CHAPTER XXIII.
The week was closing, the third of a mournful little series ofseven-day happenings, the like of which Almy had never beforeexperienced, and it was hoped might never know again. "The Moon of ManyWoes," as later it transpired the Indians had named the night goddessof November, was a thing of the past. A new queen had come, hoveringlike silvery filament over the black barrier of the Mazatzal in a skycloudless and glinting with myriad points of fire. The nights were coldand still, the days soft yet brilliant in the blaze of an unshroudedsun. An almost Sabbath-like calm hovered over the valley, for evensignal smokes had ceased to blur the horizon. Not a hostile Indian hadbeen heard of since the coming of Freeman's couriers. The brawling gangof "greaser" gamblers had stolen away from the "ghost ranch." Even theghost himself seemed to walk no more. Something had happened to callthe firm of Munoz y Sanchez elsewhere, and Dago, darkly glowering andscowling about the store, where day and night the bookkeeper satabsorbed in accounts and letters, muttered many a _carramba_, and hadeven been goaded into explosive _carrajo_, because a defraudedsoldiery, thirsting for revenge or restitution, persisted in connectinghim with these skilled but quite unprincipled experts of the alluringgame of monte, whereas Dago hated the sight of Munoz, of whom he stoodin dread.
But while all men knew the "greasers" had gone, and many wondered why,and none at Almy could tell, there was abundant reason to believe theywould soon reappear. Much news had been coming in--news from Crook'scolumn along the Mogollon and the eastward foothills--good news, too,for far and wide the Indians were heeding his Gospel of Peace, which,tersely translated, read: "Come in and be fed. Stay out and be fought,"and by scores the mountain warriors, with their queerly assortedfamilies, were flocking to the San Carlos and Apache reservations, andat last there seemed promise of a general burial of the hatchet. Atlast there was hope, wrote Stannard, that the Bennett boys would berestored. Good news, too, and stacks of mail, had come from Prescottand from far distant homes, but the bit of news that appealed to allbut a chosen few at Camp Almy, as by all means the most important andwelcome, was "The paymaster's coming!" The paymaster, indeed, afterweeks of detention, was scheduled to be at the post by nightfall of thecoming Tuesday or Wednesday, and Wednesday would usher in the old-timesaturnalia of the south-western frontier, the joy of the laundress,soldier and sutler, the dread of every post and company commander fromHer Majesty's dominion to the Mexican line--Pay Day.
And stacks of letters and some few papers and magazines--by no mannerof means all that were hopefully started--had come to the Archers andMrs. Stannard and the exiles of official Almy, and stacks of letterswere there for the slowly bettering young soldier lying helpless underthe commander's roof, faithfully tended and devotedly nursed, theobject of the fondest hope and love and prayer--Lieutenant HaroldWillett, on detached service from "the Lost and Strayed," asaide-de-camp to the commanding general, Department of Arizona, whonever yet since the day he left Vancouver Barracks had set eyes on him.Most of these letters, tied in tape, stood piled like bricks upon themantel-shelf in the darkened quarters. Some few of them, in femininesuperscription and bearing the Portland postmark, Dr. Bentley had seenfit to segregate and set aside. They had been placed for safe keepingin the hands of Mrs. Stannard, of whom, said Bentley, "there are notten women of her sense in the whole service," which, said LieutenantBlake, of Camp McDowell, when told of the fact, "is a most egregiousexaggeration," and no woman there knew just what he meant. Blake at themoment was riding boot to boot with his captain, Freeman, for betweenthe two there dwelt an attachment and understanding rarely seen betweencaptain and subaltern, but Freeman guffawed at his junior's whimsicalremark, and told it, just to try the effect on three of the fourheroines then quartered at the camp. No one of their number was therewho did not envy Mrs. Stannard her place in public estimation, but noone of them, could they have known, would have envied her the plight inwhich she found herself--joint custodian, with Bentley, of HalWillett's unconscious confidences--compelled to see a young girl'srapturous love lavished upon a man so saturated with the incense offeminine idolatry as to be more than apt to underrate the pricelessboon of a pure woman's heart-whole devotion.
They had clipped short, and shaved, much of the hair from the back andleft side of Harold's handsome head, where fell the blows that hadstunned him, but as those severe contusions healed, and it transpiredthat the skull was sound, the doctor's main anxiety was transferred tothe gunshot wound, which might well be serious in view of the amount ofanatomy traversed, yet even that was healing, healthfully, steadily. "Abeautiful constitution has this damned young Lovelace," said Bentley toBucketts, in whom he had long since found a kindred spirit. "Just lookat that!" and with a nod over his pipe stem, he indicated the bunch ofletters forwarded from the Columbia. "Why don't you"--began Bucketts,but dropped it--he knew it was impossible. He knew, moreover, that whenboth mother and daughter have set their hearts on a single man,paterfamilias is powerless. "The whole family's infatuated," saidBentley, "and in his whole handsome carcase there isn't half the man inWillett that there is in that dried up little chap yonder."
