Warrior Gap

C >> Charles King >> Warrior Gap

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"Oh, Miss Folsom!" she faltered, her bosom heaving in violent agitation.
"I did not know you were here. I--excuse me--" and hastened out of the
room and up the winding stairs.

"Pappoose" never hesitated. Coolly, quickly, she stepped to the window.
Major Burleigh had just reached the top step and was exchanging greeting
with his host. The stylish team and glistening wagon were just spinning
away.

"It'll be back in five minutes," she, heard the quartermaster explain to
her father. "Newhall has to meet come people coming in by stage from
Green River. I thought I'd rather spend the time here."

And on the back seat, affably waving his hand in adieu, and jauntily
lifting his rakish forage cap in salutation general to any of the young
ladies who might be watching, sat the gentleman whose regiment was in
Louisiana while he was up here on leave looking after mining
investments.

CHAPTER X.

"Three mortal hours," said Miss Folsom to her fond little school friend
and chum that afternoon, "have I had to sit or stroll with or listen to
Major Burleigh. I never once was able to enjoy the view. What made him
hurry us away from the northeast point, do you suppose?"

"Did you notice that, Nell? I did, too, and I was so interested in the
view. Away up toward Laramie Peak I could see something through the
glasses that looked like a lot of little ants crawling along together.
It was just after that--just after we looked through the glass, that he
marched us round to the other side. The view toward Green River isn't
half as pretty."

"And now he's telling some interminable story to father over their
cigars. What shall we do if he hangs on? Father will have to ask him to
drive with us to the fort, and there won't be room."

"Unless Mrs. Fletcher gives up her seat," said Jessie demurely.

"Mrs. Fletcher isn't going. A very different person takes her seat
to-day, Jess. Father left a note for Mr. Loomis at the hotel and he
accepted. Now you see why I don't want Major Burleigh."

It was then long after three o'clock. At five they were to start and
Jessie could hardly curb her impatience. The mail from Frayne, so said
Folsom, would arrive that evening, and then surely there would be news
of Marshall. They had slipped away to their rooms after the bountiful
luncheon served on their return, in order, as "Pappoose" expressed it,
that the gentlemen might have t-heir cigars in peace. Mrs. Fletcher,
after seeing that everything was prepared, had directed the servant to
say to Mr. Folsom, on the return of the party, that she would prefer not
to appear, and would be glad to keep her room, as she did not feel it at
all necessary for the housekeeper to meet strangers, and Folsom felt a
sense of relief. It was so much sweeter not to have any presiding genius
other than Pappoose, not that he was forgetful of Mrs. Fletcher's merits
and services--which were great--but it was plain to see that his
daughter would have been happier had no such office existed as that
created for this deserving and destitute widow. At three Miss Folsom had
gone and tapped at the lady's door--her room was in the third story
overlooking the street--and was very civilly assured that Mrs. Fletcher
stood in need of nothing, but, being wearied, she would like a little
sleep. No, she did not even care for a cup of tea. Yet Elinor felt
confident that the voice that replied to her inquiries came neither from
the bed nor the lounge, but from the direction of the front window.

At three the cigars were smoked out and the host and his guest were in
the library. It was Folsom's custom, when a possible thing, to take a
brief nap after the midday meal, and Elinor felt sure he would be glad
of the opportunity now, if Burleigh would only go, but Burleigh
wouldn't. In monotonous monologue his voice came floating up to the
second floor, drowsy, unbroken in its soporific flow, and the girls
themselves, after the morning's drive in the clear, bracing air, felt as
though forty winks would be a blessing. Could it be that Burleigh
lingered on in hopes of their reappearance below? Might it not be that
if relief came not speedily Papa Folsom would yield to the spell and
fall asleep in his easy-chair? Was it not Miss Folsom's duty to descend
and take the burden of entertainment off those elder shoulders? These
thoughts oppressed the girl, and starting up, she cried:

"It's simply wicked of me staying here and letting poor papa be bored to
death. Do come down, Jess, dear, unless you're dreadfully sleepy. He
acts just as though he intended never to go."

And Jess promised reluctantly to come down in ten minutes, if he didn't
leave; but she hated him, and had hated him ever since he spoke so of
Marshall in the car three days before.

