The San Francisco call. [volume], May 05, 1895, Page 18, Image 18

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18
FORT FRAYNE
CHAPTER IX.
Alarmed at Mrs. Daunton's failure to
rejoin them Leale had tossed the reins tv
his orderly, and. leaving Mrs. Farrar seated
in the sleigh, hurried into the building in
search of her. It was a prostrate, sense
less form he found close to the inner door,
and only after a deal of trouble did she
revive. Greatly alarmed. Mrs. Farrar had
caused her to be driven straight home, and
there the doctor came, and Ellis and min
istering angels without stint and ques
tioners without number, but meantime,
. with wrathful fare, had gone to his
troop quarters and summoned his iirst
sergeant. Graice had not been with the
men at dinner, was that worthy's prompt
report. He was at the post exchange eat
ing sandwiches and drinking beer at that
moment, and Leale sent for him.
Something had tended to sober the man,
for he came into his captain's presence
looking sullen, but self-possessed.
'•I warned you after that affray with
Crow Knife," said Leale, "that you were
to keep out of temptation and mischief
until you were sober enough to understand
what I had to say to you. Where were
you between dinner call and 12:30?"
"Walking off my heat, sir, as the cap
tain directed.'
Leale stood closely scanning the swollen
face of the soldier. lie was always grave
and deliberate in dealing with the malcon
tents of his command, rarely speaking in
anger and never in a tone indicative of
irritation. Under the captain"s calm,
steadfast scrutiny Graice plainly winced.
His bloodshot eyes wandered restlessly
about and his lin"gers closed and ur
nervously.
•You have made but an 111 name for
yourself thus far, my man," said Leale,
"and this day's work has not added to
your credit What started the trouble with
Crow Knift?"
"He struck me." was the surly answer.
"Yon have been drintfing liquor to-day,
Graice, and it is said of you throughout
the whole troop that when drinking yon
are ugly and ill-tempered. 1 have known
Crow Knife a long time, and never knew
him to be in trouble before. You are the
first man of this command to quarrel with
him. Let it be the last time. He bears a
good name: you have made :i bad one.
Another thing: you were working there at
the hall this morning under Corporal
Rorke. What became of you when the
other men left and went to dinner?"
"I— was thirsty— and went for a drink,"
was the shifty answer.
'•Went where? You were not then at the
post exchange."
The soldier turned redder, if possible,
and hitched uneasily, the bloodshi
still wandering wearily about, a- i:
eager for any Bght other than that which
burned in the clear, stern gaze of his cap
tain. ''I went for a drink,'" he repeated,
'•and I'm not bound to say where, and so
get some one else in trouble. I'm not with
out friends hen-, even if I haven't them
among my officers, and I can be true to
those that are true to me."
"Such talk is buncombe, Graice." said
Leale. coolly, "and you know it. You will
do better to keep clear of friends who eive
you liquor. You are sober enough to ap
preciate now what you hear andVhat you
say. Keep clear of it, I warn you, or it
will be your undoing. Are you not for
guard ?"
"I am, sir. and ready to take my turn
when needed, but I can take take no such
affront as that redskin slung in my teeth."
"Enough on that score! I'll hear your
story to-morrow when you've both cooled
down. Now, go to your quarters, and for
the rest of this day keep away from three
things— Crow Knife, liquor and — under
stand me — the assembly hall."
The sullen eyes glowed with new anger.
The man had been drinking just enough to
be reckless. "Fd like to know why I'm
not considered lit to work, at least." he
muttered.
"You are not fit to be seen by the eyes of
gently nurtured women, Graice. Your
face is bloated, your eves inflamed. Your
whole carriage tells of the havoc liquor
plays. You may as well know that the
sight of you was a shock to our guest, Mrs.
Farrar, and I suspect you could tell what
it was that so startled Mrs. Daunton."
"I don't know any such—" began the
soldier in the same surly tone, but Leale
uplifted his hand.
"The less you say when you've been
drinking, my man. the less you're likely to
fall into further trouble. You go no more
to the assembly room to-day, because I
forbid. Do youunderstand?"
•I've got' rights to go there— ay. or,
where my Detters cannot go—" hurst in
Graice in sudden fury, but the instant his
eyes met those of his captain the words
died on his lips, and the red lids dropped.
"You have said more than enough, sir,"
sternly answered Leale. Then, "turning
sharply to a little knot of non-commis
sioned officers, who, at the barrack steps,
were curiously watching the scene, he
called, "Sergeant Roe!" and a young sol
dier in natty uniform came springing for
ward, and, halting close at hand, stood at
the salute.
"I leave this man in your charge. He is
for guard, I believe. Set him to work at
his kit and see that he is in proper trim
in ever}' way— for to-morrow.
"He may be needed to-day, sir. He's
supernumerary. "
-Indeed! \Vorse than I thought,
Graice," said Leale. calmly. "Yon will be
wise to take a cool bath "and a nap then.
At all events, see that he does not leave the
barracks this afternoon, sergeant."
"I will, sir. Come on, Graice."
