Under Fire Part 19

Davies for the whole tragedy, but the men, when their tongues are loosened by fever or rum, lay loads of blame elsewhere."

"Yes?" said Cranston, with deep interest, yet reluctant to talk of regimental scandal with an outsider. "I should like to know what they say."

"Well, they say McGrath could tell a tale if he were alive, and that Lutz and the men at the agency believe they were shoved up there because they had said things which First Sergeant Haney overheard and reported to the captain. It seemed queer, even to me, so many men going from Devers's troop under command of somebody else's lieutenant, and now Davies himself has gone, and suppose he should hear of this talk?"

"He will know what to do, chaplain. Davies has earnest friends who will not see him further wronged, but just now, as you probably understand, nothing can be done. Now excuse me a moment. I may have been mistaken, but I thought I saw a man's figure hanging about the back gate of Number Twelve as I came up the bluff from the wood-yard. I thought he went through Davies's yard and that I'd see him crossing the parade when I got to the corner, but not a soul was in sight and it is almost as light as the day. If he didn't go through he must be in the shadows there of the wood-shed. There's been some prowling, and though this isn't the sort of night for that sort of thing, it's still possible. Will you kindly wait here and watch the front and this side while I beat up the rear?"

Wonderingly the chaplain a.s.sented, and, with his sabre clanking at his side, Cranston strode away northward along the line of white picket-fence until he came to the high rear barrier of the row, one of black unplaned boards, and around behind that he disappeared. Across the intervening yard and through the open gate-way at the back the chaplain could see a patch of the snow-clad valley, and watched for the appearance of Cranston's st.u.r.dy form in that silvery gap.

But another eye had also been alert. The very instant the figure of the officer-of-the-day disappeared from view behind the high back fence, out from the shadows of the shed there sprang a lithe, slender form, clad in soldier overcoat, and, in less time than it takes to tell it, around it darted behind the shed, was one instant poised at the top of the fence that separated the yard of Davies's quarters from that of their next-door neighbor, then noiselessly dropped out of sight on the other side. The next minute Cranston appeared in the gap.

Instead of shouting, fearful of disturbing the inmates, the chaplain quit his post, hastened along the front to Davies's gate and around the house to the rear, where he found Cranston searching.

"There was a man. I saw him. He leaped the fence into the next yard. A tall, slender fellow."

But search in there and in its fellows revealed nothing. The prowler had had time to skip from yard to yard, and nothing short of the services of the entire guard would be apt to result in his capture.

"I wish you had shouted to me. I could have grabbed him in Hay's yard,"

said Cranston.

"Well, I didn't like to for fear of startling Mrs. Davies," said the chaplain, simply, and Cranston glanced quickly and queerly up at him from under the visor of the little cavalry cap.

"Why, she----" he began, then checked himself abruptly.

"Could you give no description of him? Did he leave no trace?" asked Captain Devers at the office next morning when the old officer-of-the-day made his report.

"No, sir, but the chaplain might. He saw him plainly,--said he was tall and slender."

And Captain Devers replied,--

"Very good, sir. You're relieved," and then turned to the new inc.u.mbent, Captain Rogers, of the infantry: "I wish especial attention given to this matter, Captain Rogers, and probably I shall take a turn with you to-night after twelve."

But that night long after twelve the whole post took a turn. It was towards four A.M. when the telegraph operator, who slept always beside his instrument, came banging at the door of "A" Troop's office. It was opened by an indignant Irish sergeant. "Go rout out the captain at once.

You know how to rouse him and I don't. There's h.e.l.l to pay and the whole crowd wanted." And Haney, who would have d.a.m.ned his impudence another time, donned his clothes without an instant's delay, and together they ran across the parade and brought up with a bang at Devers's storm-door.

Agatha Loomis was probably a light sleeper. It was her tap at the Cranstons' room that first roused them.

"What is it?" cried Margaret, up in an instant and filled with no other apprehension than that of more sore throat or cough in the nursery.

"There's some excitement and running about the post. The office is lighted and people are hurrying over there."

Cranston looked at his watch,--4.15. Peering out of the dormer-window at the front, he could see dark forms scurrying across the parade and lights beginning to pop up here and there and everywhere along the row of barracks. Hurriedly donning his stable dress and furs, he went down to the hall-way, Margaret, pale and silent now, following. A man was knocking at the door of the adjoining quarters, and Cranston recognized the form of Lieutenant Jervis. "What's up?" he queried.

"Big row at the agency," came the murmured reply. "Reckon most everybody will have to go." And though he spoke in low, guarded tone, Margaret heard, and then clung to her husband's arm.