The upper hall had been quite dark when Miss Folsom went up to inquire
how Mrs. Fletcher was just after luncheon. The door to her little room
was tightly closed. The blinds in all the other rooms aloft were drawn
against the glare of the sunshine in the cloudless atmosphere; yet now,
as Pappoose stepped suddenly out upon the landing, she was surprised to
see that the upper floor was much lighter than when she went up half an
hour earlier. The maid had not gone thither from the kitchen, and Mrs.
Fletcher wished to doze. Who, then, could have opened both blind and
door and let in that flood of light? Impulsively the active girl flew up
the winding stairs to the third story, and some one suddenly withdrew
from the balcony rail, and an instant later, as Miss Folsom reached the
top, all became dark again. Mrs. Fletcher's door had unquestionably been
open, and was now shut to. She must have been out there listening, and
gravely the young girl asked herself what it meant--Mrs. Fletcher's
agitation in the library that morning as she peered out at the major's
wagon; her absence from luncheon on account, as she pleaded, of not
desiring to appear when company was present; and now, despite her desire
to sleep, her vigil at the third-floor landing, where she was surely
listening to the sounds from below.

Pondering over the facts, Elinor Folsom slowly retraced her steps and
went downstairs. She reached the library none too soon. Old John's eyes
were closed, and he was slowly toppling, over come with sleep. The sound
of her cheery voice aroused him, and he started, guilty and crestfallen.

Burleigh's heavy face brightened visibly at her coming. He cared no more
for music than does a cat, but eagerly followed her across the broad
hall into the parlor when she suggested showing him the beautiful piano
papa had given her; and old John, blessing her, lurched for the sofa,
buried his hot head in a pillow, and was asleep in ten seconds. Major
Burleigh was alone with the lovely daughter of the veteran trader. He
was a man of the world; she an unsophisticated girl just out of
school--so said Burleigh, albeit a most charming one; and he, who had
monopolized her time the entire morning, bore down once more upon his
prize.

She had seated herself at the piano, and her long, taper fingers were
rippling over the keys. She knew full well he did not care what she
played, and as for herself she did not care just then to play at all.
She was thinking of his insinuation at Marshall Dean's expense. She was
still pondering over Mrs. Fletcher's stealthy scrutiny of the
quartermaster's team. On these two accounts, and no other, he was
possessed of certain interest in Elinor's dark-brown eyes, and they were
studying him coolly, searchingly, as he drew a chair near the piano
stool, and seated himself and met her look with a broad, encouraging
smile.

Trill and ripple, ripple and trill her white fingers raced over the
keyboard.

"I'm sure you know this waltz, major," she was saying. "They played it
beautifully at the Point two summers ago."

"I--ah, yes, it's a charming composition--charming, though I don't
recall it's name just now."

"This? why it's one of Godfrey's--'The Hilda,' don't you know? I'm sure
you waltz, major."

"I--ah, used to, yes. I was very fond of a waltz," answered Burleigh,
whose best efforts in that line could result in nothing better than a
waddle. "But of late years I--I--since my bereavement--have practically
withdrawn from society." Then, with a languishing smile, he added, "I
shall be tempted to re-enter the list now," and the major drew his chair
nearer by full an inch, and prepared to be further "killing."

"Jessie dances divinely," said Miss Folsom. "She simply floats round a
room. You should see her waltz with her brother, Major Burleigh. They
might be waltzing here this very minute if he were only home. What can
have detained him, do you think?"

"I wish I knew," said the quartermaster slowly. "It makes those who
are--ah--his friends, you know, anxious in more ways than one, because
there is--er--nothing to warrant delay--nothing to--excuse it. He
should, in fact, have been at his post, where his troop is sorely
needed, full four days ago," and Burleigh looked heavy with portent.

"Is it not possible that he has found something along the lower
Laramie--something where his troop is needed much more than here doing
stable guard?"

"How can it be possible?" said Burleigh. "The only thing to warrant his
delay would be Indians, and there are none south of the Platte; or horse
thieves, and they hung the last of the gang three months ago. Mr. Dean,
I--ah--regret to say, is fonder of fishing and hunting than of his
legitimate duties, and this, I fear, is why he is not here to welcome
his sister."

The piano went rippling on, but the brown eyes kept up their steady
gaze. In the deep bass chords now her slender fingers were entangled.
Slowly and thoughtfully the rich melody swung in the proud waltz rhythm
through the airy room and floated out upon the summer breeze. A little
line was setting deep between the dark, arching eyebrows, a symptom
Pappoose's schoolmates had learned to note as a signal for danger, but
Burleigh knew her not, as yet.