And conscious that he had been indeed
:ig with fire, yet raging over the sense
of his enforced submission, the half
drunken fellow turned and followed his
young superior.
Meantime there had been anxiety and
dismay at the Farrars". Helen had speed
ily Deen restored to consciousness, only to
be overcome by a fit of hysterical wet-pin s,
succeeded by a nervous attack that detied
the efforts of her fondest friends. Mr-.
Farrar had. of course, sent for the doctor.
but Helen insisted that his presence was
utterly unnecessary. She bejrged to be left
alone. She declared the attack to be no new
ailing. She had suffered just in the same
way before, though not for two or three
years. She seemed eager to rid herself of
all attendance. In truth, her one longing
was to be allowed to think uninterruptedly.
Even at night this might have been
difficult. By day, with sympathetic in
quirers coming every few minutes to the
door, and with her gentle friend sitting
at her bedside, she found it impos
sible. If she closed her eyes that leer
ing, half-drunken, swollen, triumphant
face came to torment and distract her.
If she opened them it was only to find
sweet, anxious features bending over her,
full of tenderness, sympathy, and un
spoken inquiry. Do what she could to
allay it, Helen Daunton saw plainly that
Marjorie Farrar more than suspected that
there was some exciting cause for that
sudden prostration. In utter helplessness
?he lay striving to plan, striving to see a
wav out of this new and most appalling
somplication. That the man wlio had
wrecked her life should return, as it were,
from the grave was in itself horrible
enough, but that he should reappear in
the flesh, here, at Frayne, where
his presence was a menace to the peace of
so many who were dear to her ana to the
very life, perhaps of the gentle invalid who
was nearest of all, was torture indeed. For
some hours she lay there facing her fate,
shutting out all thought of her newborn
hope and joy thus summarily blasted, see
ing only— thinking only — of 'the peril that
involved her friend. Tiie short winter day
wore on. The spirits of the younger mem
bers of the social circle seemed undimmed,
for, as stable call was sounding, she could
hear merry chat and laughter again in the
parlor below stairs. Ellis alone seemed to
share with her mother the anxiety or un
easiness which followed the events of the
morning. She had refused to join the lit
tle party that had gone up, as they ex
pressed it, "to call on Kitty." She had re
fused partly from a feelingof indisposition
to any gayctv. partly from a sisterly sym
pathy for Wilt, who. she felt well assured,
longed for an uninterrupted half-hour with
his capricious lady-love; partly because
she >hrank from appearing in the colonel's
parlor, and thereby possibly giving Grin >by
hall a reason to think she sought him.
Evidently the young people had had small
mercy on Will. Evidently Kitty had lent
herself not unwillingly to the fun at his ex
pense, for, after biting savagely at his finger
nails and tugging furiously at his mus
tache, the boy had pitched angrily out of the
colonel's house and come home for com
fort, and thither had they followed him,
two or th ree happier couples, and catching
him in the parlor all unconscious of Mrs.
Daunton's seclusion aloft, were as bent on
coaxing him to return with them as he.
with assu mption of lordly ipdiffVrenre, was
determined to make it appear that he had
"WITH HER GENTLE FRIEND SITTING BESIDE HER."
no such desire or intention. He carried
his point, too. He knew well enough thai
Kit's Complicity in the plot w*a for the ex
press purpose of teasing him. He couldn't
afford to let them see he was indignant
at her or at them, neither could he afford
to let her see that he was not justly of
fended. And right in the midst of all the
babel of protest and apj>eal and laughter
the doorbell ranc and at the head of the
stairs, just as stable-call was sounding,
listening ears heard the unctuous, jovial
tones of Corporal Rorke inquiring for Cap
tain Leale.
Then Will's voice responded, and Will
was very distant and dignified. "Captain
Leale is* not here, corporal. Have you been
to his quart
•Sure. 1 went there furst. sorr, an' they
told me he was here, if anywhere. Thin,
bedad. he's nowhere. "
"He's gone down to the stables already,
perhaps. " said Farrar," and you'll find him
there. Yonder goes the call now.' 1
"I know, mast — I know, sorr. Higgins
has been took ill on guard. He was right
out here on No. 5, sorr, back of the quar
ters, and that spalpeen Graice is super
numerary, an' they've sint for him, and
the first sergeant's afraid, sorr."
"What of?"
•■Graice had been drinking this morn
ing. He's sober enough now, sorr, but he's
nervous, wild-like, excited, tramping up
and down the barracks flure like a caged
hyena, sorr."
"Then tramping up and down sentry
post will be just the thing for him. It'll
cool him off. Put him on."'
"Very well, sorr. Just as the loot'nant
Bars. I'll tell the sergeant at once."
Five minutes later the parlor was de
serted and all wa? silence below. Now, at
least Helen Daunton could close her eyes
and plan and think. He was to be placed
on guard. He would be on post right out
here on the bluff. Then what was to pre
vent her slipping out in the dusk of the
evening when all the others had gone over
to the assembly- hall, and. speaking with
him. pleading with him, imploring him to
go away anywhere — anywhere where he
would not again in drunken mood en
danger that poor mother's life by the sud
den shock of his presence. She would
agree to anything, she would follow him.
slave for him, starve with him, be hi? wife
or his handmaid— anything to get him
away — far away from the sunshine, the
smiles, the hopes and joys and blessings
that had been hers at old Fort Frayne.
