Marion's Faith. Page 2

  CHAPTER I.

  TWO TROOPERS.

  "Ray, what would you do if some one were to leave you a fortune?"

  "Humph! Pay for the clothes I have on, I suppose," is the answer, halfhumorous, half wistful, as the interrogated party, the younger of twoofficers, glances down at his well-worn regimentals. "That's one reasonI'm praying we may be sent to reinforce Crook up in the Sioux country.No need of new duds when you're scouting for old 'Gray Fox,' you know."

  "I thought you wanted to take a leave this summer and visit the old homein Kentucky," says the major, with a look of rather kindly interest fromunder his shaggy eyebrows.

  "Want must be my master, then. I couldn't pay my way home if they'd takeme as freight," replies the lieutenant, in the downright anddevil-may-care style which is one of his several pronouncedcharacteristics. "Of course," he continues presently, "I would like tolook in on the mother again; she's getting on in years now and isn'tover and above strong, but she has no cares or worries to speak of; shedon't know what a reprobate I am; sister Nell is married and out of theway; the old home is sold and mother lives in comfort on the proceeds;she's happy up at Lexington with her sister's people. What's the use ofmy going back to Kentuck and being a worry to her? Before I'd been therea week I'd be spending most of my time down at the track or the stables;I could no more keep away from the horses than I could from a squaregame, and she hates both,--they swamped my father before I knew an acefrom an ant-hill. No, _sir_! The more I think of it the more I know theonly place for me is right here with the old regiment. What's more, thelivelier work we have in the field and the less we get of garrison grindthe better it is for me. I almost wish we were back in Arizona to-day."

  "Why, confound it! man, it isn't a year since we left there," breaks inthe major, impatiently, "and we haven't begun to get a taste ofcivilization yet. You let the women in the regiment hear you talk ofwanting to go back there, or what's worse, going up to join Crook inWyoming, and they'll mob you. Who was it your sister married?" hesuddenly asks.

  "A man named Rallston,--a swell contractor or something up in Iowa. Inever saw him; indeed, it's nearly nine years since I saw her; but shepromised to be a beauty then, and they all say she grew up a beauty; butNell was headstrong and always in mischief, and I'm glad she's settleddown. She used to write to me when she was first married, four yearsago, and send me occasional 'tips' for Christmas and birthdays, and shewas going to give me a Lexington colt when I came East, but she's quitall that, because I was an ungrateful cub and never answered, I suppose.She knows there's nothing I hate worse than writing, and oughtn't to behard on me. It's all I can do to send a monthly report to the mother."

  "Did you say you never saw her husband?" asks the major after a pause,in which he had been apparently studying the quick-tripping hoofs ofRay's nimble sorrel.

  "No; never set eyes on him. It was a sudden smite,--one of thoseflash-in-the-pan, love-at-first-sight affairs. He was down in Kentuckybuying horses, saw her at a party, and made no end of fuss over her; hadlots of money and style, you know, and the first I heard of it they weremarried and off. It was our first year in Arizona, and mails were amonth old when they got to us."

  "How long is it since you heard from her?" says the major, after anotherpause.

  Mr. Ray looks up in some surprise. He hardly knows what to make of thisdisplay of curiosity on the part of his ordinarily indifferentcompanion, but he answers quietly enough,--

  "Over a year, I reckon. She was in Omaha then and Rallston was away agood deal,--had big cattle interests somewhere; I know that mother usedto ask if Nell told me much about him, and she seemed anxious. Nellherself said that mother was much opposed to the match,--didn't seem totake to Rallston at all,--but she was bound to have him, and she did,and she's just that high-strung sort of girl that if disappointed orunhappy would never let on to the mother as long as she lived."

  They are riding slowly in from troop-drill, the battalion commander anda pet of his, Mr. Ray, of the --th Cavalry. It is one of those exquisiteMay mornings when the rolling prairies of Western Kansas seem swimmingin a soft, hazy light, and the _mirage_ on the horizon looks like aglassy sea. The springy turf is tinted with the hues of myriads of wildflowers, purple, pale blue, and creamy white; the mountain breeze thatis already whirling the dust-clouds on the Denver plains has not yetbegun to ruffle the cottonwoods or the placid surface of the slow-movingstream, and in many a sheltered pool the waters of the "Smoky Hill"gleam like silvered mirror, without break or flaw. Far out on the gentleslopes small herds of troop-horses or quartermaster's "stock," each withits attendant guard, give life to the somewhat sombre tone of thelandscape, while nearer at hand two or three well-filled cavalry"troops" with fluttering guidons are marching silently in towards thelittle frontier garrison that lies in a shallow dip in the wide,treeless prairie.

