CHAPTER XXIV.
THE GRASP OF THE LAW.
To a man of Mr. Blake's temperament the next few days were hard to bear.He was worried half to death, and yet, when Mrs. Turner saw anopportunity, and with a suggestive glance at his lean legs,sympathetically inquired "if he wasn't afraid he'd lose _all_ hisflesh," he was fully able to appreciate the feminine dexterity andmalice of the allusion. His quick wit could have suggested a deservedrepartee; but even in his misery Blake would say no wounding word to alady of the regiment. He had good reason to take very little comfort inher, however, as an exponent of the regimental feeling on which the --thhad prided itself. Mrs. Turner was far too voluble on the subject of theawful disgrace that had been brought on their good name by this fearfultragedy, and while she hoped and prayed Mr. Ray might be innocent, itwas evident that she was far from believing it a possibility. Just nowher time was taken up with Mrs. Whaling and the infantry officers, forthere was a blockade at number 11. The ladies had twice asked to beexcused when Mrs. Whaling and Mrs. Turner called. Mrs. Truscott wasfeeling unable to see any one, said the servant, but Mrs. Stannard waswith her.
But Blake had expected nothing better of Mrs. Turner, and attachedlittle importance to her opinion. What had stung him to the quick wasthe sight of Ray's suffering when that note came back to him refused. Hewas amazed at Mrs. Truscott, for to his masculine mind and to Ray's wornand wearied senses only one construction of her conduct wasapparent,--she believed him guilty, and shrank from his note as shewould from his blood-stained hand. Of that desolate night neither he norRay could ever be brought to speak thereafter. Blake sat for hours bythe bedside of his stricken friend listening in helpless misery andwrath to the occasional changing of the sentries, and watching, as asorrowing mother might watch, Ray's wordless suffering. Most of thenight he lay with his face buried in his arms; but Blake could see bythe clinching hand, the shudders that often shook his frame, theconstant, nervous tapping of his foot beneath the coverlet, that he waswide awake,--alive to all his sorrows. The doctor had come andprescribed sedatives, and promised to come again if he did not sleep.Ray had silently taken the medicine, and for one instant Blake hadcaught sight of the face that was now dear to him as any brother's. Hethrew himself on his knees and tried to draw the hands away as Ray onceagain turned to the wall.
"For God's sake, Billy," he wellnigh sobbed, "don't turn from me so!There ain't a man in all the --th could believe it of you. What need youcare for what a nervous woman thinks?"
But Ray only pressed his hand a moment, and simply said,--
"I'll come round all right--after a while. Don't worry, old fellow."
But he hadn't "come round." At midnight Blake decided he must have adrink, and he offered Ray some whiskey, thinking to benefit him in someway. Ray heard, and said nothing, but put out his hand and gently pushedit away, shaking his head, and this capped the climax of Blake'sperplexity. At one o'clock, seeing that Ray was still wide awake, he haddecided to go and fetch the doctor. He was fearful of the effect of thislong mental strain, but Ray seemed to divine his thoughts, and in avoice so soft and patient as to melt Blake's raging into tears, hebegged him not to disturb any one. "I've got you, Blake; what do I wantof a doctor?"
Along towards morning Blake dragged in his buffalo-robes, and spreadingthem on the floor by the bedside, soon dropped into a sleep of utterexhaustion. When he awoke Ray was standing at the window, cleanlyshaved, dressed in his newest and neatest undress uniform, and listeningcalmly to Mr. Warner, who, in a voice plainly showing his agitation, wassaying something that brought Blake to his feet with a single bound. Awarrant had been issued as the natural result of the inquest, theofficers of the law had come out from town, and it was the commandingofficer's order that he be turned over to the custody of the civilauthorities.
Blake would have burst into a fury of invective and denunciation, butRay's hand restrained him. Still weak from his unhealed wound, fromrecent illness, from mental agitation and sleeplessness, Blake thoughthe never saw Ray so brave, so strong, as when he made his reply.
