Chapter 8

Then there was another thing. Who was the silken-skirted woman he met in the darkness but an hour or so before,--the woman whom he had attempted to accost, but who slipped past him like a will-o'-the-wisp--in silence? How was it that the door to Hatton's hall was closed and locked, when Hatton told him it was always open? Why was it that the light in that lower hall was extinguished, and by whom was it done? Had he not gone thither almost immediately after recovering from the surprise of his encounter on the veranda, and found the hospital attendant grumblingly relighting it? The man had heard some queer, swishing sound, he explained, as he sat by Mr. Blunt's bedside, and "something that sounded like drawers being opened in the room below." He stepped out in the hall, he said, just in time to hear the lock of the front door hastily turned, and somebody go stealthily and quickly out on the veranda, "swishing" all the way. The ladies had been over along the upper gallery two or three times, to bring cool drinks to Mr. Blunt's door and inquire how he was getting on,--Mrs. Post and the young lady, Miss Forrest, he meant,--but they wouldn't want anything in Mr. McLean's rooms down-stairs. The man looked curiously up at Mr. Holmes as he told his tale. Holmes was puzzled too, but bade him keep quiet. Some one of the servants, perhaps, who wanted a match, he suggested; but the little soldier shook his head. Servants didn't wear dresses that "swished" like that.

The crowd was beginning to thin considerably, as Holmes could tell by the sound of receding voices. He decided that it was about time for him to move and get his own mail, when he became aware of something dark and shapeless crouching along close under the post-office end of the building and slowly and cautiously approaching the window from which the light was streaming. At first he thought it some big dog scratching his side along the cleats of the wooden wall, but as he stood silently observing the dim shadow it was evident that no quadruped was thus warily creeping toward him. Holmes stood leaning against a storehouse platform in the deepest shade of an over-hanging roof; the figure was perhaps twelve or thirteen yards away, and, as it neared the window, the vague outlines of the mysterious creature became more easily discernible. Immediately under the beams of light that shot across the dark enclosure the figure paused; slowly raised itself; a hand went up to the head and whipped off a cap just as the crown was tinged by the gleam from within. Holmes distinctly saw the reflection of the light on the brightly polished brass of the device, but could not make out whether the device itself was the crossed rifles of the infantry or sabres of the cavalry. Then the hand was laid upon the sill, the body slowly unbent, and the head was raised until two beady eyes, under a low forehead and a crop of thick, dark hair, could peer in between the slats. One lingering scrutiny of every person and object visible in the room, then down he crouched, and, almost on all-fours, slipped away to the corner of the building, Holmes now briskly striding in pursuit. Half-way back across the court, just as he entered the beam of light, the latter's foot came down upon the edge of one of those tough and elastic hoops, such as are sure to be lying about in the yards of commissary and quartermaster storehouses, and in the twinkling of an eye it whirled up and struck him with a sharp and audible snap. In an instant the crouching figure shot to its full height and darted out of sight around the corner. When Holmes reached the front of the building, not a man in uniform was visible. Cowboys and a scout or two remained. The stage-driver was again the centre of attraction, and all were grouped about him on the low piazza. Holmes called one of the ranchmen to one side, and asked him if he had seen or heard anything of a soldier who came suddenly around the corner, but the man shook his head. Stepping inside the office he met the major and his host, Dr. Bayard, while a tall, well-formed, colored girl stood in front of the little wicket, and a number of loungers still hung about the place. The officers stopped and said they would wait until he got his letters, and, as he took his place near the window, Mrs. Griffin was just handing a little packet to the colored girl. The light fell on the topmost letter, addressed in bold, legible hand to Miss Fanny Forrest; and Holmes could plainly see the post-mark and device on the upper corner, showing that it came from the Red Cloud Agency, and old Camp Robinson. "Halloo!" thought he to himself, "I had forgotten that we were as good as cut off from them now, and they are sending around by way of Sidney and Cheyenne." Quickly the girl turned over the letters, made some laughing remark expressive of disappointment at getting nothing from her beau; then, facing Mr. Holmes and showing her white teeth, with a coquettish toss of her head accosted him: "Good-evening, Mr. Holmes. S'pose you don't know me; I'm Celestine,--Miss Forrest's girl. Miss Griffin, yere's Mr. Holmes waitin' for his mail. Ain't no use you lookin' for anything for this trash," she said, contemptuously indicating the two or three intervening frontier folks. "Han' it to me an' I'll give it to him."