  Bits of color are rare enough, save the faint hues of theflowerets,--almost as indistinguishable in the general effect as theirfairy fragrance on the air. Aloft, the sky is all one blaze of sunshine,that seems to bleach it into palest, most translucent blue. Far to thewest some fleecy clouds are rolling up from the horizon, wafted from thepeaks of the hidden Rockies. Down in the "swale," the wooden barracks,stables, quarters, and storehouses are all one tint of economical brown,brightened only by the hues of the flag that hangs high over the scene.Beyond the shallow valley and across the stream, looking only longrifle-shot away, but a good two miles when one comes to walk it, a brickschool-house with glistening cupola stands sentinel in the centre of thescattering frontier town; there, too, lies the railway station, fromwhich an ugly brown freight-train is just pulling out Denverwards,puffing dense clouds of inky smoke to the sky. Space, light, and airthere are in lavish profusion. Shade there is little or none, exceptclose along the winding stream; but shade is a thing neither sought norcared for, as the sun-tanned faces of the troopers show. Every now andthen a trumpet-call floats softly over the prairie, or the ringing,prolonged word of command marks some lazily-executed manoeuvre on thehomeward way. Drill is over; the sharp eyes and sharper tongue of themajor no longer criticise any faulty or "slouchy" wheel; the drillproper has been stiff and spirited, and now the necessary changes ofdirection are carried out in a purely perfunctory manner, while thebattalion commander and his subaltern, troops and all, amble back andgive their steeds a breathing spell.

  Typical cavalrymen are those two, who, chatting quietly together, areriding somewhat in advance of the returning companies. The major is aman a trifle over forty, short, stout, with massive shoulders, chest,and thighs, a neck like a bull, a well-shaped head covered withstraight, close-cropped, brown hair, innocent of kink or curl; a floridface, bronzed and tanned by years of life in sun and wind and storm;clean-shaven but for the drooping brown moustache that conceals therugged lines of his mouth, and twinkling blue-gray eyes that peer outwith searching gaze from under their shaggy brows. Firmness, strength,self-reliance, even sternness, can be read in every line; but around thegathering crowsfeet at the corners of his eyes, and lurking under theshadow of the grim moustache, are little curves or dimples or something,that betray to the initiated the presence of a humorous vein thatsoftens the asperity of the soldier. Some who best know him can detectthere a symptom of tenderness and a possibility of sentiment, whoseexistence the major would indignantly deny. The erect carriage of thehead, the square set of the shoulders, the firm yet easy seat in thesaddle, speak of the experienced soldier, while in the first word thatfalls from his lips one hears the tone of the man far more at home incamp than court. There is something utterly blunt and abrupt in hismanner, a scathing contrast to the affected drawl brought into theregiment by recent importations from the East, and assiduously copied bya professed Anglo-maniac among the captains. Rude indeed may hesometimes be in his speech, "and little versed in the set phrase ofpeace," but through it all is the ring of sturdy honesty andindependence. He uses the same tone to general and to private soldieralike; extending the same degree of courtesy to each. No one ever h
eardof "old Stannard's" fawning upon a superior or bullying an inferior; toall soldiers he is one and the same,--short, blunt, quick, and to thepoint. Literally he obeys the orders of his chiefs, and literally andpromptly he expects his own to be obeyed. He has his faults, like thebest of men: he will growl at times; he is prone to pick flaws, and tosay sharp and cutting things, for which he is often ashamed and sorry;he can see little good in the works or words of the men he dislikes; heabsolutely cannot praise, and he is over-quick to blame; but after allhe is true as steel, as unswerving as the needle, and no man, no womancould need a stancher friend than the new major of the --th, "oldStannard."

