CHAPTER XV.
Ten miles out to the northwest the stream that curved and twisted aroundthe low _mesa_ of Fort Worth burst its way through a ridge in thefoot-hills, and, brawling and dashing at its rocky banks, rolled outover the lowlands, foaming at the mouth with the violence of its ownstruggles. Far in the heart of the hills it had its source in severalclear, cold springs, while the deep hoarded snows of the harsh wintersfed and swelled it in the springtide until it reached the proportions ofa short-lived torrent. Huge heaps of uprooted trees and tangledbrushwood it deposited along its shores as far down even as the fort,but nothing was carried below the sutler's. "Ahl's fish that comes toFuller's net," said Sergeant McHugh, "an' sorra a sliver av a sardineiver got away from it." Once in a while, after unusual flood, theflotsam and jetsam of the creek would be diversified with wagon-bodies,ranch roofs, camp equipage, and the like, for "the Range," as this oddupheaval was locally termed, was a famous place for prospectors.
A beautiful stream was the Blanca within its mountain gates, but anashen pallor overspread it after its fight for freedom. It was never thesame stream after it got away. It danced and sparkled past pretty nooksand shaded ravines among the hills, but issued from the gateway, likethe far-famed Stinking River of the Bannocks and Shoshones ofNorthwestern Wyoming, a metamorphosed stream. It had a bad reputation.It was solely responsible for the fact that Worth had been located awayout here in the bald, bleak, open prairie country, instead of amongthose bold and beautiful heights to the northwest. "The very spot for amilitary post!" said the officers of the earlier scouting parties, asthey camped within the gates in the midst of a lonely glade. "Lovely,"said the Texan guides, in reply, "so long as you don't mind beingdrowned out every spring." It seems that snows would melt of a sudden,tremendous thunderstorms burst among the crags, and flood and deluge thevalleys, for the Blanca could not with sufficient swiftness dischargeits swollen torrents through that narrow gorge. Beautiful it lay,ordinarily, as a summer sea, and the bridle-path that wound through thepass was a favorite route for picnic-parties from Worth. Butstorm-clouds would rise and turn summer seas to raging water-demons, andthen the flood that tore through the gates would sweep all before it,like the unloosed waters of the Conemaugh that awful May of '89.
From Worth to the White Gate the prairie road wound hard and firm, andbefore the late excitement several picnic-, riding-, and driving-partieshad paid their spring-time visits. It was quite the thing, too, for suchmaids and matrons as were good horsewomen to ride thither in thelengthening afternoons. Mrs. Frazier had consulted Collabone as to theearliest date on which Barclay could stand a long drive, as she wishedto give a little _fete_ in his honor, and had planned a picnic toBarrier Rock, a romantic spot just within the gorge. Collabone hadreferred her to his assistant, and that younger officer consulted hispatient before committing himself to reply.
"I don't care to ride in an ambulance, doctor, but I do long to get insaddle. There's no strain on that leg below the knee. Can't you let memount from my back porch here and amble around these fine morningsbefore people are up?" And "Funnybone" assented. He and Barclay rode outtogether, very cautiously, next morning at reveille, and, finding hispatient benefited by the gentle exercise on such a perfect mount aseither of those Kentucky bays, the doctor said, "Go again; only rideslowly, and mount and dismount only at the back porch, where you haveonly to lower yourself into saddle. Be sure to avoid any shock or jar,then you're all right."
Hannibal and Mrs. Winn's domestic were the only persons besidesBarclay's orderly to see the start, but had the domestic herself beenalone it would have been sufficient to insure transmission of the news.First she told her mistress. Later she learned from Hannibal that thecaptain was going out to stables next morning the same way, and hadordered coffee to be ready at reveille. This, too, was conveyed toLaura, and that evening she sent for the veteran stable sergeant of thetroop to which her husband was temporarily attached, and asked him ifRobin Hood, a pretty little chestnut she used to ride, was still in thestable. He was, and would Mrs. Winn be pleased to ride? The sergeantwould be glad to see the lady in saddle again. Her handsome side-saddlewas, with her bridle, always kept in perfect order, but for severalmonths Mrs. Winn had taken no exercise that way.
"I'm going to ride at reveille, sergeant," she confided to the faithfulsoldier. "It's so long since I mounted, I wish to try once or twice whenpeople can't see me." And Sergeant Burns had promised that as soon asthe sentry would release him after gun-fire Robin Hood should be onhand. He'd be proud to come with him himself.
True to his word, Burns was up at four-fifteen; Robin was groomed andfed and watered and saddled in style, and ready to start the moment thesentry was relieved by the morning gun-fire from the imposition of theorder to "allow no horse to be taken out between taps and reveille,except in the presence of a commissioned officer or the sergeant of theguard." The sight that met the sergeant's eyes as he cantered aroundback of the row of officers' quarters, leading Robin by the rein, wasone he never forgot.