One other plan. She had but little money,
and in their flight niucn might be needed.
She must obtain it for that" drink-sodden
wretch would surely hare none. Go she
must and would. Go he must and should,
for any day. before the whole garrison — oh,
shame unutterable ! he might take the no
tion bodily to throw eff an disguise and
claim her as his wife. Possibly with
money she might bribe him to take" kindly
to her proposition and agree. Then before
he could spend what she had given him
she could escape, return to the East, and
somewhere, anywhere hide her head from
him, from friends, from the world and all.
Home she had none. That went when her
father died, lonely and heartbroken, two
years before.
And in all that garrison to whom could
she appeal— upon whom could she call?
One man there was who. well she knew,
would open his hand as he had his heart,
and its uttermost treasure could be hera
for the mere asking, and that man of all
others was the one she prayed might never
know the miserable truth that this was
Koyle Farrar— that she was Koyle Farrar's
wife.
Another there was, generous, helpful
THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, MAY 5, 1895.
and kind, who, did he but learn the iden
tity of the man slinking here under that
disguise gi\ r en by years of drink and de
bauchery, would aid her to his uttermost
farthing, aid her as he had before from
pity and compassion, aid her now with
eacer hand through thought of the shame
that would come to the girl he loved, the
shock that might be in store for her be
loved mother. There was the man— Jack
Ormsby! But how to see him— and when
and where! Not a moment must be lost,
because, now that Koyle's presence was
known to her, his wife any moment might
bring on the further catastrophe. She had
never known him to stop until sodden and
stupefied. Drink, drink, drink; in some
form he would find the poison and gulp
it down, waxing crazed and nervous if
it, were withheld from him ; turning
mad and reckless if it were given.
Drink he surely would all through
this blessed Christmas eve, and at any
hour, at any moment on the morrow she
might expect him to appear before them
all, in the midst of their joyous Christmas
gathering, in drunken exultation, demand
ing his seat by his wife's side at his moth
er.- board. What that would mean to that
gentle mother whose very life seemed
hanging now by a thread, God alone can
say .
And here she lav. hesitant, impotent,
cowardly — when the lives and happiness
of those dearest to her were at stake,
shrinking even now from an appeal to
Ormsby, who alone in all the garrison,
probably, was competent to advise and
help, and Urmsby had already suffered,
and suffered much on her account. In the
royal observance of his promise he had
brought himself under the ban of suspi
cion, and with half an eye Helen could see
that Kllis looked upon their relation with
utter distrust Great heaven! was she to
be. a curse to every one had been kind to
her? The thought was intolerable.
Helen Daunton amazed her friend by
springing from the bed and throwing up
the window sash. "Air, air!" shemoaned.
••1 feel as though I were suffocating," and
leaning far out into the wintry twilight,
bathing her aching head in the cold, spark
ling air, she gazed wildly northward
mward the bluff. Aye, muffled in the
heavy canvas overcoat, the fur cap down
about that bloated, bearded face, s'ouch
ing along the sentry post was the form she
dreaded — hated to* see, yet sought with
burning eves. As she gazed he saw and
stood, "and leering over the intervening
drifts of spotless snow, kissed his fur
gloved paw and tossed his hand in half de
fiant, half derisive, all insulting salutation.
•Mrs. Farrar," she cried, in utter despe
ration, turning madly away from the hate
ful sight. "I — I must get into the open
air awhile. You won't mind, dear. I must
walk— walk, run, rush in the cold. No,
don't come, and pray let Ellis keep with
you. In ten— twenty "minutes at the most
— I 11 return."
-Ah. Helen, wait until Willy— until Mal
colm Leale returns from the stables. See
they're coming now. They will walk with
you."
"Oh, no. no, no! Do you not see? I must
be alone. I cannot talk to any one. Let me
go," she cried. Then before either the moth
er could interpose or Ellis, wiio came hur
rying into the room, could urge one word
she had seized a heavy wrap and gone, al
most bounding down the stairs.
At the threshold she recoiled for there,
his honest face full of eagerness as the door
flew open, stood Jack Ormsby. I — l was
was just about to ring,"' he faltered, "and
inquire after you — and for— Miss Farrar.
You really startled me."
And up aloft they heard — Ellis heard —
the eager, low-toned, almost breathless
answer. "Oh, Mr. Ormsby. It was you 1
sought. Come— right in here."
And drawing him into the parlor, she
closed the door, reckless now of anything
Ellis might suspect, thinking only of the
peril that menaced one and all. Perhaps
Jack Ormby's longing eyes caught one
fleeting glimpse of feminine drapery at the
head of the little staircase. Perhaps his
own wrongs and woes had overmastered
him. Perhaps he thought that already he
had been too heavily involved, all on ac
count of this fair sufferer and suppliant,
but certain it is he followed hesitant, and
that it was with a far from reassuring face
he confronted his captor.