"It was my expectation to see the commanding officer this morning, Mr.Warner, as my dress indicates. Since he remands me to the charge of thecivil authorities, what I had to say to him must be said to them. Ishall be ready as soon as I can change to civilian dress."
And so, with only Blake to help stow away the few books and papers hedesired to lock in his trunk,--for even faithful Hogan had beenforbidden to enter the room,--Ray quietly made his preparations, and ina few minutes stood arrayed in a business suit that had been made forhim years before, and was decidedly out of fashion. A carriage haddriven to his door, and two heavily-built men were lounging at the gate.Blake, wild with nervousness and wrath, was making slow progress withhis dressing, and Ray took from him the little hand-bag he wasbunglingly striving to pack.
"I'll do this, Blake. You go on with your dressing. Of course Iunderstand you mean to go in with me; but now let me say a word. I havehad plenty of time to think, and this is just what I want, what I musthave. Nothing short of a full trial can satisfy me now; and as for beinghanded over to the civil authorities,--well, is it any worse than what Ihave had to bear _here_?"
"By heaven! but there'll come a day of reckoning for that cold-blooded,soulless, bowelless, old block in the headquarters office. Just think ofthe kicking he'll get when the --th comes home! But, Ray, what I'mworried about is this,--bail, you know. You can't stay there in jail,and I don't know any of these local plutocrats----"
"I've thought of all that. You are to ask _no_ one. If I were out onbail I would have to come back _here_, and in all the world there is nospot where I have known such misery. I prefer the jail at Cheyenne tosuch freedom as this has been at Russell. In a few days my sister willreach me, and then we'll see. Now hurry, I want to get away beforeguard-mounting."
In a few minutes Blake was ready, and Ray told him to call in theofficers. They entered the room, and the first one, as he did so, by aninstinct which he could not himself explain, took off his hat as hecaught sight of Ray standing quietly at the window; his followers,though evidently unused to such a display, followed suit. The leaderbegan to read his warrant, but Ray raised his hand and smilingly checkedhim.
"Never mind it, my friend; it is all in due form, no doubt. You broughthandcuffs, I suppose?"
And the man was already fumbling in his left pocket for them. Ray wenton in the same quiet tone,--
"You won't need them, so keep them in your pocket. I am glad to go withyou now if you are ready."
And the officer, who, like every man in Cheyenne, had heard all aboutthe night ride that saved Wayne's command, and respected the "youngfeller" that made it, was glad to find an awkward question put out ofhis way. He had reddened with embarrassment, but was grateful to Ray fortaking the trouble off his mind. As they left the house, and poor Hogan,looking over the banisters up-stairs, broke into an Irish wail of grief,and the corporal of the guard instinctively brought his left hand up tothe shoulder in a salute that made his musket ring, a casual observerwould have said that Mr. Ray was showing his visitors to theircarriage. The door shut with a snap, the horses started with a crack ofthe whip, and in another moment the silent quartette were whirled awaythrough the east gate before anybody "up the row" was fully aware ofwhat was going on.
