Part 12 (2/2)

White as death was Frost's face as he turned with fearful start. Then, seeing it was Graham, and suspecting it was a trick, he flushed crimson, and angrily, though with trembling lips, replied,

”My friends! what do you mean? How the devil should I have friends among them? Go yourself, if you want to see them, but leave me alone.”

And Graham turned away, more than ever convinced that, in some way, Frost's knowledge of soldiering was derived from personal experiences he wished to conceal.

A week more, and he had another opportunity of testing it. Going to the village for the mail, he found a group of men eagerly listening to one of their number who was reading aloud the terrible details of the Custer ma.s.sacre. Graham heard it all in silence, got the mill mail, and walked thoughtfully homeward. Old Morrow was seated with Nellie in the porch, and Frost, hat in hand, was standing at the foot of the steps, looking up at them as he spoke deferentially to the miller.

”Any news, d.i.c.k?” asked the miller, shortly.

”Terrible news, sir!” said Graham, eying Frost closely as he spoke.

”General Custer and his regiment, the Seventh Cavalry, were butchered by the Indians a fortnight ago.”

Frost fairly staggered. A wild light shot into his face; his hat fell from his nerveless hand.

”I do not believe a word of it!” he gasped. ”It's a lie! They never could! Give me the paper,” he demanded, hoa.r.s.ely; but Graham coolly avoided his attempt to seize it and handed the paper to Morrow. Eying him closely, as d.i.c.k had done, the miller tore the wrapper with provoking deliberation, and finally gave the contents to Frost. He had partially recovered self-control by this time, but his hands shook like palsy as he unfolded the paper.

”My G.o.d! it's true!--mainly true, at least,” he gasped, while drops of sweat started to his forehead. ”All with him were killed. It has knocked the breath out of me. I knew so many of them out there, you know.”

”In Arizona?” asked Morrow.

”Ye-yes--Arizona!” he stammered. ”It tells here what officers were killed, but does not give the names of the men. I wish it did. I wish I knew. They are the ones I saw most of.” Then he stopped short, as though he had said too much. And all the time both Morrow and Graham had never ceased their rigid scrutiny, and he knew it. He hurriedly went away.

CHAPTER III

That night Nellie was fitful and constrained in manner. d.i.c.k went home restless and unhappy. It was very late, but there was the light burning brightly down at the office.

”Who are there?” he asked the lad who did odd jobs around the miller's house, and who slept in Graham's cottage.

”Mr. Morrow and Frost. Gos.h.!.+ how the old man has been cussin' him. He cusses everybody round here now, don't he? I heerd down in the village you was going to quit.”

Graham made no reply, but turned gloomily into his own room.

Next morning Frost came to him looking very pale and nervous.

”Graham,” he said, ”I want to ask a great favor. I must go to Chicago, and I want twenty dollars. Will you lend me that much? I will give it to you again next week.”

”Why do you come to me?” asked Graham, shortly.

”The old man and I are at loggerheads, and--I know he would not let me have it. Once in Chicago, and I can get money, you shall have it--sure.”

Graham hesitated. He had saved but little from the small stipend allowed him, but a thought struck him that the surest way to get rid of an objectionable acquaintance was to lend him money. It might keep Frost from returning. Stepping to his worn old desk, he unlocked and opened it, took from an inner compartment a small roll of bills, counted out twenty dollars, and handed it to Frost without a word.

”You think you won't get this back, Graham, but you will,” said the latter, as he eagerly took it and went away. This was a Tuesday morning.

On the following Sunday d.i.c.k Graham was amazed to see Frost standing at the miller's gate talking earnestly with Nellie, who dropped her head and scurried into the house as she caught sight of his approaching form.

”Back, you see!” said Frost, holding out his hand, which d.i.c.k unwillingly took. He had returned a new man. His clothes, that had begun to grow shabby, were replaced by new ones of stylish cut and make; his eyes were bright, his color high, his voice ringing and animated; his manner was brisk and cheery, yet nervous.

”Have you seen Mr. Morrow?” was all Graham could find to say by the way of welcome. ”He is down at the mill, and wants you.”

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