"Mr. Ormsby," she burst forth. "How
much money would you give, at once, this
day, to rid the post of the greatest shame
and misery that could be brought upon
Ellis and her mother?"
"I can't imagine what you mean," was
the uncertain reply.
'•I mean that Koyle Farrar is here — in
this garrison— private soldier in Captain
Leale's troop." :i
"Mrs. Daunton ! Are you mad?"
"Mad? My heaven, I might well be! He
came before me this noon, with her, with
his mother not twenty steps away, and
taunted me and threatened them. Oh,
j God ! he means it— he means to make him
self known to them and claim their kin
ship in the way to shame them most, and
the shock will kill her, kill her! There is
only one earthly way. He will go for
money."
h "He can't, if he's a soldier. It's deser
| tion. It's— why, they follow them, capture
them, and it means State's prison or some
thing for years."
•'I know nothing of that— l know I'm
only a helpless, distracted woman, but
drink and money are . the two things he
worships. For them he will risk anything.
I can see him this night. : He is this
moment on post out here on the bluff.
You know him. It's the man they call
Tom Graice."
. Ormsby's hat fell from his hand. "My
heaven ! That man here again
"Here, here, and I have known it only
for a few hours. See what lam suffering.
Do you not see what it means if Boyle
Farrar makes himself known— he is
0
capable of anything! Shame to Will,
shame to Ellis, heartbreak— death, per
haps — to Mrs. Farrar. Do you not see you
must help rue get him away from here ?
You must for all their sakes, and keep his
secret and mine."
"It is my secret, too, Mrs. Farrar," said
poor Jack, rallying to the rescue now that
danger threatened. "I will do whatever
you wish, whatever you say. You shall
nave what money I have here and more
can follow. You're a brave woman. For
give me that I doubted you."
"Oh, never think of" that now. Only
keep my secret yet a little, and let me see
you before 10 to-night. That's the hour
that relief goes on again. I've watched
them so often. And — and all the money
you think— even $100— $200. Oh. God bless
you for the help you give me! Now 1
know you wish to see her, and I must get
into the open air awhile."
Calling the maidservant, she bade her
take Mr. Ormsby's card to Miss Farrar,
then hastened from the house.
But the answer brought to honest Jack —
poor fellow — was that Miss Farrar begged
to be excused.
CHAPTER X.
A new cloud was hanging over Fort
Frayne that lovely Christmas eve, and
the moon shone down through a filmy
veil of lace and cast black shadows on the
dazzling surface. Everywhere about the
post lights were twinkling in the quarters,
and sounds of soldier merriment and rev
elry came from the barracks. Over at the
assembly-room Rorke and his pirty were
still busily at work hanging festoons of
green and completing the decorations for
the morrow, while in the several house
holds among the officers' dinner
parties or similar entertainments called
together almost all the families as well as
the bachelors, of the garrison. The children
were rejoicing in their great Christmas
tree at the chapel. The colonel had bidden
them all to his big house for a Santa Claus
party after the public ceremony of the post
Sunday-school, and Aunt "Lucretia, a
garrulous, flighty, feather-brained fairy of
forty summers or more, was doing her best
to get the little erifts in proper order
| against their coming, being aided in her
perplexities and complications by the
dreamy but devoted Wayne. Kitty was
dining at the Farwells' — a temporary truce
having been patched up between her and
Will about sunset — and Ellis, too, very,
very much against her wish, was
one" of this party. Ormsby was, of
course, bidden, andhad been placed next
the lady of his love, but averted eyes and
monosyllable answers were the only re
turns of his devotion. Grieved and hurt
at first, the sterling fellow was finally
Bttmg to reprisals. He was guilty of no
wrong. lie was worthy far kinder treat
ment at her bands, and, noting her appar
ent determination to talk only with the
men across the table or with Captain
Amory, who had taken her in, the New
Yorker presently succeded in interesting
the lady on his right, and, when the din
ner was over and the women passed out
into the parlor, was enabled to make way
forMisiß Farrar with a very courteous but
entirely ceremodious Dow. Ellis flushed,
but. inclining her head, passed him by
without a word.
it was then nearly 8:30 o'clock, and the
gleeful voices of the children could be
heard returning from the chapel, and,
mindful of his promise to Helen Daunton,
Ormsby was already figuring for an oppor
tunity of temporary escape. It had been
arranged that most of the officers and
ladies were to gather at the hoproom after
10, "just to see if the floor was in good
shape for to-morrow," and Jack well un
dc-r.-tood that Ellis did not mean that he
should be her escort, and as matters now
stood he did not desire her to suppose that
such was his wish. Even as he was pon
dering, over the cigarettes and coffee, how
he should manage the matter, and giving
but absent-minded attention to the cheery
chat about him, Captain Amory suddenly
lifted his hand and sai<i, "Hush!"'
Out across the parade, quick, stirring
and spirited, the cavalry trumpet was
sounding "officers' call," and every man
sprang to his feet. '"What can it mean?"
