Warrior Gap: A Story of the Sioux Outbreak of '68.

  CHAPTER XV.

  A sleepless night had old John Folsom, and with the sun he was up againand hurriedly dressing. Noiseless as he strove to be he was discovered,for as he issued from his room into the dim light of the upper hallthere stood Pappoose.

  "Poor Jess has been awake an hour," said she. "We've been trying to seethe troop through the glass. They must have started before daybreak, forthere's nothing on the road to Frayne."

  "It disappears over the divide three miles out," he answered vaguely,and conscious that her clear eyes were studying his face. "I didn'tsleep well either. We shall be having news from Hal to-day, and the mailrider comes down from Frayne."

  She had thrown about her a long, loose wrapper, and her lustrous hairtumbled like a brown-black torrent down over her shoulders and back.Steadfastly the brown eyes followed his every move.

  "It is hours to breakfast time, Daddy dear; let me make you some coffeebefore you go out."

  "What? Who said I was going out?" he asked, forcing a smile; then, moregravely: "I'll be back in thirty minutes, dear, but wait a moment Icannot. I want to catch a man before he can possibly ride away."

  He bent and kissed her hurriedly, and went briskly down the stairs. Inthe lower hall he suddenly struck a parlor match that flared up andillumined the winding staircase to the third story. Some thought assudden prompted her to glance aloft just in time to catch a glimpse of awoman's face withdrawing swiftly over the balcony rail. In her hatred ofanything that savored of spying the girl could have called aloud ademand to know what Mrs. Fletcher wanted, but strange things were in thewind, as she was learning, and something whispered silence. Slowly shereturned to Jessie's side, and together once more they searched with theglasses the distant trail that, distinctly visible now in the slant ofthe morning sun, twisted up the northward slopes on the winding way toFrayne. Not a whiff of dust could they see.

  Meantime John Folsom strode swiftly down the well-known path to thequartermaster's depot, a tumult of suspicion and conjecture whirling inhis brain. As he walked he recalled the many hints and stories that hadcome to his ears of Burleigh's antecedents elsewhere and hisassociations here. With all his reputation for enterprise and wealth,there were "shady" tales of gambling transactions and salted mines andwatered stocks that attached perhaps more directly to the men with whomhe foregathered than to him. "A man is known by the company he keeps,"said Folsom, and Burleigh's cronies, until Folsom came to settle in GateCity, had been almost exclusively among the "sharps," gamblers, andtheir kindred, the projectors and prospectors ever preying on the unwaryon the outer wave of progress. Within the past six months he had seenmuch of him, for Burleigh was full of business enterprises, had largeinvestments everywhere, was lavish in invitation and suggestion, wasprofuse in offers of aid of any kind if aid were wanted. He had gone sofar as to say that he knew from experience how with his wealth tied upin real estate and mines a man often found himself in need of a fewthousands in spot cash, and as Folsom was buying and building, if at anytime he found himself a little short and needed ten or twenty thousandsay, why, Burleigh's bank account was at his service, etc. It allsounded large and liberal, and Folsom, whose lot for years had been castwith a somewhat threadbare array of army people, content with little,impecunious but honest, he wondered what manner of martial man this was.Burleigh did not loudly boast of his wealth and influence, but impressedin some ponderous way his hearers with a sense of both. Yet, ever sincethat run to Warrior Gap, a change had come over Burleigh. He talked moreof mines and money and showed less, and now, only yesterday, when theold man's heart had mellowed to him because he had first held him whollyto blame for Dean's arrest and later found him pleading for the youngfellow's release, a strange thing had happened. Burleigh confided to himthat he had a simply fabulous opportunity--a chance to buy out a minethat experts secretly told him was what years later he would have calleda "bonanza," but that in the late sixties was locally known as a"Shanghai." Twenty-five thousand dollars would do the trick, but hismoney was tied up. Would Folsom go in with him, put up twelve thousandfive hundred, and Burleigh would do the rest? Folsom had been bitten bytoo many mines that yielded only rattlesnakes, and he couldn't be lured.Then, said Burleigh, wouldn't Folsom go on his note, so that he couldborrow at the bank? Folsom seldom went on anybody's note. It was as badas mining. He begged off, and left Burleigh disappointed, but notdisconcerted. "I can raise it without trouble," said he, "but it maytake forty-eight hours to get the cash here, and I thought you would beglad to be let in on the ground floor."

  "I've been let in to too many floors, major," said he. "You'll have toexcuse me." And so Burleigh, with his Louisiana captain, had driven offto the fort, where Newhall asked for Griggs and was importunate, nor didGriggs's whisky, freely tendered to all comers of the commissionedclass, tend to assuage his desire. Back had they gone to town, and thencame the cataclysm of noon.

  In broad daylight, at his official desk, in the presence and hearing ofofficers, civilians and enlisted men, as the soldier lawyers would haveit, a staff official of high rank had been cowhided by a cavalrysubaltern, and that subaltern, of all others, the only brother ofFolsom's fair guest, Jessie Dean--the boy who had saved the lives ofFolsom's son and his son's imperiled household, and had thereby endearedhimself to him as had no other young soldier in the service. And now,what fate was staring him in the face? Released from arrest but a day orso before upon the appeal of the officer whom he had so soon thereafterviolently assaulted, Marshall Dean had committed one of the gravestcrimes against the provisions of the Mutiny Act. Without warrant orexcuse he had struck, threatened, assaulted, etc., a superior officer,who was in the discharge of his duty at the time. No matter what theprovocation--and in this case it would be held grossly inadequate--therecould be only one sentence--summary dismissal from the army. Just assure as shooting, if Burleigh preferred charges that boy was ruined.

