Part 4 (2/2)
But the colonel felt a somewhat ma.s.sive hand crus.h.i.+ng down on his own and forebore to press the question. Armstrong let no pause ensue. He spoke, rapidly for him, bending forward, too, and speaking low; but even as she chatted and laughed, the little woman on the carriage step saw, even though she did not seem to look, heard, even though she did not seem to listen:
”An awkward thing has happened. The General's tent was robbed of important papers perhaps two days ago, and the guardhouse rid of a most important prisoner last night. Canker has put the officer-of-the-guard in arrest. Remember good old Billy Gray who commanded us at Apache? This is Billy Junior, and I'm awful sorry.” Here the soft gray eyes glanced quickly at the anxious face of Miss Lawrence, who sat silently feigning interest in the chat between the others. The anxious look in her eyes increased at Armstrong's next words: ”The prisoner must have had friends.
He is now said to be among your men, disguised, and those two fellows at the stage are detectives. I thought all that s.p.a.ce was to be kept clear.”
”It was,” answered Stewart, ”yet the chief must have been overpersuaded.
Look here!” and the colonel held forth a sc.r.a.p of paper. Amy Lawrence, hearing something like the gasp of a sufferer in sudden pain, turned quickly and saw that every vestige of color had left Mrs. Garrison's face--that she was almost reeling on the step. Before she could call attention to it, Armstrong, who had taken and glanced curiously at the sc.r.a.p, whirled suddenly, and his eyes, in stern menace, swept the spot where the little lady clung but an instant before. As suddenly Mrs.
Garrison had sprung from the step and vanished.
CHAPTER VII.
Billy Gray was indeed in close arrest and the grim prophecy was fulfilled--Colonel Canker was proving ”anything but a guardian angel to him.” The whole regiment, officers and men, barring only the commander, was practically in mourning with sorrow for him and chagrin over its own discomfiture. Not only one important prisoner was gone, but two; not only two, but four. No man in authority was able to say just when or how it happened, for it was Canker's own order that the prisoners should not be paraded when the guard fell in at night. They were there at tattoo and at taps ”all secure.” The officer of the guard, said several soldiers, had quite a long talk with one of the prisoners--young Morton--just after tattoo, at which time the entire guard had been inspected by the commanding officer himself. But at reveille four most important prisoners were gone and, such was Canker's wrath, not only was Gray in arrest, but the sergeant of the guard also, while the three luckless men who were successively posted as sentries during the night at the back of the wooden sh.e.l.l that served as a guardhouse--were now in close confinement in the place of the escaped quartette.
Yet those three were men who had hitherto been above suspicion, and there were few soldiers in the regiment who would accept the theory that any one of the three had connived at the escape. As for the sergeant--he had served four enlistments in the --teenth, and without a flaw in his record beyond an occasional aberration in the now distant past, due to the potency of the poteen distilled by certain Hibernian experts not far from an old-time ”plains fort,” where the regiment had rested on its march 'cross continent. As for the officers--but who would suppose an officer guilty of anything of the kind--a flagrant military crime? And yet--men got to asking each other if it were so that Bugler Curran had carried a note from the prisoner, Morton, to Mr. Gray about 2:30 that afternoon?
And what was this about Gray's having urged Brooke to swap tours with him an hour later, and what was that story the headquarters clerks were telling about Mr. Gray's coming to the adjutant and begging to be allowed to ”march on” that evening instead of Brooke? It wasn't long before these rumors, somehow, got to Canker's ears, and Canker seemed to grow as big again; he fairly swelled with indignation at thought of such turpitude on part of an officer. Then he sent for Gray--it was the afternoon following the sailing of the s.h.i.+ps with the big brigade--and with pain and bewilderment and indignation in his brave blue eyes the youngster came and stood before his stern superior. Gordon, who sent the message, and who had heard Canker's denunciatory remarks, had found time to scribble a word or two--”Admit nothing; say nothing; _do_ nothing but hold your tongue and temper. If C. insists on answers say you decline except in presence of your legal adviser.” So there was a scene in the commander's tent that afternoon. The morning had not been without its joys. Along about ten o'clock as Gray sat writing to his father in his little canvas home, he heard a voice that sent the blood leaping through his veins and filled his eyes with light. Springing from his campstool and capsizing it as he did so, he poked his curly head from the entrance of the tent--and there she was--only a dozen feet away--Major Lane in courteous attendance, Mr. Prime sadly following, and Miss Prime quite content with the devotions of Captain Schuyler. Only a dozen feet away and coming straight to him, with frank smiles and sympathy in her kind and winsome face--with hand outstretched the moment she caught sight of him. ”We wanted to come when we heard of it yesterday, Mr. Gray,” said Amy Lawrence, ”but it was dark when we got back from seeing the fleet off, and uncle was too tired in the evening. Indeed we are all very, very sorry!” And poor Billy never heard or cared what the others said, so absorbed was he in drinking in her gentle words and gazing into her soft, dark eyes. No wonder he found it difficult to release her hand. That brief visit, filled with sweetness and suns.h.i.+ne, ought to have been a blessing to him all day long, but Canker caught sight of the damsels as they walked away on the arms of the attendant cavaliers--Miss Lawrence more than once smiling back at the incarcerated Billy--and Canker demanded to be informed who they were and where they had been, and Gordon answered they were Miss Lawrence of Santa Anita, and Miss Prime of New York--and he ”reckoned” they must have been in to condole with Mr.