"What has happened?' were the questions
that assailed them as they came streaming
out through the parlor in searching of
their greatcoats.
"Did you ever know such a regiment?"
exclaimed the hostess, impulsively. "I do
believe we never get through Christinas
without a tragedy of some kind!" and then
she bit her tongue as she caught sight of
Ellis Farrar's startled face.
"I think, if you will excuse me, Mrs.
Farwrll, I will go to mother a moment.
She is at the chaplain's by this time, and
Mrs. Daunton is with her. Still, I feel
anxious. All this may excite her very
much."
And so, while the officers went hurrying
away across to the adjutant's otSce, <
by found himself, after all, tendering his
arm to Miss Karrar. He was the oniy man
left. Kitty, excited and agitated, she knew
not why, had made some comical at
| tempts to detain Will, but his long legs
had oy this time carried him iiali way to
the scene of the sudden summons.
•Thank you, no. Ido not need it. 1 said
Ellis, coldly. "Indeed, I do not need es- i
cort at all to go so short a distance."
"It seems to be the post custom none the
less," was the grave answer. "Besides, I ;
j think I am justified in saving you have j
treated me with aversion so marked of late I
that I am entitled to. know the i
What can I have done to deserve it, El
lis? Let us understand each other."
"There is only one way, then, Mr.
Ormsby," she answered, with sudden im
pulse. * 'Who is Helen Daunton?"
•'Ellis, I cannot tell you now." was the
sorrowful, gentle answer. 'Be patient
with me yet a little while."
"Yet you know?"
"Yes— l know."
"And you say let us understand each
other?" she answered, bitterly.
"Ellis, I said to you before when we
spoke of this, there are secret orders a sol
dier must obey and not explain. In these
last few hours" secret orders have come to
me."
''And you accept secret orders— from
her?" "
"I accept them from my honor, Ellis, for
I have given my word. So," he implored,
as she hastened as though to leave him,
"listen, for it may be my last opportunity
to-night. I know it seems hard and strange
to you that when i would lay my whole
life* open before you, I must not tell you
this. But, Ellis, I give you my honor, I
am hiding nothing shameful to that poor
woman, nor to me. It is only for a time
I must be silent. Wnen I can speak you'll
forgive me, dear. You will thank me that
I do keep silence now. Trust me, Ellis.
Can you not look up at me and say you
trust me?"
Ah, how pleading was his tone, how full
of love and fire and tenderness his manly
face, and in that still winter night he
looked down into her eyes. Over at the
barracks there was a sudden stop to all the
music, but men's voices could be heard in
excited talk. Along officers' row many a
door was opened and women and children
were peering out in search of explanation
of the unusual summons. Over at the
adjutant's office a dark throng had gath
ered, ttie officers of the garrison and other
knots as of soldiers or Indians could be
seen, but Jack ana Ellis saw, heard nothing
of this. Her voice had the ring of steel to
it as she answered.
"If it were just a qusstion on ruy own
happiness I might trust you, but it is iuv
mothers happiness— perhaps her life. I
must know all there is to know about that
woman whom my mother trust so blindly.
I must know for* myself. In the name of
the love you offer me, will you tell me the
truth about her?"
"Ellis, I cannot to-night. I have given
my word.' 1
"Then keep it," said she, with sudden
passion. 'Keen it and keep your love, : '
then turned and tied within the chaplain's
gate, leaving him standing on the snowy
walk without, sorrowing, yet determined.
For a moment he stood there following
her with his eyes. Never stopping to knock
or ring. &be "turned ths knob and let her
self into the brightly lighted hall. He
caught a glimpse of the gray-haired chap
lain bending over a womanly form. He
caught one fleeting view of Helen Daun
ton's anxious face. Evidently the call had
been heard there, too. and coming as it did
in the stillness of the holiday evening it
boded no good, only on rare occasions or
some sudden emergency was Feuton
known to call every duty officer to his
Eresence, even by day, "and he would
c almost the last man to break
in upon the .festivities of the sea
son with a stern call to arms unless
arms and men both were needed some
where. The day had been one long trial
to Mrs. Farrar, and since noon one long tor
ture to her cherished friend. And so as they
were seated about the chaplain's fire and
the trumpet notes were heard and a serv
ant hastening in said, "It's officers' call,
sir," just as Ellis feared, her mother was
seized with sudden faintness. "My boy,
Willy! They won't take him," she falt
ered, and then sank back nerveless into her
chair.
Ormsby turned and sped away for the i
office. At least he could ascertain the
cause of the summons and bring them tid
ings if it meant no move, but the first
glance through the window at his uncle's
face, as he stood surrounded by his officers,
told the New Yorker, already experienced '
in frontier garrison life, that something
imminent was in the wind. Fenton was
talking rapidly, as was his wont when
roused, and the only faces in the group
tnat did not seem to kindle in response to
the light in his keen, sparkling eyes were
those of the two heavily blanketed Indi
ans {standing sullen and imperturbable be
side him. Out in the snow half a dozen
non-commissioned officers were gathered
in a group by the little knot of Indian
ponies and cowboy broncos. An Indian
boy, lolling in his saddle, replied in mono
syllables to their eager questions. A brace
of cowboys, one of them obviously in
liquor, sought to impress upon all within
hearing their version of some row that had
evidently taken place. Among the by
standers was Ormsby's old friend, the ser- |
geant-major, and to'him appealed.
