CHAPTER XV.
But there was little merriment when, five minutes later, the householdhad taken account of stock and realized the extent of their losses.
Maidie's had evidently been the last room visited. The dressing-tableand wardrobe of the opposite chamber--that occupied by Colonel and Mrs.Brent--had been ransacked. The colonel's watch and chain,--too bulky, hesaid, to be worn at dinner in white uniform,--his Loyal Legion and Armyof the Potomac insignia, and some prized though not expensive trinketsof his good wife were gone. Miss Porter's little purse with her modestsavings and a brooch that had been her mother's were missing. And withthese items the skilled practitioner had made good his escape.
On the floor, just under the window in Maidie's room, lay a keen,double-edged knife. The stumps of two or three matches found in thecolonel's apartment and others in Miss Porter's showed that the thiefhad not feared to make sufficient light for his purpose, and from thefloor of Marion's room, close to the bureau, just where it had beendropped when the prowler was alarmed, Miss Porter picked up one of theold-fashioned "phosphors" that ignite noiselessly and burn with but atiny flame.
Marion's porte-monnaie was in the upper drawer, untouched, and suchjewelry as she owned, save two precious rings she always wore, wasstored in her father's safe deposit box in the bank at home. The colonelwas really the greatest loser and declared it served him right, bothprovost-marshal and chief of police having warned him to leave nothing"lying around loose."
At sound of the shots on the Calle Nueva, Brent had sallied forth, and,rushing impetuously into the dimly lighted thoroughfare, had narrowlymissed losing the top of his head as well as his watch, an excitedsentry sending a bullet whizzing into space by way of the colonel's pithhelmet, which prompted the doctor to say in his placid and mosteffective way that more heads had been lost that night than valuables,and one bad shot begat another.
Sentries down towards the barracks, hearing the three or four quickreports, bethought them of the time-honored instructions prescribingthat in case of a blaze, which he could not personally extinguish, thesentry should "shout 'Fire!' discharge his piece, and add the number ofhis post." Sagely reasoning that nothing but a fire could start such arow, or at least that there was sufficient excuse to warrant theirhaving some fun of their own to enliven the dull hours of the night,Numbers 7 and 8 touched off their triggers and yelled "Fire;" 5 and 6,nearer home, followed suit, and in two minutes the bugles were blowingthe alarm all over Ermita and Malate, and rollicking young regulars andvolunteers by the hundred were tumbling out into the street, alleagerness and rejoicing at the prospect of having a lark with the_Bomberos_, the funny little Manila firemen with their funnier littlesquirts on wheels.
It was fully half an hour before the officers could "locate" the originof the alarm and order their companies back to bed, an order mostreluctantly obeyed, for by that time the nearest native fire-company wasaroused and on the way to the scene. Others could be expected in thecourse of the night, and the Manila fire department was something thatafforded the Yankee soldier unspeakable joy. He hated to lose such anopportunity.
But for all his professional calm, Dr. Frank was by no means pleasedwith the excitement attending this episode. For an hour or more officersfrom all over the neighborhood gathered in front of Brent's and had tobe told the particulars, "Billy Ray's daughter" being pronounced theheroine everybody expected her to be, while that young lady herself, nowthat the affair could be called closed, was in a condition bordering onthe electric. "Overwrought and nervous," said Miss Porter, "but laughingat the whole business."
What Frank thought he didn't say, but he cut short Sandy's visit to hissister, and suggested that he go down and tell the assemblage under thefront gallery that they would better return to whist--or whatever gamewas in progress when the alarm was given. The colonel could not invitethem in as matters stood, and they slowly dispersed, leaving only asenior or two and Lieutenant Stuyvesant to question further, forStuyvesant, coming from afar and arriving late, was full of anxiety andconcern.