With pallid face, down which the blood was streaming from a cut at thetemple, Captain Barclay was seated on the steps, striving to bind ahandkerchief about his lower leg. Old Hannibal, forgetful of the dignityof the Old Dominion, was actually running down the back road, in haste,it seems, to summon the doctor. On the porch, amid some overturnedchairs, two athletic, sinewy young men were grappling, one of them,Lieutenant Brayton, almost lifting and carrying the other, LieutenantWinn, towards his own doorway, both ashen gray as to their faces, bothfearfully excited, both struggling hard, both with panting breathstriving to speak with exaggerated calm.
On this scene, wringing her hands, sobbing with fright and misery,flitting first to Barclay's side, then back towards her straininghusband, saying wild and incoherent things to both, was Laura Winn.Burns had the frontiersman's contempt for a chimney-pot hat, and neverseemed one so incongruous as this,--her riding head-gear which in themidst of her wailings Mrs. Winn clasped to her heaving breast. To makematters more complicated, the neighborhood was waking up, domestics and"strikers" were gazing from back porches farther down the row, andBlythe's big hounds had taken to barking furiously, until that bulky andbewildered soldier himself came forth, damned them into their kennel,then hastened in consternation to the aid of Barclay. By this time, too,Winn had succeeded in making his wife hear him, and was ordering herwithin-doors; but like some daft creature she hovered, moaning andwringing her hands and staring at Barclay, whose eyes were now beginningto close, and whose form was slowly swaying.
"In God's name, man, what's happened?" demanded Blythe, as he seized andsteadied the toppling form. "Why, you're bleeding like an ox. Your bootis running over. Drop those horses, Burns, and run for the doctor,lively," he urged. Needing no further authority, the sergeant turned hischarges loose and scurried after Hannibal.
"Help me carry Barclay in-doors," was the next word. With one warningorder to Winn to keep away, young Brayton broke loose from him and ranto assist. As though half stupefied, Winn heavily moved a pace or two,then sank upon a bench and stared. His wife stood gazing in horror atthe trail of blood that followed the three men into the hall, thenfaltered over to where the young soldier sat, moaning, "Oh, Harry! Oh,Harry!" Reaching his side, she laid her hand upon his shoulder and badehim look at her,--speak to her. He rose slowly to his feet, his faceaverted, shook himself free, and, with a shudder, but never uttering aword in reply, passed into his dark doorway. The nurse-girl, wide-eyed,met him at the threshold. "Go to your mistress," he said, hoarsely. Hestumbled on through the house, unslung the revolver belted to his waist,and laid it on the hall table; reconsidered; buckled it firmly on, and,pulling his hat down over his eyes, drew back the door-bolt and lethimself out upon the front piazza. Crossing the parade, he saw the redsash of the officer of the day. De Lancy was dragging sleepily back fromhis reveille visit to the guard, but the sight of Winn aroused him, andhe quickened his pace and came striding to him.
"Hullo, lad," he hailed, full twenty paces aw
ay, "what luck? GotMarsden, the sergeant tells me.--Why---- Good God! what's happened?"
"Nothing," said Winn, "except, perhaps, I've killed Barclay. Take me tothe colonel."
"You're daft, man!" said De Lancy, instantly, while an awful fear almostchecked the beating of his heart. Then, seizing Winn by the arm, "Whatd'ye mean?" he asked.
"Go and see," said Winn, stupidly, as he buried his face in his arms amoment, then stretched them out full length, and, tossing his head back,shut his eyes as though to blot out a hateful sight. "Go," he continued;"then come and take me to the colonel."
And De Lancy started on the run and collided with Brayton at the door.
"For God's sake, go and hurry up 'Funnybone,'" moaned the youngster."Here's Barclay bleeding to death."
De Lancy ran his best: guardsmen across the parade stopped and stared,men in shirt-sleeves rushed out on the barrack stoops and stood andgazed, and a corporal, with rifle trailed, came running over to see whatwas amiss, just as the junior doctor, in cap and overcoat, trousers andslippers, came bolting out of his hallway and flying up the path. Infront of De Lancy's one slipper went hurtling back through midair, butthe doctor rushed on in stocking-foot. The corporal picked up the shoeand followed. No one seemed to look for the moment at Winn, who turnedslowly back to the pathway and like a blind man seemed groping his waytowards Frazier's. The officer of the day passed him by on the run,following at the doctor's heels, with never another look at him. Menseemed to think only of Barclay. Was it credible that an officer and agentleman, as Winn had been regarded, could purposely have dealt thathonored soldier a mortal blow, unless--unless--but who could find wordsto frame the thought? Once within Brayton's hallway, De Lancy turned andslammed shut the door, for others were coming on the run from far acrossthe parade. Over at the guard-house the men had started for theirbreakfast, but hung there, clustered about the sentry-post, gazing overthe criss-cross plat of the parade, and muttering their conjectures asto the cause of the trouble. The sight of Lieutenant Winn wandering ondown the row, turning from time to time, halting as though uncertainwhat he ought to do, while every other officer was running to the otherend of the row, was something they could not understand.