Meantime, there had been a night of misery elsewhere in the garrison.Mrs. Stannard had asked permission of the officer of the day to go toRay with the doctor at nine o'clock; the officer of the day said hewould go and see the colonel and let her know. He went, but did notreturn. At ten o'clock Mrs. Stannard wrote a note to the colonel, andthat punctilious soldier replied through his adjutant at half-past ten.He was very sorry, but for several reasons he was compelled to refuseall applications to see Mr. Ray until the morrow. Mrs. Stannard in herindignation could hardly find words to thank Mr. Warner for the courtesyhe personally displayed in the matter. She sent a servant to thecorporal of the guard to ask him to say to Mr. Blake that she desiredearnestly to see
him a moment; the corporal said he would as soon as hehad posted the next sentry; but he forgot it until long after eleven,owing to an excitement over in the band quarters, and then Blake thoughtit best to wait until morning, and so it happened that one woman whoseheart was full of faith in and sympathy for Ray was balked of her desireto send him full assurance of her thought for him. She could not sleep,however, and at midnight walked alone down the row and asked the soldierat the gate to give this little note for Ray to the sentinel within, butthe man came sadly and respectfully back. The sentry dare not pass itin: it was against his orders. She looked wistfully at the dim lightshowing through the curtains of the front room, but turned wearily away.A dim light was burning, too, in Mrs. Truscott's room up the row, andshe tapped softly at the door, thinking that, like herself, they mightbe still awake; but no answer came, and, at last, she went to her ownlonely quarters. Oh, how she longed for her brave, blunt, outspoken Lucethat night! He could find a way of helping Ray, and would do it despiteall the official trammels that the post commander could devise. She wassick at heart, but next door lay a woman whose unrest was greater still,whose trouble seemed more than she could bear. Mrs. Truscott had arrivedat the conclusion before ten o'clock that night that she was the mostmiserable woman on the face of the globe.
Jack's letter arriving the day previous was as kind, as well expressed,and as thoughtful a screed as ever mortal husband penned, but, beinglike other husbands, only mortal, he had failed to bring about the exacteffect which was intended. Whether this was his fault or hers could notbe determined entirely by an inspection of a copy of the letter, sinceletters may be read with a thousand different inflections, and the mostpassionate heart-offering be made to sound like a torrent of sarcasm.Perhaps it is neither here nor there whose fault it was. Grace read theletter with burning self-reproach. It was the second time he had hadreason to find fault with her. True, she had acted as she supposed forthe best, and after consultation with Mrs. Stannard. Mrs. Stannard'sletter was to go by the next mail and explain the whole thing to themajor, who, if he deemed advisable, would carry everything to Truscott;but, as we have seen, that explanatory letter had never reached theregiment. It, with bags full of other letters, was lying in the wagonsat Goose Creek, while the --th was on the chase away to the Yellowstone,and Grace had the misery of believing that Jack's last thought of her ashe rode off to battle was that she had had some sentimental scene withRay, had been surprised in the midst of it, and had concealed it fromhim. She had spent a distracted afternoon, had written Jack page afterpage, in which amid tears and kisses she had recorded her determinationnever to let another man see her alone an instant, never to receive anote of any kind from Ray or anybody else, never to _speak_ to a man ifshe could help it; she hated them all,--all but one, whom she hadwronged and deceived, and whom she adored and worshipped now, and heavenonly knows what all! She felt comforted somehow when she had slippedthat letter into the box at the adjutant's office late that night, andhad gone so soundly asleep that she might not have known of the murderuntil morning but for Marion. And then, that next afternoon,--that_very_ next afternoon, after she had written all her impulsive,wifelike, loving promises to Jack, what should come but a note from Rayto be delivered privately to her. Let any young wife of less than ayear's disenchantment put herself in Mrs. Truscott's place and say whatshe would have done. Of course, dear madam, I hear you say, _vousautres_, "She needn't have made such a fool of herself! She might haveexplained or--something!" I quite agree with you. That is what all ofus think who have survived the delirium of the honeymoon, that _miellede la lune-acy_ which all of us must encounter as our children do themeasles; but, you see, Mrs. Truscott was not yet through with it, andwhat is more, I have heard you remark on several occasions that she wasan awfully weak sort of a heroine and would make Jack wretched yet.Bless your womanly hearts! I never pretended that she was a Zenobia, ora Jeanne la Pucelle, or a Susan B. Anthony. She was absurd, if you will,but she was utterly in love with her husband, as Mrs. Turner said, andthought far more of him than the rest of mankind put together, which ismore than some of you can say, though I'm bound to admit that she hadbetter reason than most of you, _placens uxor mea_ frankly included.