Gray--whereat Canker snarled that people ought to know better than to visit officers in arrest--it was tantamount to disrespect to the commander. It was marvelous how many things in Canker's eyes were disrespectful.
So he heard these stories with eager ears and sent for Gray, and thought to bully him into an admission or confession, but Gordon's words had ”stiffened” the little fellow to the extent of braving Canker's anger and telling him he had said all he proposed to say when the colonel called him up the previous day. The result of that previous interview was his being placed in close arrest and informed that he should be tried by general court-martial once. So he had taken counsel, as was his right, and ”counsel” forbade his committing himself in any way.
”Then you refuse to divulge the contents of that note and to say why you were so eager to go on guard out of your turn?” said Canker, oracularly.
”That in itself is sufficient to convince any fair-minded court of your guilt, sir.” Whereat Gordon winked at Billy and put his tongue in his cheek--and Billy stood mute until ordered, with much asperity, to go back to his tent.
But there were other things that might well go toward convincing a court of the guilt of Lieutenant Gray, and poor Billy contemplated them with sinking heart. Taking prompt advantage of his position as officer of the guard, he had caused the young prisoner to be brought outside the guardhouse, and as a heavy, dripping fog had come on the wings of the night wind, sailing in from the sea, he had led the way to the sheltered side, which happened to be the darkest one, of the rude little building, and had there bidden him tell his story. But Morton glanced uneasily at a sentry who followed close and was hovering suspiciously about. ”I cannot talk about--the affair--with that fellow spying,” he said, with an eager plea in his tone and a sign of the hand that Gray well knew and quickly recognized. ”Keep around in front. I'll be responsible for this prisoner,” were his orders, and, almost reluctantly, the man left. He was a veteran soldier, and his manner impressed the lieutenant with a vague sense of trouble. Twice the sentry glanced back and hesitated, as though something were on his mind that he must tell, but finally he disappeared and kept out of the way during the brief interview that immediately followed. The prisoner eagerly, excitedly began his explanation--swiftly banis.h.i.+ng any lingering doubts Gray might have entertained as to his innocence. But he had come from a stove-heated guardroom into the cold sea wind off the Pacific--into the floating wisps of vapor that sent chill to the marrow. He was far too lightly clad for that climate, and presently he began to s.h.i.+ver.
”You are cold,” said Gray, pityingly. ”Have you no overcoat?”
”It's at my tent--I never expected to spend this night here. I've been before the summary court, fined for absence, and thought that would end it, but instead of that I'm a prisoner and the man who should be here is stalking about camp, planning more robberies. Yet I'd rather a.s.sociate with the very worst of the deserters or dead beats inside there,” and the dark eyes glanced almost in horror--the slender figure shook with mingled repulsion and chill--”than with that smooth-tongued sneak and liar.
There's no crime too mean for him to commit, Mr. Gray, and the men are beginning to know it, though the colonel won't. For G.o.d's sake get me out of this before morning--” And again the violent tremor shook the lad from head to foot.
”Here--get inside!” said Gray impulsively. ”I'll see the adjutant at once and return to you in a few minutes. If you have to remain until the matter can be investigated by the General it might be----”
”It would be--” vehemently interrupted Morton, then breaking off short as though at loss for descriptive of sufficient strength. He seemed to swell with pa.s.sion as he clinched his fists and fairly stood upon his toes an instant, his strong white teeth grinding together. ”It would be--simply h.e.l.l!” he burst in again, hoa.r.s.e and quivering. ”It would ruin--everything!
Can't the General give the order to-night?” he asked with intense eagerness, while the young officer, taking him by the arm, had led him again to the light of the guardhouse lamps at the front. The sergeant and a group of soldiers straightened up and faced them, listening curiously.
”It may be even impossible to see the General,” answered Gray doubtfully.
”Take Morton into the guardroom till I get back, sergeant, and let him warm himself thoroughly.” Don't put him with the prisoners till I return, and so saying he had hastened away. Gordon, his friend and adviser, had left camp and gone visiting over in the other division. The lights at general headquarters were turned low. Even now, after having heard proofs of the innocence of the accused soldier, Gray knew that it was useless to appeal to the colonel. He could not understand, however, the feverish, almost insane, impatience of the lad for immediate release. Another day ought not to make so great a difference. What could be the reason--if it were not that, though innocent of the robbery of the storehouse, or of complicity in the sale of stolen goods, some other crime lay at his door which the morrow might disclose? All the loyalty of a Delta Sig was stretched to the snapping point as Gray paused irresolute in front of the adjutant's tent, his quest there unsuccessful. The sergeant-major and a sorely badgered clerk were working late over some regimental papers--things that Morton wrote out easily and accurately.
”I suppose, sir, it's no use asking to have the prisoner sent up here under guard,” said that jewel of a noncommissioned officer. ”Yet the colonel will be savage if these papers ain't ready. It will take us all night as things are going.”
Gray shook his curly head. ”Go ask, if you like, but--Morton's in no shape to help you----”
”Has he been drinking, sir?” said the sergeant-major, in surprise. ”I never knew him----”
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