Then Mrs. Winn, in riding-habit, came suddenly forth upon her piazza,and, gazing wildly up and down, caught sight of her husband, now somefifty paces away along the gravel walk. Stretching forth her arms tohim, she began to call aloud, "Harry! Harry! please come back!" He neverturned. She ran down the steps and out to the gate and called him,louder, louder, so that they could hear the voice all over the garrisonin the sweet, still morning air; but on he went, doggedly now, fasterand faster. She gathered up her clinging skirts in one hand, and,pleading still, followed after. Not until he had mounted the steps atthe colonel's did the young officer turn again; then with uplifted handand arm he stood warning her back. Something in the attitude, somethingin the stern, quivering white face, seemed at last to bring to her therealization of the force of his unspoken denunciation.
"Harry! Harry!" she cried. "Oh, come and let me tell you. You don'tunderstand! I meant no wrong! I was only going for a ride,--not withhim,--not with him, Harry!" And so, pleading, weeping, she followedalmost to the colonel's gate before the door was opened from within andWinn was swallowed up in the darkness of the hall.
By this time some inkling of the trouble had been borne to Collabone,ever an early riser. As he came hastily forth from his quarters, thefirst thing he saw was the drooping form of Mrs. Winn, weeping at thecolonel's gate. Seizing her arm with scant ceremony, he whirled herabout and bore her homeward, she sobbing out her story as they spedalong, he listening with clouded, anxious face.
"Go back to your room, Mrs. Winn," he said, so solemnly and warninglyshe could not but heed. "Go to your baby. I'll go first next door, thenI'll find your husband." She shrank within the hallway, and threwherself, weeping miserably, upon the sofa in the pretty parlor,--theparlor where she had so fascinated Hodge. There the sound of her baby'swailing reached her in an interval of her own, and she called to thenurse to do something to comfort that child. There was no answer. "MissPurdy," with clattering tongue and eager eyes and ears and half a dozensympathizing neighbors, was out in rear of the house, deaf to demands ofeither mother or child; there Collabone found her, and sent herscurrying within before the fury of his wrath.
"Now, this will not do, Mrs. Winn," he said, as, following, he liftedthe moaning woman from the sofa. "You must go to your room,--to yourchild, as I told you. Captain Barclay will soon be all right. He haslost much blood, but the hemorrhage is checked. Now I will go for Mr.Winn. It's a bad business, but don't make it worse by anymore--nonsense." With that he not too gently pushed her up the first fewstairs, then turned abruptly and hastened away to Frazier's.
In the hall he found that gray-haired, gray-faced veteran listeningstupidly to Winn.
"I don't understand, sir," he was saying. "You struck him--with what?"
"I don't know," said Winn. "They say I've killed him. I have come tosurrender myself." His eyes were as dull and leaden as his heart.
"It's not so bad," burst in the doctor. "Barclay fell or was knockedover a chair, and the jar reopened his wound. He fainted from loss ofblood, but it's checked now."
"But--how?--why?" the colonel was stammering. Over the balustrade aloftpopped one head night-capped, and two with touseled hair, and blanchedfaces were framed in all three, and gasping words were heard, andwhisperings as of awe-stricken, news-craving souls. "Where did thisoccur, and when did you return, sir?"
"On the back porch of my--of our quarters, colonel,--when I got back,just before gun-fire."
"And what possible excuse or explanation have you, sir? What couldwarrant such--such conduct?" demanded Frazier, as though at a loss forsuitable words. Yet, even as he asked, his wife's predictions reassertedthemselves, and he glanced uneasily aloft.
"Come into the parlor, colonel," implored Collabone. "Say no more here.Let me explain. It's all a wretched mistake." And, half pushing, halfpulling, but all impelling, the doctor succeeded in hustling the postcommander and the inert, unresisting subaltern within the parlor. Then,to the infinite disgust of the colonel's wife, he shut--yes,slammed--the door.
A quarter of an hour later, in close arrest, Lieutenant Winn returned tohis own roof and locked himself in his den. Mrs. Winn, kneeling at thekeyhole, pleaded ten minutes for admission, all in vain; then she senther maid for Dr. Collabone and Mrs. Faulkner, and went straightway tobed.