  As for Ray, no officer in the regiment is better known or more talkedabout. Ten years of his life he has spent under the standard of the--th, barring a very short but eventful detail at "the Point." Nebraska,Kansas, and Arizona he knows as well as the savannas of his nativeblue-grass country. He has been in more skirmishes with the regiment andmore scrapes of his own than any fellow of his age in service, but hehas the faculty of "lighting on his feet every time," as he himselfwould express it, and to-day he rides along as buoyantly and recklesslyas he did ten years ago, and the saddle is Ray's home. Ephemeralpleasure he finds in the hop-room, for he dances well; perennialattraction, his detractors say, he finds at the card-table, but Ray isnever quite himself until he throws his leg over the horse he loves. Heis _facile princeps_ the light rider of the regiment, and to this claimthere are none to say him nay. A tip-top soldier too is Ray. Keen on thescout, tireless on the trail, daring to a fault in action, and eitherpreternaturally cool or enthusiastically excited when under fire. He isa man the rank and file swear by and love. "You never hear Loot'nant Raysaying 'Go in there, fellers.' 'Tis always, 'Come on, boys.' That's whyI like him," is the way Sergeant Moriarty puts it. Among his comrades,his brother officers that is to say, opinions are divided. Ray hastrusty friends and he has his bitter enemies, though the latter, whencharged with the fact, are prone to say that no one is so much Ray'senemy as Ray himself,--an assertion which cannot be altogether denied.But as his own worst enemy Ray is thoroughly open and above-board; hehas not a hidden fault; his sins are many and they are public propertyfor all he cares; whereas the men who dislike Ray in the regiment are ofthe opposite stamp. Among themselves they pick him to pieces withcomparative safety, but outside their limited circle, the damnation offaint praise, the covert insinuations, or that intangible species ofbackbiting which can,

  "Without sneering, others teach to sneer,"

  has to be their resort, and for good reason. Ray tolerates no slander,and let him once get wind of the fact that some man has maligned him,there is a row in the camp. Minding his own business, howeverunsuccessfully, he meddles with the affairs of no one else, and thinkingtwice before he alludes once to the shortcomings of a comrade, he claimsthat consideration for himself, but doesn't get it. There be men whooutrival the weaker sex in the sinister effect they can throw into thefaintest allusion to another's conduct, and in the dexterity with whichthey evade the consequences, and of such specimens the --th has itsshare. There was Crane, whom Ray had fearfully snubbed and afterwards"cut" in Arizona; there was Wilkins, whom Ray had treated with scantcourtesy for over a year, because of some gossip that veteran had beeninstrumental in putting into circulation; there was Captain Canker, whoused to like and admire Ray in the rough old days in the canons anddeserts, but who had forfeited his esteem while they were stationed atCamp Sandy, and when they met again in Kansas, Ray touched his cap tohis superior officer but withheld his hand. Canker felt very bitterlytowards Ray, claiming that there was no officer in the regiment whom hehad treated with such marked courtesy, and to this, when he heard it,Ray made response in his characteristic way. He would have no middleman.He went straight to Canker and said his say in few terse words: "Youconsider me unjustified in refusing to treat you as a friend, CaptainCanker; now let us have no misunderstanding whatever. Your conducttowards _my_ best friend, Captain Truscott, and towards--towards anothergood friend of mine at Sandy, was an outrage in my opinion, and I haveyet to learn that you have expressed regret or made amends. That's myposition, sir; and if you care for my friendship, you know how to regainit." Canker was too much astonished by such directness to make anyreply. Other officers who happened to be standing near maintained anembarrassed silence, and Ray faced about and walked off. "For all theworld," said Wilkins, "as though he had that d----d chip on his shoulderagain and was begging somebody to knock it off." Canker was hit in asore place. Long before this occurrence he realized that severalofficers of the regiment had withdrawn every semblance of esteem intheir intercourse with him. He well knew why, but the officer whosecause Ray so vehemently championed was away on detached service, andCanker really did not know just what to do, and was too proud andsensitive to seek advice. He was a gallant soldier in the field, but aman of singularly unfortunate disposition,--crabbed, cranky, andsuspicious; and thus it resulted that he, too, joined the little band ofRay haters, despite the fact that he felt ashamed of himself for sodoing.

  Then there was Gleason,--"That man Gleason," as he was generally alludedto, and to those familiar with army life or army ways the mere style isindicative of this character. For good and sufficient reason Mr. Ray hadslapped Mr. Gleason's face some years back, when the --th was serving inArizona, and there was no possible reason for his failure to seek theimmediate reparation due him as an officer, no possible reason exceptthe absolute certainty of Ray's promptly according him the demandedluxury. The --th was commanded by a colonel of the old school in thosedays, one who had observed "the code" when a junior officer, and wouldhave been glad to see it carried out to this day; but Gleason was notmade of that stuff, and to the scandal of the regiment and theincredulous mirth of Mr. Ray, Gleason pocketed the blow as complacentlyas he did the money he had won from the Kentuckian by a trick which wastransparent to every looker-on, and would have been harmless withRay--had he been himself. Those were the rough days of the regiment'scampaign against the Apaches; officers and men were scattered in smallcommands through the mountains; in the general and absorbing interest ofthe chase and scout after a common foe there was no time to take up andsettle the affair as something affecting the credit of the entire corps;many officers never heard of it at all until long afterwards, and thenit was too late; but to this day Gleason stood an unsparing, bitter, butsecret and treacherous enemy of the younger officer. He hated Ray withthe venom of a snake.