Despite his temporary escape, circumstances and the civil authorities(now become decidedly military) had thrown him into still furtherassociation with the woman whom he would so gladly have shunned--theimportunate Miss Perkins. He had taken a turn round the block--andrefuge in the English Club--until he thought her disposed of at home andhis carriage returned. He had come across the little equipage, trundlingslowly up and down the street in search of him, had dined withoutappetite and smoked without relish, striving to forget that odiouswoman's hints and aspersions, aimed evidently at the Rays, and had goneto his own room to write when a corporal appeared with the request fromthe captain in charge of the police guard of Ermita to step down to theoffice.
It was much after nine then and the excitement caused by the alarm wasabout over, the troops going back to barracks and presumably to bed. Thecaptain apologized for calling on him that late in the evening, but toldhim a man recognized as Murray, deserter from the cavalry, was secretedsomewhere in the neighborhood, and it was reported that he, Stuyvesant,could give valuable information concerning him. Stuyvesant could anddid, and in the midst of it in came Miss Perkins, flushed, eager, anddemanding to know if that villain was yet caught--"and if not, why not?"
Then she caught sight of Stuyvesant and precipitated herself upon him.That man Murray had hatefully deceived her and imposed upon hergoodness, she declared. She had done _everything_ to help him at thePresidio, and he had promised her a paper signed by all the boys askingthat the P. D. A.'s be recognized as the organization the soldiersfavored, and showed her a petition he had drawn up and was gettingsignatures to by the hundreds. That paper would have insured their beingrecognized by the government instead of those purse-proud Red Crosspeople, and then he had wickedly deserted, after--after--and Stuyvesantcould scarcely keep a straight face--getting fifty dollars from her anda ring that he was going to wear always until he came back fromManila--an officer. Oh, he was a smart one, a smooth one! All thatinside of three days after he got to the Presidio, and then wasarrested, and then, next thing she knew, he had fled,--petition, money,ring, and all.
Another soldier told her the signatures were bogus. And that very nightshe recognized him, spite of his beard, and at sight of her he had cutand run. ("Well he might!" thought Stuyvesant.) And then Miss Perkinsyielded to the strain of overtaxed nerves and had to be conducted home.
She lived but a block or two away, and it was Stuyvesant who had to playescort. The air, unluckily, revived her, and at the gateway she turnedand had this to add to her previous statements.
"You think the Ray people your friends, lieutenant, and I'm not the kindof a woman to see a worthy young man trifled with. You've been goingthere every day and everybody knows it, and knows that you were sentaway to Iloilo in hopes of breaking you of it. That girl's promised inmarriage to that young man who's got himself into such a scrape all onher account. He's here--followed her here to marry her, and if he'sfound he's liable to be shot. Oh, you can believe or not just as youplease, but never say I didn't try to give you fair warning. Know? Why,I know much more about what's going on here than your generals do. _I_have friends everywhere among the boys; _they_ haven't. Oh, very well,if you won't listen!" (For Stuyvesant had turned away in wrath andexasperation.) "But you'd be wiser if you heard me out. I've _seen_ Mr.Foster and had the whole story from his lips. He's been there every day,too, till he was taken sick----"
But Stuyvesant was out of the gate and at last out of hearing, and witha vicious bang to the door, the lady of the P. D. A.'s, so recentlyvictimized by the astute Sackett, retired to the sanctity of her ownapartment, marvelling at the infatuation of men.
And yet, though Stuyvesant had angrily striven to silence the woman andhad left her in disgust, her words had not failed of certain weight.Again he recalled with jealous pain the obvious indifference with whichhis approaches had been received. True, no well-bred girl would be morethan conventionally civil to a stranger even under the exceptionalcircum
stances of their meeting on the train. True, she was cordial,bright, winsome, and all that when at last he was formally presented;but so she was to everybody. True, they had had many--at least _he_had had many--delightful long interviews on the shaded deck of theSacramento; but though he would have eagerly welcomed a chance toindulge in sentiment, never once did Marion encourage such a move. Onthe contrary, he recalled with something akin to bitterness that whenhis voice or words betrayed a tendency towards such a lapse, she becameinstantly and palpably most conventional.