"It is odd," said she dreamily, "that at the Point the officers spoke so
highly of Mr. Dean, and here you seem to think so differently of him. It
is a deep disappointment to his sister that he is not here; but, do you
know, major, we were saying only this morning before you came that there
was some excellent reason for his delay, and we'd know it within another
day."

"Oh, ah--er--of course I hope so. I think, pardon me, that that must be
a messenger from my office now," for spurred boot-heels were coming
briskly up the wooden walk. There was a bounding step on the piazza, a
ring at the bell. The servant bustled through the hall and threw open
the door. It was not a messenger from the depot, but a stalwart,
sunburnt man in rough ranch garb, who whipped off his broad-brimmed hat
and stood abashed within the hall as he asked for Mr. Folsom.

And all of a sudden over went the piano-stool with a crash, and out into
the hall, joyous, bounding, light as a fairy, a vision of dark, girlish
beauty, went Pappoose.

"Why, Ned Lannion!" she cried, as she seized the swarthy young fellow's
hands and shook them up and down "Don't you know me--Winona that used to
be? Why, how well you look! When did you leave the ranch? How did you
leave them? Is Hal here--or coming?"

And at sound of her voice old Folsom had started up from his sofa and
came trotting out into the hall, just roused from his sleep, and
blinking a bit as he, too, held forth cordial, welcoming hands. It was a
moment before they could let Ned tell his story, and then it came by
jerks.

"We left there early yesterday morning, mum. They're all well now, 'cept
Jake, and he'll come out all right, but we had a close call. A war party
of Sioux jumped as Wednesday afternoon, and they'd a got away with us
but for Lieutenant Dean and his troop. They come along just in time----"

"Ned!" gasped Elinor, "you don't mean they attacked the ranch?"

"No'me. We was down the Lar'mie--rounding up horses. There was a dozen
bucks in the party. It's the first time they've come across in a year
that I know of, and they won't be apt to try it again. We shot two of
'em and the cavalry drove 'em a running fight, so hard that they had to
leave one of their wounded behind them. He died in a minute. It
was--" and then Ned Lannion gulped and stumbled and choked in
embarrassment.

"Who was it?" demanded Mr. Folsom, his rugged face pale and twitching,
his eyes full of anxiety.

"Chaska, sir. _You_ know."

Folsom gripped him by the shoulder. "And Burning Star--did you see him?
Was he there?"

"Yes, sir; but those boys of Lieutenant Dean's gave them a lickin'
they'll never forget. The ranch is safe as if it was here in Gate City,
only Hal he couldn't come himself, and he knowed you'd be anxious for
full particulars, so he sent me in with the cavalry. They're out at the
fort now."

"Jessie!" cried Elinor, in delight that overmastered the emotion with
which she had listened to the tale of her brother's recent peril.
Marshall's here--almost home. It's just as we said, Jess. Do come down.
He was there just in time to save my brother's life--to drive the
Indians back to the river. Come quick--I want to hug you!" And her dark
eyes, flashing with joy and excitement, danced full upon the bulky form
of the major, slowly issuing from the parlor door, then beyond as she
went bounding by him, all eagerness to clasp her bonny friend in her
arms, and shower her with congratulations. And so it happened that both
the girls were at the rear of the hall entwined in each other's arms at
the foot of the stairs when the ranchman answered Folsom's next
question, and then broke out with the abrupt announcement, "I never see
a young officer handle his men better. We'd all been in hell by this
time if it wasn't for him, yet, by God, sir, the moment he got into the
post they clapped him in arrest."

CHAPTER XI.

That evening, when John Folsom, half an hour earlier than the stipulated
time, drove the girls and their friend, Lieutenant Loomis, out to the
fort, Major Burleigh was left to his own devices, and his face plainly
showed that he was far from pleased with the way things were going. The
news that Marshall Dean had been placed in arrest by order of the
commanding officer of Fort Emory, following as it did close on the heels
of the tidings of that young officer's prompt and soldierly handling of
the crisis at the ranch, made Folsom boil over with wrath. His first
word was one of caution, however. "Hush!" he said, "Speak low. Yonder
stands his sister. The girls must not know yet." Then, leading the way
into the library and closing the door behind them, he demanded all
particulars Lannion could give him, which were few enough.

