Part 16 (1/2)
”Not all--not all, general! Even I don't know all--She herself has said so. Hus.h.!.+ She's coming.”
She was there! They had listened for swish of skirts or fall of slender feet upon the stairway, but there had not been a sound. They saw the reason as she halted at the entrance, lifting with one little hand the costly Navajo blanket that hung as a portiere. In harmony with the glossy folds of richly dyed wool, she was habited in Indian garb from head to foot. In two black, l.u.s.trous braids, twisted with feather and quill and ribbon, her wealth of hair hung over her shoulders down the front of her slender form. A robe of dark blue stuff, rich with broidery of colored bead and bright-hued plumage, hung, close clinging, and her feet were shod in soft moccasins, also deftly worked with bead and quill. But it was her face that chained the gaze of all, and that drew from the pallid lips of Lieutenant Field a gasp of mingled consternation and amaze. Without a vestige of color; with black circles under her glittering eyes; with lines of suffering around the rigid mouth and with that strange pinched look about the nostrils that tells of anguish, bodily and mental, Nanette stood at the doorway, looking straight at the chief. She had no eyes for lesser lights. All her thought, apparently, was for him,--for him whose power it was, in spite of vehement opposition, to deal as he saw fit with the prisoner in his hands. Appeal on part of Friends Societies, Peace and Indian a.s.sociations had failed.
The President had referred the matter in its entirety to the general commanding in the field, and the general had decided. One moment she studied his face, then came slowly forward. No hand extended. No sign of salutation,--greeting,--much less of homage. Ignoring all others present, she addressed herself solely to him.
”Is it true you have ordered him in irons and to Fort Rochambeau?” she demanded.
”It is.”
”Simply because he took part with his people when your soldiers made war on them?” she asked, her pale lips quivering.
”You well know how much else there was,” answered the general, simply.
”And I have told you he deserves no pity--of yours.”
”Oh, you say he came back here a spy!” she broke forth, impetuously.
”It is not so! He never came near the post,--nearer than Stabber's village, and there he had a right to be. You say 'twas he who led them to the warpath,--that he planned the robbery here and took the money. He never knew they were going, till they were gone. He never stole a penny.
That money was loaned him honestly--and for a purpose--and with the hope and expectation of rich profit thereby.”
”By you, do you mean?” asked the general, calmly, as before.
”By me? No! What money had I? He asked it and it was given him--by Lieutenant Field.”
A gasp that was almost a cry following instantly on this insolent a.s.sertion--a sound of stir and start among the officers at whom she had not as yet so much as glanced, now caused the girl to turn one swift, contemptuous look their way, and in that momentary flash her eyes encountered those of the man she had thus accused. Field stood like one turned suddenly to stone, gazing at her with wild, incredulous eyes. One instant she seemed to sway, as though the sight had staggered her, but the rally was as instantaneous. Before the general could interpose a word, she plunged on again:--
”He, at least, had a heart and conscience. He knew how wrongfully Moreau had been accused,--that money was actually needed to establish his claim. It would all have been repaid if your soldiers had not forced this wicked war, and--” and now in her vehemence her eyes were flas.h.i.+ng, her hand uplifted, when, all on a sudden, the portiere was raised the second time, and there at the doorway stood the former inspector general, ”Black Bill.” At sight of him the mad flow of words met sudden stop. Down, slowly down, came the clinched, uplifted hand. Her eyes, glaring as were Field's a moment agone, were fixed in awful fascination on the grizzled face. Then actually she recoiled as the veteran officer stepped quietly forward into the room.
”And what?” said he, with placid interest. ”I haven't heard you rave in many a moon, Nanette. You are your mother over again--without your mother's excuse for fury.”
But a wondrous silence had fallen on the group. The girl had turned rigid. For an instant not a move was made, and, in the hush of all but throbbing hearts, the sound of the trumpets pealing forth the last notes of tattoo came softly through the outer night.
Then sudden, close at hand, yet m.u.f.fled by double door and windows, came other sounds--sounds of rush and scurry,--excited voices,--cries of halt! halt!--the ring of a carbine,--a yell of warning--another shot, and Blake and the aide-de-camp sprang through the hallway to the storm door without. Mrs. Hay, shuddering with dread, ran to the door of her husband's chamber beyond the dining room. She was gone but a moment.
When she returned the little Ogalalla maid, trembling and wild-eyed, had come running down from aloft. The general had followed into the lighted hallway,--they were all crowding there by this time,--and the voice of Captain Ray, with just a tremor of excitement about it, was heard at the storm door on the porch, in explanation to the chief.
”Moreau, sir! Broke guard and stabbed Kennedy. The second shot dropped him. He wants Fawn Eyes, his sister.”
A scream of agony rang through the hall, shrill and piercing. Then the wild cry followed:
”You shall not hold me! Let me go to him, I say--I am his wife!”
CHAPTER XXIV
THE DEATH SONG OF THE SIOUX
That was a gruesome night at Frayne. Just at tattoo the door leading to the little cell room had been thrown open, and the sergeant of the guard bade the prisoners come forth,--all warriors of the Ogalalla band and foremost of their number was Eagle Wing, the battle leader. Recaptured by Crabb and his men after a desperate flight and fight for liberty, he had apparently been planning ever since a second essay even more desperate. In sullen silence he had pa.s.sed his days, showing no sign of recognition of any face among his guards until the morning Kennedy appeared--all malice forgotten now that his would-be slayer was a helpless prisoner, and therefore did the Irishman greet him jovially.
”That man would knife you if he had half a chance,” said the sergeant.
”Watch out for him!”
”You bet I'll watch out,” said Kennedy, never dreaming that, despite all search and vigilance, Moreau had managed to obtain and hide a knife.
In silence they had shuffled forth into the corridor. The heavy portal swung behind them, confining the other two. Another door opened into the guardroom proper, where stood the big, red hot stove and where waited two blacksmiths with the irons. Once in the guard room every window was barred, and members of the guard, three deep, blocked in eager curiosity the doorway leading to the outer air. In the corridor on one side stood three infantry soldiers, with fixed bayonets. On the other, facing them, three others of the guard. Between them shuffled the Sioux, ”Wing”
leading. One glance at the waiting blacksmiths was enough. With the spring of a tiger, he hurled himself, head foremost and bending low, straight at the open doorway, and split his way through the astonished guards like center rush at foot ball, scattering them right and left; then darted round the corner of the guard-house, agile as a cat.