Now, in the light of all he had heard from various sources, what couldhe believe but that she was interested, to say the least, in that otherman? Well and miserably he recalled the words of Farquhar, who hadserved some years at the same station with the Rays: "She's the bonniestlittle army girl I know, and her head's as level as it is pretty--excepton one point. She's her father's daughter and wrapped up in the army.She's always said she'd marry only a soldier. But Maidie's gettingwisdom with years, I fancy. Young Foster will be a rich man in spite ofhimself, for he'll have his mother's fortune, and he's heels over headin love with her."
"But I understood," interposed the general, with a quick glance atStuyvesant, who had risen as though to get another cigar, "that Raydidn't exactly approve of him."
"Oh, Ray didn't seem to have any special objection to Foster unless itwas that he neglected his business to lay siege to her. Foster's agentleman, has no bad habits, and is the very man nine women out of tenwould rejoice in for a husband, and ninety-nine out of ten, if that werea mathematical possibility, would delight in as a son-in-law. He isn'tbrilliant--buttons would have supplied the lack had he been in thecavalry. I dare say he'll be ass enough to go in for a commission nowand sell out his ranch for a song. Then, she'd probably take him."
And then, too, as he strolled thoughtfully up the street, still dimlylighted by the waning moon and dotted at long intervals by tiny electricfires, Stuyvesant went over in mind other little things that had come tohis ears, for many men were of a mind with regard to Billy Ray'sdaughter, and the young officer found himself vaguely weighing thereasons why he should now cease to play the moth,--why he should bewinging his flight away from the flame and utterly ignoring the factthat his feet, as though from force of habit, were bearing him steadilytowards it. The snap and ring of a bayoneted rifle coming to the charge,the stern voice of a sentry at the crossing of the Calle Faura, broughthim to his senses.
"Halt! Who is there?"
"Staff officer, First Division," was the prompt reply, as Stuyvesantlooked up in surprise.
"Advance, staff officer, and be recognized," came the response from atall form in blue, and the even taller white figure stepped forward andstood face to face with the guardian of the night.
"I am Lieutenant Stuyvesant, aide-de-camp to General Vinton," explainedthe challenged officer, noticing for the first time a little column ofdusky men in heavy leathern helmets and belts shuffling away towards theJesuit College with an old-fashioned diminutive "goose-neck" villageengine trailing at their heels.
"Been a fire, sentry?" he asked. "Where was it?"
"Up at Colonel Brent's, sir, I believe. His house fronts theparade-ground. One moment, please! Lieutenant _Who_, sir? The officerof the guard orders us to account for every officer by name." AndStuyvesant, who, in instant alarm, had impulsively started, was againrecalled to himself, and, hastily turning back, spoke aloud:
"Stuyvesant my name is. I'll give it at the guard-house as I pass."
Once more he whirled about, his heart throbbing with anxiety. Oncemore he would have hurried on his way to the Calle San Luis. A firethere! and she, Marion, still so weak!--exhausted, possibly, by theexcitement--or distress--or whatever it was that resulted from Brent'ssudden presentation of that _carte-de-visite_. He would fly to her atonce!
For a third time the sentry spoke, and spoke in no faltering tone. Hewas an American. He was wearing the rough garb of the private soldier inthe ranks of the regulars, but, like scores of other eager youngpatriots that year, he held the diploma of a great, albeit a foreign,university. He had education, intelligence, and assured social positionto back the training and discipline of the soldier. He knew his rightsas well as his duties, and that every officer in the service, no matterhow high, from commanding general down, was by regulation enjoined toshow respect to sentries, and this tall, handsome young swell, with aname that sounded utterly unfamiliar to California ears, was in mostunaccountable hurry, and spoke as though he, the sentry, were exceedinghis powers in demanding his name. It put Private Thinking Bayonets onhis mettle.
"Halt, sir," said he. "My orders are imperative. You'll have to spellthat name."