"The lieutenant halted the troop outside the post," said the indignant
ranchman, "had it dismount there while he rode on in to report to the
commanding officer for instructions. The colonel was taking his nap
after lunch, and the adjutant was at the office, and what does he do but
get up from his desk solemn-like, and when the lieutenant says 'I report
the arrival of Troop "C" at the post, sir,' the adjutant didn't answer a
word, but reached out and got his sabre and began buckling it around
him, and then he put on his cap and gloves, and says he, 'Lieutenant
Dean, I'm sorry, but my instructions are to place you in close arrest,
by order of Colonel Stevens.' Why, you could have knocked me down with
the kick of a gopher I was so dumfounded! The lieutenant he didn't say
anything for a minute, but turned white and looked like he could have
knocked the top of the adjutant's head off. 'An officer will be sent to
take charge of the troop,' said the adjutant, 'an' I suppose you'd
better confine yourself to your tent, as the colonel means to have them
camp there a day or two, until he hears from Captain Brooks as to
quarters.' 'Well, will you have the goodness to say what charges have
been laid against me?' said Mr. Dean, and the adjutant hemmed, and
hawed, and 'lowed that the colonel hadn't formerly drawn 'em up yet, but
that a copy would be served on him as soon as they were ready."

"Then I said I'd go right in and find you, and that's all I know."

And then it was that Folsom turned on Burleigh, with gloom in his eye,
and said: "By the Eternal, Major Burleigh, I hope you've had nothing to
do with this!"

"Nothing in the world, I assure you, Mr. Folsom, I--I deeply regret it.
Though, as I have told you, I can hardly be surprised, after what has
been said, and--d what I have seen." But the major could not squarely
meet the gaze in the keen eyes of the old trader, nor could the latter
conceal his suspicions. "I know you wish to hear all the particulars of
the affair at the ranch from this gentleman," said the major uneasily,
"so I will leave you with him for the present," and backing out into the
hall he turned to the foot of the winding staircase where Elinor had met
her friend. The girls were still there, their faces clouded with
surprise and anxiety. It was an opportunity not to be lost.

"Pray do not be troubled, Miss Folsom," said Burleigh, advancing upon
them with outstretched hand, "er, Mr. Folsom merely wants to hear
further details from Lannion. I wish to extend my congratulations to you
and, ah, this young lady, first upon the fortunate escape of _your_
brother," and he bowed over his distended stomach to Elinor, "and second
upon the part played by _yours_," and he repeated the bow to Jess, who,
however, shrank away from the extended hand. "It will go far to
counteract the stories that I--ah, er--believe you know about--that were
in circulation, and most unjustly, doubtless, at--er--his expense."

"Who put them in circulation, Major Burleigh?" asked Pappoose, her brown
eyes studying his face as unflinchingly as had her father's gaze a
moment before.

"That, my dear young lady I--er--cannot surmise. They are mostly
imaginative, I dare say."

But Miss Folsom looked unmollified, Miss Dean agitated, and Burleigh
himself had many a reason for feeling ill at ease. Just at the time of
all others when he most desired to stand on good terms with the
well-to-do old trader and his charming daughter he found himself the
object of distrust. He was thinking hard and far from hopefully as a
moment later he hastened down the street.

"Tell them to send up my buggy, quick," were his orders as he stepped
within his office doorway. Then lowering his voice, "Has Captain Newhall
returned?" he asked the chief clerk.

"The captain was here, sir. Left word he needed to take the first
train--freight or construction, it made no difference--to Cheyenne and
expected to find a letter or package from you, and there's two telegrams
in from Department Headquarters on your desk, sir."

The major turned thither with solemn face, and read them both, his back
to his subordinate, his face to the light, and growing grayer every
moment. One was a curt notification that ten thousand dollars would be
needed at once at Warrior Gap to pay contractors and workmen, and
directing him to send the amount from the funds in his keeping. The
other read as follows:

"Have all transportation put in readiness for immediate field service.
Every wheel may be needed."

This he tossed carelessly aside. Over the first he pondered deeply, his
yellow-white face growing dark and haggard.

Ten thousand dollars to be sent at once to Warrior Gap! Workmen's pay!
Who could have predicted that? Who could have given such an order? Who
would have imagined payment would have to be made before July, when some
reasonable amount of work had been done? What could laborers do with
their money up there, even if they had it? It was preposterous! It was
risky to attempt to send it. But what was infinitely worse--for him--it
was impossible. The money was practically already gone, but--not to
Warrior Gap.