"What's up, sergeant?"
"Been a fight, sir — cowboys and Indians.
Christmas drunk, I reckon. The cowboys
were having some fun with their lariats
and they roped old Big Road off his pony
and shot him when he showed fight. Then I
"BTKOBE ANGRILY CUT OF THE ROOM."
bis two sons shot Laramie Pete, and it ;
looks like a genera] scrim mage. Big Road's ,
whole village is camped only ten miie3 j
down stream, and they're war dancing
already. There's a let of drunken cowboys .
ovt r at town and they swear they 11 rouse
the county and clean out the whoie Indian
outfit."
Thanking the staff sergeant for his in
formation. Ormsby pressed on to the ;
crowded room and stood in the outskirts
of the throng of officers. Fenton wa->
speaking as he entered the hall, and his
voice had no uncertain ring. He had been i
questioning one of the cowboy leaders, a '
scowling but splendidly built specimen of
frontier cnivalry, and it was evident that
the verdict of the commander was against :
these turbulent gentry and in favor of the j
Indians.
"By your own admission, Thorpe, your t
fellows are on a tear, and whether meant
as fun or not. it was rough fun at best,
and nothing less than a mad-brained trick
in my eyes, and an outrage from the !
Indian point of view. Big Road would
have been no chief at all it he hadn't re
sented it furiously. It may be, as you say,
that he was first to pull his gun, but you j
pulled him off his horse. The men that !
did it deserve to be shot, and I'm sorry
be missed. You say there are cow
boys enough in the country to clean out \
a "dozen such bands as his, and that >
Laramie Pete's friends won't rest until i
they've done it. Go you to them right
from this soot and say for me there are not
cowboys enough in all the Territory to lick ,
this regiment, and you've got to do that
before you can raise one scalp in that vil- i
lage." j
"All right, Colonel Fenton. In the old ;
days we used to say blood is thicker than
water, and in many a tough place we've
stood by the soldier against the savage.
There was never a time we went back on
you, and this is the first time I ever heard
hi an officer who would go back on vs — "
'Don't distort things, now, my friend,"
said Fenton, coolly. "I never would go
back on you, as you say, if you were the
assailed and thewronged. This is a case j
of simple justice, and I interpose to keep
the peace until the rights and wrongs can ;
be sifted and settled. Take my advice and
keep away from the villiage."
"There's a higher power in ;the land ]
than the military, Colonel Fenton. and
that'i public opinion, and public opinion
says Big Road's people murdered Laramie
Fete. Public opinion says we want the
murderers, and by God ! we mean to have j
'em, even if we have to clean out the !
whole village. We want no fight with '
you, but through the press and Congress ;
we'll use you up till there won't be as
much left of you as the Sioux left of Cus
ter's crowd. Take my advice and keep
away from us."'
And so saying, big Ben Thorpe, "king of
the cowboys," as they called him on the
Platte, strode angrily out of the room, the
officers parting in silence to let him go.
At the threshold he turned and once more
faced the post commander.
"Another thing. Colonel Fenton!'' and
as he spoke Ormsby could see how the
strong frame was quivering with excite
ment and wrath. "You aay we're not the
Sheriff's posse and we cannot act in accord
ance with law. There's no Sheriff in all
Wyoming nearer than Rock Springs. I'm
Sheriff in these parts until he comes. I'm
Sheriff enough to hunt murderers, and
{ Sheriff enough to run down horsetnieves,
and do it without waiting for warrants
either, and that damned redskin whom
you're protecting there by your side is one
of the four that shot Pete Boland. I'll
send a Sheriff's posse here in ten minutes,
j and I'll give you warning here and now
| we mean to have the law on him or you,
and you take your choice. Will you sur
render him?"
Ormsby felt his nerves and muscles quiv
| ering. This was indeed bearding the lion
in his den. It was a new thing to see a
post commander braved in his own baili
wick. Fenton, however, never showed the
| faintest irritation. Checking with a ges
i ture the indignant move made by some of
| the younger officers he turned quietly to
I the officer of the day.
"Captain Amory, let a tile of the guard
escort that gentleman off the reservation."
"So be it, Colonel Fenton, and let the
! conntry know I was thrust off the post at
: the point of the saber. I'll wait for my
escort."
He had little time to wait. Almost at
! the doorway already, the corporal's
: guard, obeying the impatient summons of
! the young officer in command, came trot
' ting" up at double quick, a non-commis-
s ioned officer and two troopers. One of
the latter, stocky, heavily bearded, nlouchy,
: with furtive, blood-shot eyes, looked tin
: easily about him as the detail halted, and,
: springing up the steps, the corporal hght
-1 ly touched the cowboy on the shoulder.
Thorpe had turned back as though to hurl
! some parting shot or sarcasm at the op-
Eressor, but at the touch of the corporal's
and looked coolly around. ''Well, sonny,
what do you want?"