"The dried up little chap yonder," dismounting slowly and carefullyfrom one of Turner's staidest troop horses, was the unappreciatedHarris, returning from one of the first tentatives in saddle. Daysbefore this, had he been permitted, Harris would have been up and away,he cared little whither. He wished to shake the dust of Almy from hisdeerskins, get back to the mountains and the war-path, get over theMazatzal to McDowell and 'Tonio--'Tonio, his faithful friend andfellow-scout, now languishing presumably behind prison bars, awaitingthe orders of the Chief of Chieftains in his case, for all pleadingswere vain. The last barrier to belief in his guilt had gone with therecovery of the revolver and the exposure of the cock-and-bull story,said Archer, by which he had humbugged Freeman and Blake into believinghe had really been slashed in hand-to-hand fight with Tonto Apaches.The first name spoken by Willett, after the fever had left him, andspeedily he began to recover sense, was that of 'Tonio--'Tonio who hadshot him.
It had affected Harris to the point, almost, of relapse. He stillfought vehemently against the story, declaring 'Tonio too high-minded,in spite of Indian blood and tradition, for a dirty bit ofassassination. The brutal and bungling way in which the thing was done,said he, was enough to prove that 'Tonio had no hand in it. Thus couldhe talk to Bentley, at least, and even to Bucketts, who would listen,though he would not lie, and say he thought Harris right.
None the less there had been amaze at McDowell when Archer's demand wasreceived. 'Tonio had been taken to hospital on his arrival, kindly,skilfully cared for by the young post surgeon, while the couriers hadbeen sent on to Prescott. 'Tonio's wound was a knife slash in the leftarm, and another in the side. He had lost much blood and had littleleft to build up with. He was too weak to attempt escape, wrote MajorBrown, the post commander, even if he knew he was under arrest, whichhe did not. "If I have to confine him it shall not be with such cattleas that half cad, half coyote, Sanchez," and Harris, being veryimproperly told of this missive, could almost have walked the wearymiles to McDowell to fall upon the major's neck and bless him. "Thevery fact that 'Tonio was cut and slashed conflicts with every theoryin the case," said he. "Who would have cut and slashed him but Willett,if 'Tonio attacked him, and Willett had no knife."
And still Camp Almy clung to the belief that 'Tonio was HaroldWillett's assailant and would-be murderer. Even Bonner, a conservative,had this to say: "Willett admits he struck 'Tonio. What Indian everforgave that affront? He hates Willett as he loves Harris, and such anIndian love is almost as strong as his hate. We have some reason tothink Willett no friend of Harris. 'Tonio went further and thought himan enemy. Couple that with his own grievance and there's more thansufficient motive for his crime."
The topic was too one-sided to be mildly interesting. Moreover, thepaymaster was coming, which overshadowed all minor considerations, andTurner was to take twenty men and meet him midway over to McDowell, andcould have taken fifty
had volunteers been called for, and the garrisonto a man would have offered to sally forth, "with mattock and withspade" to patch up the crazy road that twisted through PicachoPass--anything to get the man and his money to Camp Almy, for "devil acent of four months' pay had the garrison, and more than double that,"said Sergeant Malloy, "is owin' me in I.O.U.'s that they wouldn't takefor a treat at the store."
The night before Turner's fellows were to start, Mr. Harris coming withthe doctor slowly homeward from the mess room and listening again,disgustedly, to arguments against his attempting to ride back with thepaymaster to see 'Tonio at McDowell, the two came suddenly upon Archer,just stepping forth into the pallid moonlight. The general pulled upshort at sight of them, and Harris silently raised his cap, theold-time salutation to the post commander.
"I was just about sending for you, Bentley," began the chief, ascourteously he returned the salutation. "Bella thinks Willett's a bitflighty again, just now. Could you go in a moment? Come and take achair, Harris," he added, as the doctor disappeared from the hallway."We haven't seen you in a coon's age. What's this I hear about yourwanting to go up to McDowell? Bentley says you're not yet strongenough."
"It's to see 'Tonio, sir. I'm about the only friend he has left," andHarris would have ignored the proffered chair, but the general againindicated his wish, which meant compliance.
"He'll need all he can get, I am afraid, my boy," and the answer waskind, even conciliatory. How was he ever going to admit to thisuncompromising young campaigner that he had done him mighty wrong inhis official despatch? Some time the boy must know it. Better know itthrough him, when it could be explained, perhaps condoned. They hadexhausted the 'Tonio subject, so far as was possible between commanderand subaltern. They had never yet talked it as man to man. When theydid it would be on Archer's initiation, not that of Harris. The morethe old soldier studied the young man the better he liked him. The lessthey discussed 'Tonio, the better Harris liked Archer. It was uselesssaying more. Harris silently took the chair at his senior's side andArcher continued:
"If it would contribute to your strength as much as your peace of mind,I'd send you over in the forbidden ambulance, my boy"--how the voicetrembled at the word that so often, so constantly in bygone days, wason his lips!--"but Bentley says 'not yet'--not even for a week, so whatcan an old fellow do?"
