronting each other in silence. Wolf was very pale, and beads ofsweat were starting on his brow, but the blue eyes never flinched. Hehad never served a day under the lieu
tenant's command, but he knew himwell, as all soldiers know the various officers of their regiments: theverdict is rarely at fault. He knew there was no trifling with the manbefore him; he felt that no slight pretext had called him to hispresence, and the instant he set eyes on him he knew his secret was inhis hands.
"Wolf," said Ray, "have you written any letters to Mrs. Truscott sincethe one you left in her yard last week?" The question reads harshly. Itwas spoken calmly, without a vestige of menace or sneer; yet thesoldier's hands clinched, as though in fierce convulsion. His foreheadseemed to wrinkle into one mass of corrugations; he bowed his ghastlyface in an agony of shame.
"I ask in no anger. Let me tell you briefly what has happened. I have noword to add to the reproach you feel. That letter fell into the hands ofa scoundrel. He took it to Mrs. Truscott this day, and threatened herwith full exposure; accused her, in fact, of corresponding with youbecause you mentioned other letters."
"Oh, my God! my God! Kill me, Herr Lieutenant, kill me!" was thesoldier's gasping cry, and before Ray could do aught to stay him he hadplunged forward on his face, and lay writhing on the painted floor,tearing wildly at his hair, calling down curses on himself, on his madlove, on the hand that penned the fatal letter, on the hound who hadcarried it to that innocent,--that angel. Then on his knees, withoutstretched arms, he looked up at Ray, who stood utterly astounded athis paroxysm of misery and despair. "His name, lieutenant. I implore,--Idemand. I _demand_ his name! Sir, I am not unworthy to ask it. I was agentleman in my country. I am a gentleman! How know you this? Where ishe that has done this so foul wrong?"
"Far away by this time. Be calm now. I want the truth in this matter."
"Far away?" He sprang to his feet. "It is that devil; it is that dogGleason! He spied upon me. It was he who found the letter. Ach Gott!Where--when did he dare threaten that--that angel? Where is theletter?"
"The letter is all right. He had to give it up. It was this morning hethreatened her, and she is prostrate now."
For all answer he burst into a mad passion of tears. Never had Raywitnessed such self-abasement. Never had he seen such awful remorse. Itwas an hour, nearly, before he could calm him sufficiently to extractfrom him his story, and it amounted practically to this:
He had killed an opponent in a duel over cards in Dresden. There wasnothing for it but to leave instantly and to seek safety in America. Hisrank was that of rittmeister in the hussars, and he had nothing to dobut enlist in the cavalry. He was penniless and starving when he reachedTruscott's quarters, and her face, bending over him as he rallied fromhis swoon, had haunted him day and night with its beauty, its sympathyand tenderness. She became the idol, the goddess of his life; he watchedher day and night in his mad infatuation; he dreamed of her as his own;he wrote letter after letter to her as the sole means of giving vent tothe wild, passionate love which had turned his brain; he destroyed themone after another; he never by word, or look, or deed, so far as heknew, let her see aught of his hopeless love. He never thought to letone of these letters fall from his hands. Yet, whenever he was alone hewrote. He had sung under her window because in his country everybodysang and played, and it was no unusual attention for any gentleman topay the compliment of a personal serenade. Still he had avoided, as hethought, all recognition until the night he found Gleason creeping uponhim. At mention of that name his paroxysms broke forth afresh. Never,never could he forgive himself for the fearful misery he had caused her.Never, never would he forgive the hound who had so basely dealt withher. "He shall wipe out his foul crime in his heart's blood," he swore,and Ray had to order silence. He gave Ray his word that never againwould he be tempted to write a line; he implored him to ask for him herforgiveness. Never again would he cross her path. His grief broke forthafresh every few moments, and he was weak as a child. Ray became reallyalarmed about him, and going into the dining-room where he and Blakewere accustomed to take their bachelor sustenance, he rummaged around inthe dark for some brandy. Of late he had given up all use of stimulants,and Blake was down at the store. It was some minutes before he found thedecanter, but when he returned the room was empty. Wolf had gone.
The next morning there was a ripple of excitement at the adjutant'soffice. A horse was missing from the band stables, and a musician fromthe band barracks. At retreat that evening it was definitely settledthat Sergeant Wolf had deserted.