'•Come, along, Ben." said the corporal,
quietly, then started back involuntarily at
the expression of amazement and wrath
; that shot suddenly into the cowboy's face.
"What ! " hissed'Thorpe. striding a pace
forward. "You here? You officiating as
policeman to show me off to Uncle Barn's
jailvard. You, you sneak and scum," he
: shouted, shaking his listinGraice's sodden
face. "Yoa, you braggart and blackguard
— you coward, who left poor Crawford's
»r:fe without a defender; you cur who stole
the last cent he had and then betrayed him
to the Indians; you liar who brag of being
an otticer's sen:, ar.d dare not own your
[>wn name. Stand back." he fiercely
rried as ihe corporal or.cc more strove to
place a hand upon his shoulder. '-I've no
Quarrel with you. Reddy, or with this
other poor devil, who can only do as he's
ordered, but I'd die in my tracks before
that white-livered hound should escort me
off this post. Out of the way!'' he cried,
and with one magnificent bound reached
his horse, leaped into saddle and dashed a
few yards away. Then, whirling about, he
swung his hat "in air. "Good-night to you,
gentlemen. Merry Christmas to you. one
and all. You've got one of those bloody
murderers here, so keep him if you choose,
but we'll have the other three" before the
sun rises in spite of all the thugs and
thieves like that fellow you can muster in
the eavalrv."
And with a parting malediction atGraice
and a lash of the stinging quirt, he whirled
his bronco and dashed away at the gallop.
"Damn that fellow, ' said Fenton. "I
like him in spite of all his deviltry. There's
no help for it, gentlemen ; the Twelfth has
got to spend its Christmas standing be
tween those rough riders and the very band
that killed our colonel— three long years
ago."
\To be continued.]
Copyright, 1895.
MONEY WOULDN'T BUY IT.
The Heirloom Which a Cincinnati Man
Holds in Possession.
Judge Frederics W. Moore of the Su
■ perior Court is the possessor of an heir
loom in the shape of a watch that no
' amount of money would buy. And, be-
I sides its value as an heirloom, it has an
: historic interest.
The timepiece is of the open-face, bulls
i eye pattern. As with all old-style watches
; of the pattern mentioned, the outer case
; must be removed before it can be wound.
The outer case of this watch is of ham
mered gold, and all the work on it was
j done by hand. While this is apparent from
• the workmanship, it is further proved by
I the date on the inside.which is 1754. There
I is an inscription on the inside as follows:
j "Daniel De St. Leu, servant to Her Ma
! jesty, London. '■ Her Majesty then was
the Queen of George 11, the then reigning
King of England, .-ays the Cincinnati Ea
quirer.
The authentic history of this valuable
timepiece is this: In the years preceding
17>i William Augustus, Duke of Cumber
land, the second son of (reorge 11, was the
commander of the British armies. In the
Scottish caninai»ns, and in the campaigns
against the Prussians and the Russians,
when he vsas at the head of the Eriti?n,
Hanoverian and Danish forces of 50,000
men, Dr. Frederick William Schwartze, a
Hanoverian, was on his staff as surgeon.
At the close of the campaign against the
Prussians and the Russians the Duke bad
three watches made like the one Judge
Moore has, and of which it is one.
The watches were presented to three
officers of the Duke's staff by him as a mark
of hi* esteem. One went to Dr. Schwartze,
as a Hanoverian ; one to a British officer,
and one to a Danish officer. The presenta
tions were made in 17.55. After the doctor s
services had ended, in 1737, and the Duke
had returned to London, it was expected
he would succeed to the throne, but the
birth of a son to his elder brother cut him
In 1780 Dr. Schwartze and the Mohr
families came to this country, and there
were intermarriages in the families, and in
this way Judge Moore is related to, or
rather descended from Dr. hchwartze.
About 1800 the families came to this State,
the Schwartzes going to (jerrnantown and
the Mohrs coining to this city. The watch
in question has always been worn by mem
bers of the Schwaitze family, usually by
the son, who bore the name of i redencK
William, the name of the original owner.
The last one of that name who wore it
was Frederick William Schwartze of (jreen
Township, this county, who died three or
four years ago. He was the last of the
Schwartze family to bear the name Fred
erick William. "But the name had been
perpetuated in Judge Moore, as that is his
name. He was rightfully entitled to the
watch, and it was presented to him a short
time ago by the widow of the last man who
wore it. To say that the Judge is proud of
the treasure is to express it but mildly.
Not only is it a treasure as an heirloom
and' a curiosity, but he could not have a
better piece of evidence of the kind of peo
ple from whom he is descended.
There is an interesting history con
nected with another of the three watches
mentioned. The one presented to the
British officer was worn by a member of
his family in this country during the
colonial wars with the Indians, The man
who wore it was captured, a:ul the watch
was taken from him and worn by Brant,
the Indian chief. Afterward when Brant
w T as captured by the Americans the watch
was recovered, and was returned to the
family of the British officer in England.
