The Plow-Woman Part 43

"You are evidently quite mistaken regarding these young women," declared Oliver, with some heat. "Mrs. Oliver will think differently."

"Really, I haven't thought of them," she answered petulantly. "But why, may I ask, don't they come to the post?"

"They prefer to stay in their own little home. In their present trouble and grief, it is particularly dear to them--would be to anyone."

"I think it odd, Captain, that they should choose to stay over there alone. Can--can they be--eh--quite nice?"

"Madame," replied Oliver, sternly, "they wish to do what would please their father; they wish to be independent."

"Ah!" Mrs. c.u.mmings threw up her head.

"And let me say that I heartily commend them," Oliver fairly roared.

"They are made of the stuff of our forefathers, who pushed their way into the wilderness. Their spirit is the spirit of the frontier." With which, bowing and fuming, the captain stamped out.

Mrs. Oliver, a motherly chunk of a woman, thought very "differently."

Work and babies she consigned to a thrifty trooper's wife and, in a jiffy, pinned on a bonnet that had stood various seasons. "I'll be back in the morning," she said, with a kiss for each of the seven. Then, stuffing a tidbit or two into the wide pockets of a duster, she hastened away.

Captain Oliver, meanwhile, had cleared the front room of his progeny and summoned the surgeon, Lieutenant Fraser and Matthews.

Matthews came last. As he entered, the three men were struck by a curious change in him. He was erect and somewhat soldierly in his bearing; he had let his hair grow until it rested upon the handkerchief knotted about his throat; while his dress now aped that of the more picturesque scouts, yet was still half military. Buckskin trousers, down which, at the outer seams, was a dripping of fringe, were tucked into high boots. Over his red flannel shirt he wore a tunic or blouse, also of buckskin, fringed the length of the arms, and belted at the waist like a hunting-shirt. A vest no longer concealed his revolvers; his weapons were at his side, like a trooper's. In one gauntleted hand, he held a wide, grey hat.

"You want to see me, Cap'n?" he asked, meeting that officer's look squarely.

"Yes," answered Oliver, shortly. "I demand an exact account of your time for the past thirty-six hours, beginning with the evening after the departure of the command. I need not tell you why I ask this, and I make no apology for asking. There are reasons for your wanting that old man over there out of the way. You attacked his house in the winter during his absence, when two defenceless women were at home to repel your attack. That lays you open to mistrust. I may add that Lancaster's eldest girl regards you as her father's murderer."

As Oliver talked, his woe-begone face had grown fierce and dark. Now, he arose, lifting clenched fists. "Murder," he cried; "under my very nose, and against a household that I had sworn to guard. Speak, Matthews, _speak_!"

Matthews screwed up his mouth thoughtfully and looked into s.p.a.ce.

"Beginning the ev'ning after the command left?" he said. "Let me see.

Why, I ain't crossed since the Colonel left."

"Account for your time," repeated Oliver.

"I messed at Blakely's that night. Afterward, me and Kippis had a little game."

"What game?"

"Cards."

"Ah!" At once, Oliver sent for the sutler and the sergeant, and, waiting for them, tramped up and down. When the men came, he halted and with pointed finger asked Matthews to repeat his story. The interpreter did so.

"And how long did that game last?" demanded Oliver.

Without looking in Kippis' direction, the interpreter answered. "Till revelly," he said.

Fraser grunted, the surgeon smiled broadly. But the captain frowned.

"Of that, later," he said significantly. "Kippis?"

The sergeant stepped forward. "Hit's hall true, sir," he faltered. It was Kippis' misfortune always to look more guilty than he was. With Oliver's angry gaze upon him, he flushed redder than fire.

The captain was only half satisfied. He turned to the sutler. "And _you_, Blakeley?"

The sutler had a round, jolly figure--a figure that was a living advertis.e.m.e.nt of the fat-producing quality of his edible wares. At Oliver's question that figure gave a startled bounce, like a kernel of corn on a hot grid. "True, sir, true," he vowed huskily, and coughed in apprehension behind a plump hand.

The captain looked keenly from man to man. "Very well," he said. Those twelve hours accounted for, Matthews was shown innocent of planting the pole. "Tell me what you did yesterday from revelly on."

"Slept till stables."

"I know that's so," said Fraser.

"After that?" Oliver asked.

"I goes into the stockade. Little Thief was carving his bride."

The captain glanced at Fraser. The latter nodded back.

"I remember," said Oliver, slowly. "Then----?"

"Cards till revelly."

The listening officers laughed.

But there was no softening of the captain's face. "Who played with you?"

Matthews indicated the sutler and the sergeant by a sideways move of the head. "Them two," he answered.

"Blakely?"

"True--true." And Blakely gave another bounce.

"Sergeant?"

"True's far's _Hi_ know, sir."

The thirty-six hours were now covered. Oliver sat down. "That'll do. I want The Squaw and the men who have been on duty at the stockade since the command left. Matthews, you may go."

Matthews bowed, Blakely and the sergeant saluted, and the three withdrew. Outside, beyond hearing, they exchanged congratulatory shakes of the hand.

"My! but the dander!" breathed the relieved sutler, rolling his apple-round head. "I was that scairt!"

"Make you happreciate the K. Ho. w'en you got 'im," returned Kippis, sagely.

Matthews shrugged his shoulders pityingly. But he had nothing to say.

The three gone, Oliver had turned to those with him. "A complete alibi,"

he said.