Those were days when inspectors' visits were like those of other angels,
few and far between. The railway was only just finished across the great
divide of the Black Hills of Wyoming. Only as far as Cheyenne was there
a time schedule for trains, and that--far more honored in the breach
than the observance. Passengers bound west of that sinfully thriving
town were luckier, as a rule, if they went by stage. Those were days,
too, in which a depot quartermaster with a drove of government mules and
a corral full of public vehicles at his command was a monarch in the
eyes of the early settlers; and when, added to these high-priced
luxuries, he had on deposit in various banks from Chicago to Cheyenne,
and even here at Gate City, thousands of dollars in government
greenbacks expendible on his check for all manner of purposes, from
officers' mileage accounts to the day laborer's wages, from bills for
the roofing of barracks and quarters to the setting of a single
horseshoe, from the purchase of forage and fuel for the dozen military
posts within range of his supply trains down to a can of axle grease.
Every one knew Burleigh's horses and habits were far more costly than
his pay would permit. Everybody supposed he had big returns from mines
and stocks and other investments. Nobody knew just what his investments
were, and only he knew how few they were and how unprofitable they had
become. Those were days when, as now, disbursing officers were forbidden
to gamble, but when, not as now, the law was a dead letter. Burleigh had
gambled for years; had, with little remorse, ruined more than one man,
and yet stood now awe-stricken and dismayed and wronged by Fate, since
luck had turned at last against him. Large sums had been lost to players
inexorable as he himself had been. Large sums had been diverted from the
government channels in his charge, some to pay his so-called debts of
honor, some to cover abstractions from other funds, "robbing Peter to
pay Paul," some to silence people who knew too much; some, ay, most of
it, in fact, to cover margins, and once money gets started on that grade
it slips through one's fingers like quicksilver. At the very moment when
Anson Burleigh's envious cronies were telling each other he stood far
ahead of the world, the figures were telling him he stood some twenty
thousand dollars behind it, and that, too, when he was confronted by two
imperative calls for spot cash, one for ten thousand to go to Warrior
Gap, another for a sum almost as big to "stake" a man who never yet had
turned an honest penny, yet held the quartermaster where he dare not say
so--where indeed he dare not say no.

"If you haven't it you know where you can get it--where you have often
got it before, and where you'd better get it before it's too late;"
these were words said to him that very morning, in tones so low that
none but he could bear; yet they were ringing in his head now like the
boom of some tolling bell. Time was when he had taken government money
and turned it into handsome profit through the brokers of San Francisco
and Chicago. But, as Mr. John Oakhurst remarked, "There's only one thing
certain about luck, and that is it's bound to change," and change it
had, and left him face to face with calamity and dishonor. Where was he
to raise the ten thousand dollars that must be sent to the post
quartermaster at Warrior Gap? The end of the fiscal year was close at
hand. He dare not further divert funds from one appropriation to cover
shortages in another. He could borrow from the banks, with a good
endorser, but what endorser was there good enough but John Folsom?--the
last man now whom he could bear to have suspect that he was in straits.
Folsom was reported to be worth two hundred thousand dollars, and that
lovely girl would inherit half his fortune. There lived within his
circle no man, no woman in whose esteem Burleigh so longed to stand
high, and he had blundered at the start. Damn that young cub who dared
to lecture him on the evils of poker! Was a boy lieutenant to shame him
before officers of the general's staff and expect to go unwhipped? Was
that butt-headed subaltern to be the means of ruining his prospects
right here and now when he stood so sorely in need of aid? Was the devil
himself in league against him, that that boy's sister should turn out to
be the closest friend old Folsom's daughter ever had--a girl to whom
father and daughter both were devoted, and through her were doubtless
interested in the very man he had been plotting to pull down? Burleigh
savagely ground his teeth together.

"Go and hurry that buggy," he ordered, as he crushed the sheet of paper
on which he had been nervously figuring. Then, springing up, he began
pacing his office with impatient stride. A clerk glanced quickly up from
his desk, watched him one moment with attentive eye, and looked
significantly at his neighbor. "Old man's getting worse rattled every
day," was the comment, as the crash of wheels through loose gravel
announced the coming of the buggy, and Burleigh hastened out, labored
into his seat, and took the whip and reins. The blooded mare in the
shafts darted forward at the instant, but he gathered and drew her in,
the nervous creature almost settling on her haunches.

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