What became of the third watch, the one
presented to the Danish offictfr, the de
ceodants of Dr. Schwartze do not know.
Though the watch now possessed by
Judge Moore is 140 years old, it keeps
good time. It is full jeweled, and seems
to be in an almost perfect state of preser
vation.
NAPOLEON'S MASTEEPIEOE.
The Italian Campaign Showed His
Greatest Military (ieniuß.
In later years Napoleon himself believed,
and subsequent criticism has confirmed
his opinion, that the Italian campaign,
taken as a whole, was his greatest. The
revolution of a system, social, political or
military, is always a gigantic task. It was
nothing less than this which Bonaparte
had wrought, not in one, but in all three
spheres, during the summer and autumn
of 1796. The changes, like those of most
revolutions, were changes of emphasis and
degree in the application of principles al
ready divined, ••Divide and conquer" was
an old maxim. It was a novelty to see it
applied in warfare and politics as Bona
parte applied it in Italy.
It has been remarked that the essential
difference between Napoleon and Frederick
the Great was that the latter had not 10,000
men a month to kill. The notion that war
should be short and terrible had indeed
been clear to the great Prussian ; Carnot
and the times afforded the opportunity for
its conclusive demonstration by the genius
of the greater CoracaiL Concentration of
besiegers to breach the walls of a town was
nothing new, but the triumphant applica
tion of the same principal to an opposing
line of troops, though well known to Julius
Caesar, had been forgotten, and its revival
was Napoleons masterpiece.
The martinets of the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries had so exaggerated
the formalities of war that the relation of
armies to the fighting ground had been lit
tle studied and well-nigh forgotten ; the
use of the map and the compass, the study
of reliefs and proiiies in topography, pro
duced in Bonaparte's hand* results that
seemed to duller minds nothing short of
miraculous. One of these was to oppose
the old-school rigid formation of troops by
any formation more or less open and
irregular according to circumstances, but
always the find best suited to the char
acter of the region chosen for conflict.
The first two days at Arcole were the tri
umphant vindication of this concept.
Finally there was a fascination for the
French soldiers in the primitive savaeery of
their general, which, though partly con
cealed, and somewhat held in by training,
nevertheless was willing to devote the
spoils of their conquests to making the
men themselves opulent, which scorned
the limitations of human powers in him
self and them, and thus accomplished feata
of strength and strategem which gratitud
to satiety that love for the uncommon, the
ideal, and th£ great, which is inherent in
the spirit .of trsbir nation. In the success
ful combination and evolution of all these
elements there was a grandeur which Bona
parte and every soldier of his army appre
ciated at its full value.— Professor hloane'a
Life of Napoleon in the May Century.
Didn't Penetrate.
1 suppose, of course, you have heard the
conundrum that the young people are ask
ing each other. It is this: 'What is the
difference between the north pole and the
south pole?" and the answer is, "All the
difference in the world." A young archi
tect here in town went to spend the even
ing with the sweet giri not long ago. He
was loaded with conundrum?, and as soon
as the sweet girl came in he a.~ked her this
one. She fluffed her sleeves out a bit and
gave it up.
"Why, said he, 'there's all the differ
ence inthe world between them."
"Oh," returned the sweet girl, "is there?
Why. I thought the climate was the same
at both places."
Still, when you think of it, people who
will ask conundrums deserve even worse
things than that.— Washington Post.
ALONE!
. No Child to Call Her Mother." .
' [BPZCIAL TO OLE LADT BZADKM.]
How desolate is the marriage state
without children !
How unnatural !
The law of nature is the perpetuation
<©l of life by repro*
£J|q duction, and ap*
fpv*% \i *£ plies to both ani-
jjts&yr ma l aQ d vegeta-
L i^S^J^^m^^^w^ where her great
**i$ frPs*i*^fQxi ' aw s not carr i e d
isjk<SP&iBll?> out, the cause is
i-s^^%4«i^^W not a natural, but
WJ^&wffiMi an unnatura1 '
i£fiWMfissMi Two lovfag be-
|^MSb ings have joined
M^^pl^Pn wife and husband.
\^^^^^K Years pass by,
\&&£J£gr^y and still there are
sound of little footsteps never patters in
their ears, and no child's voice calls that
loving woman " Mother." #gg|*
They have wealth, position, / %2^jL jH
all that heart could wish for, AV^a^V^
but the greatest /rifi/^t' V^
of all blessings j/Jiffl*yss£L
is denied them, 4&^H -^rv^*^\
able in nine out Jl§pi|j||
able in nine out PVv T*VSiXVV 'jI C
of ten cases. Every mail Waßj*^^
received by Mrs. Pink- y&gg^
ham brings letters from kT|V\vv
women on this subject; fftj y \\\
and success follows her «I JB \
advice. Write , her at Kijn 1
Lynn, Mass., and bring fgffi&M j
happiness to your home. JJHHv I
"* Lydia E. Pinkharns p.£:v!v |
Vegetable Compound re- u£iiiiBr<-- » ■
restores the latent organs to a normal
action, and also removes all weaknesses,
aches, oaina. and irregularities.