  And for mortal hours that afternoon it looked as though nothing couldhold Burleigh's hand. The man was livid with wrath. First he would havethe youngster's blood, and then he'd dismiss him. Folsom pointed outthat he couldn't well do both, and by two o'clock it simmered down to ademand for instant court-martial. Burleigh wrote a furious telegram toOmaha. He had been murderously assaulted in his office by LieutenantDean. He demanded his immediate arrest and trial. Folsom pleaded withhim to withhold it. Every possible _amende_ would be made, but no!Indeed, not until nearly four o'clock could Folsom succeed in the lastresort at his disposal. At that hour he had lent the quartermasterfifteen thousand dollars on his unindorsed note of hand, on conditionthat no proceedings whatever should be taken against Mr. Dean, Folsomguaranteeing that every _amende_ should be made that fair arbitrationcould possibly dictate. He had even gone alone to the bank and broughtthe cash on Burleigh's representation that it might hurt his credit toappear as a borrower. He had even pledged his word that the transactionshould be kept between themselves.

  And then there had been a scene with that drunken wretch Newhall. Whatpossible hold had he on Burleigh that he should be allowed to comereeling and storming into the office and demanding money and lots ofmoney--this, too, in the presence of total strangers? And Burleigh hadactually paid him then and there some hundreds of dollars, to thestupefaction of the fellow--who had come for a row. They got him awaysomehow, glad to go, possibly, with his unexpected wealth, and Burleighhad explained that that poor devil, when he could be persuaded to swearoff, was one of the bravest and most efficient officers in the service,that he was well to do, only his money, too, was tied up in mines; butwhat was of more account than anything else, he had devotedly and atrisk of his own life from infection nursed his brother officer Burleighthrough the awful epidemic of yellow fever in New Orleans in '67. He hadsaved Burleigh's life, "so how can I go back on him now," said he.

  All this was the old trader revolving in mind as he hastened to thedepot, all this and more. For two days Marshall Dean and "C" troop hadstood ready for special service. Rumor had it that the old generalhimself had deter
mined to take the field and was on his way to GateCity. It was possibly to escort him and his staff the troop was orderedkept prepared to move at a moment's notice. On Burleigh's desk was abatch of telegrams from Department Headquarters. Two came in duringtheir long conference in the afternoon, and the quartermaster hadlowered his hand long enough from that lurid welt on his sallow cheek tohurriedly write two or three in reply. One Folsom felt sure was sent incipher. Two days before, Burleigh had urged him to protest as vehementlyas he could against the sending of any money or any small detachment upto the Big Horn, and protested he had strenuously. Two days before,Burleigh said it was as bad as murder to order a paymaster or disbursingofficer to the Hills with anything less than a battalion to escort him,and yet within four hours after he was put in possession of nearly allthe paper currency in the local bank a secret order was issued sendingLieutenant Dean with ten picked men to slip through the passes to thePlatte, away from the beaten road, and up to ten P.M. Dean himself waskept in ignorance of his further destination or the purpose of hisgoing. Not until half-past ten was a sealed package placed in his handsby the post quartermaster, who had himself received it from MajorBurleigh and then and there the young officer was bidden by ColonelStevens, as the medium of the department commander, to ride with allhaste commensurate with caution, to ford the Sweetwater above itsjunction with the Platte, to travel by night if need be and hide by dayif he could, to let no man or woman know the purpose of his going or thedestination of his journey, but to land that package safe at Warrior Gapbefore the moon should wane.

  And all this Burleigh must have known when he, John Folsom, shook hishand at parting after tea that evening, and had then gone hopefully todrive his girls to Emory to see his soldier boy, and found him busy withthe sudden orders, received not ten minutes before their coming.Something in Burleigh's almost tremulous anxiety to get that money inthe morning, his ill-disguised chagrin at Folsom's refusal, something inthe eagerness with which, despite the furious denunciation of the momentbefore, he jumped at Folsom's offer to put up the needed money if hewould withhold the threatened charges--all came back to the veteran nowand had continued to keep him thinking during the night. Could it bethat Burleigh stood in need of all this money to cover other sums thathe had misapplied? Could it be that he had planned this sudden sendingof young Dean on a desperate mission in revenge that he could not takeofficially? There were troops at Frayne going forward in strong forcewithin the week. There were other officers within call, a dozen of them,who had done nowhere near the amount of field service performed by Dean.He, a troop commander just in from long and toilsome marches and fromperilous duty, had practically been relieved from the command of histroop, told to take ten men and run the gauntlet through the swarmingSioux. The more Folsom thought the more he believed that he had gravereason for his suspicion, and reason equally grave for calling on thequartermaster for explanation. He reached the corral gate. It waslocked, but a little postern in the stockade let him through. One or twosleepy hands appeared about the stables, but the office was deserted.Straight to Burleigh's quarters he went and banged at the door. It tookthree bangs to bring a servant.

  "I wish to see your master at once. Tell him I am here," and as theservant slowly shambled up the stairs, Folsom entered the sitting-room.A desk near the window was open and its contents littered about. Thedrawers in a heavy bookcase were open and papers were strewn upon thefloor. The folding doors to the dining-room were open. Decanters,goblets, cigar stumps and heel taps were scattered over the table. Guestor host, or both, had left things in riotous shape. Then down came theservant, a scared look in his eyes.

  "The major isn't in, sir. His bed hasn't been occupied, an' thecaptain's gone, too. Their uniforms are there, though."

  Five minutes later, on a borrowed horse, John Folsom was galloping likemad for home. A door in the high board fence at the rear of his houseshot open just as he was darting through the lane that led to thestable. A woman's form appeared in the gap--the last thing that he sawfor a dozen hours, for the horse shied violently, hurling the riderheadlong to the ground.