But just at this moment there was a stir at the door. The loungers who had never budged an inch for Mr. Holmes drew promptly back, making way for a tall young lady, who entered, all aglow from a rapid walk, her dark eyes gleaming, her fine, mobile lips wreathed with pleasant smiles the instant she caught sight of the doctor, who, cap in hand, advanced to meet her. It was Miss Forrest herself, and behind her came her escort, the adjutant.

"I thought I heard Celestine's voice," she said, looking questioningly around; and Holmes quickly noted that the girl had suddenly slunk back behind a little group of camp-women. Finding it useless to evade the searching glance of her young mistress, the girl came forth.

"Yes, Miss Fanny. I got your letters, miss," she said, but the confident tone was gone. Holmes marked the look in Miss Forrest's flashing eye as she took the little packet with no gentle hand. He was near enough, too, to hear the low-spoken but clearly enunciated words:

"And I told you never again to touch my letters. This must be the last time."

XI.

Four days had passed since Terry's fight down the river. McLean, painfully wounded, but very quiet and plucky, had been re-established in his old quarters at "Bedlam." Dr. Bayard, after one or two somewhat formal visits, had relinquished the entire charge of the case to his assistant; so that Dr. Weeks was now the medical and surgical attendant of both the young officers in the north hall, while his senior continued assiduously to care for the wants of the feminine colony in the other. It may be said right here, that, so far as those sturdy "refugees" the Posts were concerned, professional and personal attentions from Dr. Bayard were both declared unnecessary. Mrs. Post was a woman of admirable physique and somewhat formidable personality. She did not fancy the elaborate manners of the surgeon at their first meeting, and allowed her lack of appreciation of "His Elegancy" to develop into positive dislike before she had known him a fortnight. Now, since the "north end" had become a hospital, she was willing to admit the doctor to her confidence, for the good lady was incessant in the preparation of comforting drinks or culinary dainties for the two invalids; but what was the measure of her indignation when she discovered that Bayard's attentions at "Bedlam" were confined to the south hall and to Mrs. Forrest's quarters?

He had always been a specialist in the maladies of women and children, to be sure, and we all know of what vital importance are such practitioners in our large garrisons. He was a welcome visitor either at the fireside or in the sick-room of every family homestead on the reservation--except Mrs. Post's--whensoever he chose to call, but that his presence at Mrs. Forrest's should be requisite and necessary three or four times every twenty-four hours was something Mrs. Post could not be brought to believe, and her scepticism speedily inoculated the entire community.