In the nervous anxiety to which Stuyvesant was a prey, the sentry'smanner irritated him. It smacked at first of undue, unnecessaryauthority, yet the soldier in him put the unworthy thought to shame,and, struggling against his impatience, yet most unwillingly, Stuyvesantobediently turned. He had shouldered a musket in a splendid regiment ofcitizen soldiery whose pride it was that no regular army inspector couldpick flaws in their performance of guard and sentry duty. He had broughtto the point of his bayonet, time and again, officers far higher in rankthan that which he now held. He knew that, whether necessary or not, thesentry's demand was within his rights, and there was no course for himbut compliance. He hastened back, and, controlling his voice as much aspossible, began:
"You're right, sentry! S-t-u-y"--when through a gate-way across thestreet north of the Faura came swinging into sight a little squad ofarmed men.
Again the sentry's challenge, sharp, clear, resonant, rang on the stillnight air. Three soldiers halted in their tracks, the fourth, with thewhite chevrons of a corporal on his sleeves, came bounding across thestreet without waiting for a demand to advance for recognition.
"Same old patrol, Billy," he called, as he neared them. "On the way backto the guard-house." Then, seeing the straps on the officer's shoulders,respectfully saluted. "Couldn't find a trace outside. Keep sharplookout, Number 6," he added, and turning hurriedly back to his patrol,started with them up the street in the direction Stuyvesant was longingto go.
"Sorry to detain you, sir, and beg pardon for letting him run up on usin that way. We've got extra orders to-night. There's a queer set,mostly natives, in that second house yonder" (and he pointed to asubstantial two-story building about thirty paces from the corner)."They got in there while the fire excitement was on. Twice I've seenthem peeking out from that door. That's why I dare not leave here andchase after you--after the lieutenant. Now, may I have the name again,sir."
And at last, without interruption, Stuyvesant spelled and pronounced therevered old Dutch patronymic. At last he was able to go unhindered, andnow, overcome by anxiety, eagerness, and dread, he hardly knew what, hebroke into fleet-footed, rapid run, much to the surprise of the staidpatrol which he overtook trudging along on the opposite side of thestreet, two blocks away, and never halted until again brought upstanding by a sentry at the San Luis.
Ten minutes later, while still listening to Brent's oft-repeated tale ofthe theft, and still quivering a little from excitement, Stuyvesantheard another sound, the rapid, rhythmic beat of dancing footsteps.
"Hullo!" interrupted one of the lingering officers. "Another firecompany coming? It's about time more began to arrive, isn't it?"
"It's a patrol--and on the jump, too! What's up, I wonder?" answeredBrent, spinning about to face towards the Calle Real. There was anofficer with this patrol,--an officer who in his eagerness could barelyabide the sentry's challenge.
"Officer of the guard--with patrol," he cried, adding instantly, as hedarted into view. "Sentry, which--which way did that officer go? Tallyoung officer--in white uniform!"
In surprise, the sentry nodded towards the speechless group standing infront of Brent's, and to them came the boy lieutenant, panting and inmanifest excitement. "I beg pardon, colonel," he began, "our sentry,Number 6, was found a minute ago--shot dead--down on the Padre Faura. Mymen said they saw an of
ficer running from the spot, running this way,and this gentleman--Mr. Stuyvesant, isn't it?"
There was an awed silence, an awkward pause. "I certainly was there notlong ago," spoke Stuyvesant, presently. "And Number 6, your sentry, wasthen all right. I certainly came running----"
"That's all I can hear," was the sharp interruption. "My orders are toarrest you. You're my prisoner, Mr. Stuyvesant," gasped the lad.
"Preposterous!" said Dr. Frank a few minutes later when told by anawe-stricken group what had occurred.
"Preposterous say I!" echoed Brent. "And yet, see here----Oh, of course,you know Major MacNeil, field officer of the day," he added, indicatinga tall, thin-faced, gray-mustached officer of regulars who had but justarrived, and who now held forth a gleaming revolver with the words, "Ipicked this up myself--not ten yards from where he lay."
It was Marion's.