She had rushed up-stairs for a fresh burst of tears, and presentlyMarion, all love and sympathy, came to see her, and the result of thatinterview complicated matters in a way that baffles description. So farfrom upholding her course, Miss Sanford had looked first grave, thenfrightened, then indignant. In plain words she told her that at such atime, when the man who had saved her life,--saved her honor,--showedhimself her best friend, her husband's best friend, stood charged with afoul crime of which she well knew him to be guiltless, and had sent hera simple note that could have no possible purpose other than to say thatnow, at last, he might, to save his own name, have to tell of Gleason'sfiendish conduct towards her--to refuse it, to send it back--"Oh, Grace,Grace, you _don't_ mean you could have done _that_! Oh, it wasmonstrous! it was shameful!"
And Marion Sanford had rushed into her own room, banged--yes, _banged_the door, locked it, put a chair against it, would have moved thewashstand up against it, but her strength gave out, and she hurledherself upon the bed in a tempest of passionate tears.
Ah, well! even now--ten years after--it is no easy thing to write ortell of those days. It was part of our purpose to go around the garrisonand show how other people looked at the matter, but it may be as well tosay that, except Blake, Warner, and the surgeon, every officer thoughtRay guilty. So, too, did most of the men except over in the bandquarters, where there was the excitement that night. It was caused bythe snare drummer, a pugnacious young Celt, who burst in upon hiscomrades at eleven o'clock with a loud defiance of "doughboy" justice,and an oath that he know'd the man as shot Gleason and suspicioned Ray,and he'd have him at the gallows yet.
Reporters and special correspondents had been at the fort interviewingeverybody who would talk and, after the manner of their kind, making thedumb speak in a way that would put to the blush the miracles of holywrit. There seemed but one theory among those in authority,--that Raywas guilty. This was duly heralded to an eager public, and the eveningextra and the morning journals in columns of detail had prepared allminds for the culprit's coming. A crowd that blocked the street hadgathered in front of the building in which were located the offices ofthe marshal, the sheriff, and other legal magnates, and Ray's pale, sadface looked out upon a host of curious eyes, in which his own, brave andunflinching, caught not one gleam of sympathy. Deadwood Dick, a ruffianwho had murdered a soldier for his money, went in through that door-waya fortnight before amid many shouts of encouragement and the buoyantreflection that no local jury had yet found a verdict of guilty againsta citizen of Wyoming where the offence committed was against the peaceor property of Uncle Sam. But a jury that would triumphantly acquit theself-styled "Scourge of Sandy Bottom" on the ground of temporaryinsanity would be apt to look less leniently upon one of those swells atthe fort. Had there been a man to raise the _a la lanterne_ of rejoicingdemocracy,--had not the murdered man been himself one of the officialclass, Blake and his revolver would probably have stood alone betweenthe accused and lynching. As it was, but for the one faithful comrade ofall who had loved and believed in him, realizing it all, yet calm, sad,and self-possessed, Ray stood at the bar of justice practicallyfriendless.
It was early when Mrs. Stannard came down from her room after an almostsleepless night. First call for guard-mounting was just sounding as shestepped out on the piazza and noted little knots of men here and there,all gazing intently towards the east gate, where the dust as of arecently passing vehicle was settling back to earth. She opened Mrs.Truscott's door, and saw Marion Sanford slowly descending the stairs,her face very white and wan. Out in the dining-room could be heardvoluble voices, weeping, and Irish expletives of mingled wrath andgrief,--and then, with eyes dilating with horror, with streaming hair,with pallid lips and a ghastly look in her white face, Grace Truscott,clad in a morning wrapper, came rush
ing through the little parlor intothe hall, gave one glance at her girl friend, and then, stretching forthher arms, she cried,--
"Oh, Maidie, Maidie! It's all my doing. They--they've ca-carried him offto jail!"
And then prone upon the stairs she threw herself, burying her face fromsight of all.