"Again! so soon?" she cried. "Oh, G.o.d! Are we never to know one-half year of peace?"

Cranston led her into the warm little parlor and took her in his arms.

"I must go to head-quarters at once," he whispered. "Doubtless I should have been there before; but don't borrow trouble, Meg, dear, wait until I know what's to be done." Then he left her with Agatha and went his way.

The office was crowded. Devers sat in the colonel's chair pencilling despatches to be sent to department head-quarters. Around him, sitting or standing, were most of the officers of the garrison, either silently regarding him or chatting in low tone. All that was known was that Sam Poole, one of the best and most daring scouts employed at the agency, had ridden into Braska about three o'clock, his horse nearly spent, with the news that the whole gang of Sioux had risen in revolt and attacked the agent. He left at 8.15 Friday night with McPhail's plea for instant help and all they could send of it, but so deep were the drifts in places and so exhausted was his horse that it had taken him all that time to reach the railway. The wire was still down and he bore the latest news. There could be no mistake: the attack had fairly begun before he was out of hearing. The volleying and yelling beat anything he'd heard since the battle at Slim b.u.t.tes in September. The quartermaster in charge of the depot at Braska had despatches wired at once to Omaha and another out to the fort. Devers was up in a few minutes and had sent his orderly for certain of the officers, and the noise of ringing or knocking along the row had roused others. Cranston and Hay were not of those sent for, but Devers explained that he took it for granted they were prepared to take the field with their troops at a moment's notice, and did not care to disturb them until he knew what they would be required to do. It would be several hours before orders could reach them from Omaha, he reasoned, and he had no idea what the orders would be. The whole command might be sent, or none of it.

Meantime vigorous preparations were going on in the store-rooms and kitchens along the barrack row, "A" Troop's activity being conspicuous.

But without waiting for orders from their captains, the veteran first sergeants of the other troops were getting everything in readiness, and when Hay and Cranston walked over to the barracks to see how far preparations were advanced, each had an approving word for his faithful aide.

But Omaha was wider awake than Devers supposed. The Gray Fox was in possession of the news almost as soon as the post commanders, and he and his adjutant-general were at the telegraph-office within half an hour.

"I will go by first train," said he. "Meantime we must start a big force."

And so before the reveille bugles were singing through the wintry morning along the slopes of the Rockies, the telegraph had roused the officers at all the posts along the railway for five hundred miles.

Russell, Sanders, and Sidney were up and astir with preparation. Special trains were ordered to meet and convey their detachments of horse, foot, and pack-trains, so that a big command might concentrate at once at Sidney and march thence, 'cross country, to the Ogallalla Agency, Colonel Winthrop at their head. The commanding officer of Fort Scott was directed to start three troops of cavalry and two companies of infantry at once, with instructions to join Colonel Winthrop's column at the Niobrara crossing, and, his own troop being now the smallest at the post, owing to these details at the agency, Devers very properly decided on sending everybody else's. Truman, Hay, and Cranston of the Eleventh and Pollock and Muncey of the Fortieth were the captains ordered to march forthwith. Before eight o'clock on Sunday morning the little column had swung st.u.r.dily away over the prairies, and Captain Devers, with his own attenuated troop and two companies of "doughboys," remained to guard the post and its supplies, and take care of the invalid colonel and the wives and children of the soldiers so summarily ordered into the field.

And now Almira could not lack sympathizers, for both Mrs. Flight and Mrs. Darling had been called upon to say adieu to their respective lords, who marched with their st.u.r.dy comrades in the wake of the cavalry, guarding the few wagons which had to be taken; but these gentlemen belonged to a famous regiment that had known no other history since the day of its organization than that of constant active service.

The Fortieth was forever in the field,--its wives "perennially gra.s.s-widowed," said the garrison wits,--its children so seldom blessed with the sight of the paternal face as to be preternaturally wise in picking out their own fathers. The Fortieth went as a matter of course.

The two companies remaining behind looked upon that as a mere accident that time would surely rectify. The two that went made the customary appeal to the post commander for the release of certain untried and unpunished of their weaker members who happened to be at the moment languishing in the guard-house, and the plea prevailed. Hearing this, the chaplain, backed by Dr. Burroughs, came to the office with another plea. There was the young man Brannan confined in the guard-house since Wednesday morning last, he knew not on what charges and begged to be released from durance so utterly vile and permitted to go with the command to the rescue of his comrades at the agency,--what there might be left of them.

But Devers replied that Brannan's troop was not going. Furthermore, he intended to have Brannan brought before a garrison court on the morrow.