Mrs. Forrest declared she did not know how she could have lived through the terrors of the past week had it not been for Dr. Bayard's delicate and skilful ministrations. The doctor himself was understood to say that the poor lady's nervous system was utterly unstrung, that she was in a hyper-sensitive condition which might readily develop into nervous prostration unless she was carefully guarded. The officers of the garrison, when they spoke of the matter at all, which was not often, laughingly referred to the admirable tactics of the astute physician in finding excuses for frequent professional visits to a house where it was now apparent to all he was personally interested. The women, when they did not speak of the matter to one another, which was seldom indeed, were divided in their opinions. That Dr. Bayard was "smitten" with Fanny Forrest was something they had seen from the start, but that brilliant and most incomprehensible young woman had on more than one occasion treated him with marked coldness and aversion. What was the matter? Had he been too precipitate in his wooing? Twice since Hatton returned with his little escort, bringing in the wounded, had Miss Forrest declined Dr. Bayard's arm, and, on the other hand, while she seemed to repel the senior, she was now showing a marked interest in his junior,--the attendant of the wounded officers. Twice while Dr. Bayard was known to be visiting at the Forrests', she was seen to come forth, and, after an irresolute glance up and down the walk, as though she had no other purpose in venturing out than to escape from her elderly admirer, the young lady had walked down the path away from the officers' quarters and disappeared from view in the direction of the trader's store. Some of the ladies were beginning to believe that, _faute de mieux_, the doctor was consoling himself in a flirtation with his lackadaisical patient; but it was speedily noted that he stayed only a few moments when Miss Forrest left the premises, and the idea was as speedily scouted by the entire sisterhood, unless, indeed, we except the lady herself. Poor Mrs. Forrest! In these days of her faded beauty, she could not forget the fact that it was only a few years before that her rosebud complexion and tender blue eyes had been the cause of many a heartache among the young fellows in the garrison where she, the only damsel, reigned supreme; and lives there a woman who, having once queened it over the hearts of the opposite sex, can quite abandon the idea that her powers still exist?

Knowing, from plain declarations to that effect, that her spirited sister-in-law totally disapproved of Dr. Bayard after a conversation held with him the night McLean was returned to the post, Mrs. Forrest was fain to flatter herself that these frequent visits to her were impelled by an interest transcending the professional and rapidly becoming sentimental. It really did her good; gave her something to think about besides her woes; rescued her from the slatternly ways into which she was falling and restored a faded coquetry to her dress and mien; brightened her dreary eyes and lent color to her pallid cheek, and prompted her to surround herself with those domestic barricades against unhallowed glances and unwarranted sighs,--the children. But when Fanny Forrest flatly told her it was all nonsense, this encouraging Dr. Bayard's visits on account of some supposititious malady, and that she was looking better than she had seen her look in six months, the lady took offence at the first statement and alarm at the second, and between the two a relapse was accomplished which, of course, triumphantly established the justice of her position and the ineffable cruelty of her sister's charge.

Fanny Forrest's life could hardly have been pleasant just then, said superficial commentators. To every woman who called upon the lady of the house in her invalid state, Mrs. Forrest had something to say about the heartlessness and utter lack of sympathy with which she was treated; and who can doubt that the letters she wrote her soldier husband made frequent complaint to the same effect? Now, if in the domestic circle Miss Forrest had no friend or sympathizer, it was quite as bad without. With all her frankness, brilliancy, and dash, with all her willingness to be cordial and friendly, there had arisen between her and the whole sisterhood in the garrison a strange, intangible, but impenetrable barrier. She was welcome nowhere, and was too proud to inquire the cause.

This state of things could not go on long, as a matter of course. Sooner or later the reason would be demanded by somebody, and then the stories would come out. Mrs. Miller and Mrs. Bruce, as recorded in an earlier chapter, had covenanted together to keep the secret; but that mysterious theft the night of the dinner at the doctor's had made the former determine on another revelation to her lord and master, the post commander. As for Mrs. Bruce, she struggled--well, womanfully--to hold her tongue, and womanfully succeeded.

Two nights after McLean had been brought home and was lying in a somewhat feverish condition, the major commanding came in and softly tapped at the door of the front room. Hatton was seated at the table reading by the light of the Argand, and he arose at once and tiptoed to see who was there.

"Oh! Come in, major," he said, in a low tone, throwing open the door. "Come in."

"Is McLean asleep?" whispered the major. "I--I don't want to disturb him. I only wanted to inquire."

"Not asleep, sir, but lying in a sort of doze. Weeks is trying to fight off fever."

"I know; I understand. It may be several days before he'll be well enough to--to talk, won't it?" and the major gazed keenly into Hatton's eyes, and Hatton plainly saw the trouble in his commander's face.

"I fear it may, sir. Weeks says he must be kept quiet and free from worry of any kind."

