Part 14 (2/2)

Mapes scratched his head, the fingers of his other hand gripping the prisoner's shoulder.

”Not so awful much,” he replied haltingly, ”now I come ter think 'bout it. 'T was a mighty dark night, an' I never saw, ner heard, nuthin'

till the shootin' begun. I wus back o' officers' row, an' them pistols popped up yere, by the corner o' the barracks. I jumped an' yelled; thought I heerd somebody runnin' an' let drive. Then just as I got up yere, this feller come tearin' 'long, an' I naturally grabbed him.

That's the whole of it.”

”What have you got to say, Hamlin?”

”Nothing.”

”Well, yer better. Yer in a mighty bad box, let me tell yer,” angered by the other's indifference. ”What was the row about?”

The cavalryman stood straight, his face showing white in the glow of the lantern.

”I told you before I had nothing to say. I will talk to-morrow,” he returned quietly. ”I submit to arrest.”

”I reckon yer will talk to-morrow, and be d.a.m.n glad o' the chance.

Corporal, take this fellow to the guard-house, an' stay there with him.

Here comes the stretcher, an' the doctor.”

Hamlin marched off silently through the black night, surrounded by a detail of the guard. It had all occurred so suddenly that he was bewildered yet, merely retaining sufficient consciousness of the circ.u.mstances to keep still. If they were a.s.sured he was guilty, then no effort would be made to trace any others connected with the affair.

Why Gaskins should have identified him as the a.s.sa.s.sin was a mystery--probably it was merely the delirium of a sorely wounded man, although the fellow may have disliked him sufficiently for that kind of revenge, or have mistaken him for another in the poor light. At any rate the unexpected identification helped him to play his part, and, if the Lieutenant lived, he would later acknowledge his mistake. There was no occasion to worry; he could clear himself of the charge whenever the time came; half his company would know he was in barracks when the firing began. There were women out on the walk, their skirts fluttering as they waited anxiously to learn the news, but he could not determine if she was among them. Voices asked questions, but the corporal hurried him along, without making any reply. Then he was thrust roughly into a stone-lined cell, and left alone. Outside in the corridor two guards were stationed. Hamlin sat down on the iron bed, dazed by the silence, endeavoring to collect his thoughts. The nearest guard, leaning on his gun, watched carefully.

Voices reached him from outside, echoing in through the high, iron-barred window, but they were distant, the words indistinguishable.

As his brain cleared he gave no further thought to his own predicament, only considering how he could best divert suspicion from her. It was all a confused maze, into the mystery of which he was unable to penetrate. That it was Molly McDonald shrinking there in the dark corner of the barracks wall he had no doubt. She might not have recognized him, or imagined that he saw her, but that spear of light had certainly revealed a face not to be mistaken. White as it was, haggard with terror, half concealed by straggling hair, the identification was nevertheless complete. The very piteousness of expression appealed to him. She was not a girl easily frightened; no mere promiscuous shooting, however startling, would have brought that look to her face. He had seen her in danger before, had tested her coolness under fire. This meant something altogether different. What?

Could it be that Gaskins had wronged the girl, had insulted her, and that she, in response, had shot him down? In the darkness of conjecture there seemed no other adequate explanation. The two were intimate; the rumor of an engagement was already circulating about the garrison. And the stricken man had endeavored to s.h.i.+ft the blame on him. Hamlin could not believe this was done through any desire to injure; the Lieutenant had no cause for personal dislike which would account for such an accusation. They had only met once, and then briefly. There was no rivalry between them, no animosity. To be sure, Gaskins had been domineering, threatening to report a small breach of discipline, but in this his words and actions had been no more offensive than was common among young officers of his quality. The Sergeant had pa.s.sed all memory of that long ago. It never occurred to him now as of the slightest importance. Far more probable did it appear that Gaskins' only motive was to s.h.i.+eld the girl from possible suspicion. When he had realized that Hamlin was a prisoner, that for some reason he had been seized for the crime, he had grasped the opportunity to point him out as the a.s.sa.s.sin, and thus delay pursuit.

The chances were the wounded man did not even recognize who the victim was--he had blindly grasped at the first straw.

But suppose he had been mistaken? Suppose that woman hiding there was some one else? Suppose he had imagined a resemblance in that sudden flash of revealment? What then? Would she care enough to come to him when she learned of the arrest? He laughed at the thought, yet it was a bitter laugh, for it brought back a new realization of the chasm between them. Major McDonald's daughter interesting herself in a guard-house prisoner! More than likely she would promptly forget that she had ever before heard his name. He must be growing crazy to presume that she permitted him to remain on her list of friends.h.i.+p.

He got up and paced the cell, noting as he did so how closely he was watched by the guard.

”Have you heard how badly the Lieutenant was hurt?” he asked, approaching the door.

The sentry glanced down the corridor.

”He 'll pull out, all right,” he replied confidentially, his lips close to the door. ”Nothin' vital punctured. You better go to bed, an'

forget it till mornin'.”

”All right, pardner,” and Hamlin returned to the cot. ”Turn the light down a little, will you? There, that's better. My conscience won't trouble me, but that glare did.”

With his face to the stone wall he fell asleep.

CHAPTER XV

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