This was the sorrowful message the chaplain carried, and Brannan wrung his hands. "I have violated no regulation, missed no roll-call, been drunk on no duty. I did drink when half frozen on that hard ride from the agency to the post. I drank after I got here, but drank no more and behaved no worse than half a dozen others of the troop who were with me at the store, and some of whom drank more, got drunk and were allowed to sleep it off in quarters and nothing said about it. Why am I singled out for punishment? Why is Paine--who went to town and had to be brought back by a patrol--why is he released and allowed to go as wagoner, while I am forbidden to go at all? There's surely something behind all this, chaplain."

And the dominie didn't say so to the man, but thought so to himself. He was still talking with the prisoner when the sergeant of the guard came and said he was sorry, but orders had just come for Brannan to be sent to the quartermaster's corral at once to help load wagons, and the young fellow, with tears in his eyes, was led mutely away. Cranston happened to ride by the corral ten minutes later and caught sight of the pale, fine-featured face, whose-eyes looked up at him wistfully, imploringly.

"Why, Brannan," said he, "I had hoped to hear of your release by this time. We march in less than an hour, and I fear nothing I can say to Captain Devers will be apt to help you, but try to keep up good heart.

Say nothing about this confinement to your mother when you write, and I'll ask Mr. Leonard to look out for you. He'll see that no great harm comes."

"It seems as if everything had gone against me, sir," said the boy, with quivering lips. "I don't know why I can't get justice in this troop. If Captain Devers thinks me so bad a soldier, why don't he let me transfer?

I've asked twice, and he refuses. It's my belief he's trying to drive me to desert so as to get me out of the way--or destroy my character."

"Hush, Brannan. You know that you ought not to talk to me in that way.

There's no time for words. I'll ask Mr. Hay to keep special lookout for you. I know the general will overtake us to-morrow, and quick as possible I'll have a word with him. Now, good-by, lad. Stand to your guns a little longer and you're all right."

"I'll try, sir, if you'll give my--give my respects to Mr. Davies, and say to Miss Loomis--G.o.d bless her." And with a choke in his voice the young soldier turned suddenly away, dashing his sleeve over his eyes.

"Get to work there, you, Brannan," growled Sergeant Haney before Cranston was out of hearing. "No more palavering with officers out of your own troop this day unless you want double trouble in it,--and be d.a.m.ned to you," he added, in low and cautious tone, his eyes furtively following the captain, now twenty yards away. And Cranston was riding home to don his winter field rig and to a parting that he dreaded beyond all description, for now, more than for many a long year, had Margaret need of all her husband's love and encouragement and devotion.

Sunday noon the detachment from Scott was across the railway and first on march to the beleaguered agency. Sunday night they camped in the breaks of the big divide, some fifteen miles north of Braska, and still no tidings came from beyond the Niobrara. Restoring the telegraph line as they went, digging it out from under the snow, the infantry trudged along all day Monday, following the trail of their mounted comrades who left them at dawn, and early Monday morning an ambulance drawn by six spanking big brown mules whipped by them along the road, and the kindly twinkling eyes of their old friend and fellow-campaigner, the general, peered out at them. Away he went to overtake the foremost riders, with just brief word or two and cordial grasp of the hand to the few officers who hastened alongside. Without guard or escort, with only a single aide-de-camp, with his life in his hands as usual, the Gray Fox was heading straight for the scene of danger. "Heard anything at all?" he asked.

"Not a thing." Who could tell whether man or woman was left to forward word of any kind?

Monday night the cavalry reached the snow-covered banks of the Niobrara, and went into bivouac on the northern sh.o.r.e to await the coming of the black speck that, just before dusk, could be seen far in their wake picking a way through the drifts in its descent from the crest of the divide. "It's the general, of course," said everybody, and the general it was.

"Anybody come ahead yet from Winthrop?" was his first question. No! The Sidney road was covered in places by drifts that had lain unbroken ever since the storm. "Any news from the agency?"

Not a word, and it lay now barely a dozen miles away. Tuesday morning, too impatient to wait for coming reinforcements, and confident he could hold his own with the little force at hand, the Gray Fox pushed ahead.

All were up and off at the break of the wintry day, and at eight o'clock had neared the top of the divide between the shallow, placid Niobrara and the swift Chasing Water beyond. Little Sanders, trotting far in the advance with three or four light riders, threw himself from his horse, unslung his field-gla.s.s, and peered long and anxiously into the northward valley. All seemed desolate and deserted. A smoke was drifting lazily upward from the site of the distant agency; not from peaceful chimney, but rising from a ma.s.s of smouldering ruins. The villages of Red Dog, Kills Asleep, Little Big Man, even of Two Lance, had disappeared, and of the Ogallalla Agency not another vestige could be seen but the grim outlines of the stockade.

CHAPTER XX.