The major paused, irresolute. He took off his forage-cap and mopped his brow with his handkerchief, then stood there twisting the cap in his hands. He looked down the dim hall-way, then through the crack of the door, then down at his boots, and all the time Hatton stood there holding wide open the door, yet hoping and praying he would not come in. Something told the lieutenant that the matter so plainly worrying the commanding officer was one neither he nor McLean could speak of if it could possibly be helped.

But Miller was in sore trouble, and he could not stand alone.

"Hatton!" he muttered, impulsively, "is the nurse there? Can you come out with me? I--I have heard something that gives me a world of concern, something I must ask you about. I can't talk of it here. Sick men's ears are sometimes far more acute than those of their sound and healthy brothers. Can you come now?"

"I am alone with Mac just now, sir. I sent the attendant down to the post-office and the store. He had been cooped up all day, and was grateful for a little fresh air. When he returns----" and Hatton stopped vaguely. He knew it might be an hour before the man got back. That would give him time to think.

"Well. That will have to do. Come to my quarters then, and, if a lot of women are there, you--you say you want to see me about something,--anything,--and I'll come out. I don't want them to dream I'm investigating anything." And here the major stopped uneasily and glanced up-stairs; then looked inquiringly at Hatton. "Who's up there?" he asked.

"No one, sir, to my knowledge. Blunt's door is closed and he is sleeping. Weeks was there not ten minutes since, and stopped to see me on the way down. Why do you ask?"

"Why, I thought I heard something,--a woman's dress and light footfall. I even thought I saw a shadow at the head of the stairs."

Hatton's heart gave a great thump, and he felt his face glowing under his commander's gaze, but he answered steadily.

"It is possible, sir. Mrs. Post and Miss Forrest both have been coming along the upper gallery frequently, bringing things to both Blunt and McLean. Mrs. Post comes over to inquire every hour or so, and they tiptoe in and out as light as a kitten. Shall I run up and see?"

"Oh, no,--no! If that's the explanation, it is simple enough. No, I'm all upset. I--I fancied there was some one listening. Come to me as soon as you can, Hatton. By the way, have you heard from Mr. Holmes?"

"No, sir. He was called suddenly to the ranch, and I presume he is there."

"I know, I know. But did he see McLean before he left?"

"See him! Yes, sir; but that's about all he could do. McLean was in no condition to receive visitors, and Weeks hustled him out somewhat unceremoniously."

"Well. That's all, just now. I'll expect you soon after tattoo."

"Very good, sir."

And then the major went away, closing the hall-door after him. Hatton stood there a moment as though rooted to the spot, his brow moistening with beads of sweat that seemed starting from every pore. Despite his secrecy, then, despite McLean's destruction of the evidence of her visit the night of the disappearance of their property, despite their determination to shield the sister of an absent comrade from suspicion, or disgrace, in some way the story must have gotten around. Possibly there were other thefts of which he knew nothing, in which suspicion had pointed to her. Possibly the vague confessions, implicating no one, which he had made to Mrs. Miller, taken in connection with events of which he had no knowledge, had proved sufficient to weave a chain of circumstantial evidence about her; and now the commanding officer was aroused, and was coming down on him, and poor Mac yonder, for full details of their losses and their knowledge of the affair. He would give anything to secure the postponement of that dreaded interview until he could talk over matters with his comrade, but when would that be a possibility? Just as soon as the attendant returned, he must go to his commander, and either make a clean breast of it or refuse to utter a word. What course would he ask or expect of a comrade if it were his, Hatton's, sister, who was here alone and defenceless? By heaven, McLean was right! They must shield her, so far as shield of theirs could serve, until Forrest himself could come to be her adviser and protector.

Then he, too, stopped, listened, and looked up the stairs. Then he, too, started, but with a start to which the major's sudden turn was a mere languid gesture. Hardly could he believe his eyes; hardly could he trust his reeling senses, but it was she,--Fanny Forrest,--not standing at the head of the stairs, but coming swiftly down upon him, her finger at her lips, her other hand gathering her skirts so that they should make as little rustle as possible as she swooped quickly down the stairs. Another instant, and she was at his side, her eyes gleaming like fiery coals, her face burning, her lips firm, set, and determined. He was too much startled to speak. It was she who broke the silence, in words clear-cut and distinct yet soft and low.