"You are all that is kind--to me, general," was the grave answer, "andI hope to persuade Bentley before the paymaster goes back. If I do----"
"If you do--that settles it---- What is it, dear?" he asked, halfrising from his chair. Harris was already on his feet. Lilian, all inwhite, save the belt at her slim waist, stood at the doorway and hadspoken.
"Dr. Bentley asks that you come to him a moment, father. He iswith--Mr. Willett." She saw who stood there by his side, and it was notso easy to say "Harold." Harris, bowing, would have backed from theveranda, but Archer interposed. "No, stay here awhile, lad; I--I wantto talk with you. I'll be back in a moment."
Very possibly he thought he could be. But the moment lengthened. Lilianhad come slowly forth. Something had told her she was neither needednor desired in the room just then. Even her mother, silently, had leftthe bedside and was hovering about the doorway. And now here wasHarris. Lilian had matured a little, and paled not a little, in thesefew days of vigil and anxiety, but she was inexpressibly lovely as shestood and looked wistfully into his face. "You know he isn't quite sowell to-day?" she said. "There's fever again. He craves ice so. Whatwouldn't I--we--give for some? What do you think he called me"--shegave a queer little nervous laugh--"just a moment ago as I was fanninghim?"
Harris did not answer. He would have hazarded "Sanctissima," possibly,as he stood there looking intently into her clear, soft eyes, with alltheir depth of tenderness and trust. Good God! Why should any man haveto have a past, when love such as this was possible? "He called meStella. Mother said he was dreaming of the pet dog he left atVancouver, but his eyes were wide open--looking right up at me."
Harris knew well who Stella was. The name was appended to many a letterand "wire" that came to him during First Class camp, and later, begginghim to tell her of Mr. Willett, and now here was this fair girlvirtually bidding him say he had known a Stella. He ground his teeth ashe turned aside to set a chair for her. There had been others sinceStella, unless all indications lied. What might she not say if she knewthem all?
"_I_ called my mother Topsy and Aunt Ophelia, both, when I was gettingover typhoid and Uncle Tom's Cabin," said he.
"Then Stella was only----" and the blue eyes were searching his.
"Only a--you know I was nearly 'found' in French. What would you callthe parallel to a _nom de plume_? _Nom de chien?_ _Nom de_--somethingvisionary, at all events. He'll be sitting up day after to-morrow andtelling you--all about it."
She stood before him, with those pretty, slender, white hands looselyclasped, the clear, truthful, beautiful eyes looking straight into hissun-tanned, yet pallid face. No man in his time at the Point had everknown Harris to flinch at the truth or dodge an issue. "He is square asthey make 'em," was the verdict of his classmates, and square he hadbeen through his subaltern days, and now to be square meant the dealingto this sweet and trusting girl a blow that, while it might down hisrival, would wreck her happiness. He now had dodged an issue at last,and then came the further trial:
"Mr. Harris, dogs don't write. Harold's talking about Stella's_letters_, and says _you_ get them."
He had dodged. He might as well flinch. The truth he would not tellher. A lie he could not tell her. He did, perhaps, the best he couldfor himself and the worst, perhaps, for her. He acted.
"Don't believe a word of it, Miss Lilian. He's mooning yet."
"Then--there wasn't any girl?--any letters?"
"There's only one girl in creation he cares for."
"But--Stella?" she persisted.
"Never saw his Stella in all my life. What he needs is ice, and I'mgoing to see he gets it."
With that he was gone, deaf to the words of relief the poor child wouldhave spoken--trying to be deaf to the fierce upbraiding of conscience,and failing as he deserved, miserably.
An hour later that evening, with a pack mule, blankets, old newspapersand a brace of cracker boxes, two half-tamed Mohaves were heading forthe heights to the north-east, where water would freeze in the canteensthese December nights, and the rock tanks were nearly solid ice. Twohours later while Harris, nervous, irritable, and filled with namelessself-reproach, was pacing the narrow veranda at the doctor's quarters,there was a stir at the southward end of the post, a sound of hoofbeatsand footfalls, a running to and fro and lighting up at the office. Anorderly came on the jump and banged at the adjutant's door, and Strongshuffled forth in the moonlight and joined other dark forms over athead-quarters. The sentries were calling the midnight hour without, andthe doctor was snoring placidly within. It was barely ten minutesbefore Strong came back, in one of his hurries, and Harris hailed forthe tidings.
"Oh, _you'll_ be glad, I'm betting!" was the answer, half-rueful,half-relieved, for somehow Strong had "taken to" the doctor'sguest--and to doubting his own. "Those galoots at McDowell let up ontheir watch, and 'Tonio's walked off--'gone where the woodbinetwineth'--'Patchie Sanchez with him!"