"Mr. Hatton, I saw your major coming here. I have heard within two days more than you know. I know why he wishes to see you to-night, and--yes, I listened. There is more at stake than you dream of. Now, I hasten to you; there is no time to explain,--no time to answer questions. If you would save a friend from wrong or ruin, don't go near Major Miller to-night. I adjure you, find some excuse. I'll find one for you, if it is only to delay that attendant; but mark what I say, don't go near Major Miller to-night, or tell him what you know until Mr. Holmes returns. I--I've sent for him. Will you promise?"

"Promise!" he utters, slowly, a dazed look in his eyes. "Good God, Miss Forrest! I would do anything in my power for Captain Forrest's sister, and for him; but if--if this thing is known, what can my silence avail?"

"Never mind Captain Forrest or Captain Forrest's sister! This is vital! Do you promise? It is only for a day. Mr. Holmes will be here in twenty-four hours."

"What can his coming or going--pardon me! but I'm at a loss to see how he is in any way concerned."

A manly step was heard on the porch without. She turned a glance of terror at the hall-door and flew to spring the latch, but the step went on toward the south hall.

"It is the doctor," she said, falteringly. "He is going to our quarters, and I must hurry back the way I came. Mr. Hatton, tell no one I came to you here; and, as for the rest, I implore you to be guided by what I say. One thing more,"--she whipped from her pocket a white silk handkerchief. "Put this back among his,--not on top, but anywhere among them otherwise."

And, thrusting the soft fabric into his hand, without another word she flew up the old wooden stairs, her skirts rushing and "swishing" over the floor, her slippered feet twinkling over the rickety flight, light as kittens, swift as terriers; and in an instant she was through the upper hall, out on the gallery, and beyond sight and hearing. A few moments, dazed and confounded, Hatton stood there gazing vacantly after her. Then he thought he heard McLean's voice, and entering found him propped on his elbow, a queer look on his face.

"Hat, there are spooks in this old rookery. I could have sworn I heard a woman's dress and a woman's footfalls on those creaking stairs just now. Has any one been in here?"

"N--no one, Mac."

"Gad! I'm not dreaming. It sounded just as it did the night--the night that thing happened. You know, Hat."

XII.

Just at tattoo that evening Mrs. Miller was smitten with a sudden desire to go over and see Nellie Bayard. The child hadn't been out of the house, she explained, since "the Grays" started for the fray down the Platte, taking Randall McLean with them. She longed to see her and learn from her lips how matters were going at home. She wondered if Nellie knew how her father was devoting himself to the Forrests; she wondered if the gentle and obedient daughter would not rebel at the idea of such a possibility as his becoming seriously attached to Miss Forrest. She had indulged the major in one very plain and startling dissertation on the subject of that young woman, from the effects of which he was still suffering; but, worst of all, her motherly heart longed to acquire, through Nellie's words, looks, or actions, some idea as to whether she really cared for her pet among all the lieutenants. Of course Nellie liked--but did she love him? Of McLean's deep-rooted regard for the shy and sensitive little maiden, Mrs. Miller had not the shadow of a doubt. Nellie had no one, she argued, to be a mother to her in this troublesome time, and yet she was beginning to feel a species of jealousy in the knowledge that the Bruces and the Gordons and other good garrison people--maid and matron--had been seen going continually to and from the doctor's quarters. Mrs. Miller thought she had a prior claim on the confidences of the doctor's pretty daughter, and did not relish it that others should possibly be before her. Oddly enough there was no one calling on this night of nights; the major had been out, ostensibly to attend to business at the office, but something told her he was seeking information as to the array of circumstances pointing to the fact that there was further evidence against Miss Forrest.