  So far as the regiment was concerned, the enmity of a man of Gleason'scalibre could hardly be of consequence. Like Canker, he had come intothe --th from the "supernumerary list" at the time of the generalreorganization in '71. Scores of infantry officers left out of theirregiments by consolidation were saddled upon the cavalry and artillery,and in many instances proved utterly out of their element in the mountedservice. All the cavalry regiments growled more or less at the enforcedaddition to their list of "total commissioned," and the --th had notbeen especially fortunate. Many a fine soldier and excellent comrade hadcome into the cavalry in this way, and of them the --th had found a few;but a dozen or more, valuable neither as soldiers nor comrades, haddrifted into the mounted service, and of these the regiment had, to saythe least, its full share. "All I've got to remark on the subject," saidold "Black Bill," the senior major at that eventful period,--"all I'vegot to remark is simply this: those infantry fellows showed profounddiscrimination in getting rid of their chaff, but they had no mercy onus. When a man ain't good enough for a doughboy officer he ain't fit foranything."

  Now, it by no means resulted from inefficiency on their part that somany of the transferred officers had left their own regiments. Many hadrequested the move; many more were rendered supernumerary as being thejuniors of their grades; but there were others still who ranked well upin their old regiments, and yet were mysteriously "left out in thecold." And of such was "that man Gleason." Six years had he served withthe new regiment in the field, and not a friend could he muster amongthe officers,--not one who either l
iked or respected him,--not one whomore than tolerated him except among the two or three who daily andnightly haunted the card-room at the trader's store; but to hear Gleasontalk one would fancy him to be on terms of intimacy with every "solid"man of the regiment, and the casual visitor at the garrison would bemore than apt to leave it with the impression that Gleason was thefigure-head of the commissioned element. He had fair manners; hisappearance was prepossessing; he was bland and insinuating among dailyassociates, confidential and hospitable with strangers. A visitor couldgo nowhere without meeting Gleason, for his social status was just sobalanced between adverse influences that one could neither forbid norwelcome him to his home. No matter who might be the entertainingofficer, the first to call and pay his respects to the guest would bethat objectionable Gleason, and very sprightly and interesting could hebe. Ten to one the chances were that when he took his departure he hadleft a pleasant impression on the mind of the new arrival, who wouldfind himself at a loss to account for the evident perturbation withwhich his host proper regarded his acceptance of Gleason's hospitableinvitations. Gleason's horse, Gleason's dogs or guns or rods werepromptly at the door for him to try, and when others sought to do himhonor, and other invitations came to hunt or ride or dine, Gleason hadthe inside track, and somehow or other it seemed to make the better menof the --th retire into their shells when they heard of it. This hadbeen the way with visiting officers from other posts and regiments whenin Arizona, and the same thing was being repeated here in Kansas. The--th did not like it, but could not exactly see how to help it. The onlyvulnerable and tangible points upon which he could be "sent to Coventry"were shady transactions at cards or horse-racing that had occurred inArizona, and his failure to resent Ray's blow; but two and three yearshad elapsed since these occurrences; the scattered condition of theregiment had prevented regimental notice of them at the time, and it wasgenerally held that now it was too late for any such action. With anyother man coldness, distance of manner, or at the least the pronouncedsnubs that greeted Gleason, would have long since had effect, but he wasproof against such methods, and no sooner detected them than he foundexcuses to force himself upon the attention or conversation of theofficer, and in so insidious a way as to disarm resistance. He wouldfairly beam with cordiality and respect upon the commanding officer whowas short and gruff with him; he would invade old Stannard's quarters toask his advice about the purchase of a horse or the proper method ofdealing with some one of his men,--and the major had a soft side inlooking after the rights of the rank and file; he would drop in to askMrs. Stannard the name of a new flower he had picked up out near thetargets. He cared no more for flowers than she did for him, but it gavehim temporary admission, generally when other ladies had called for amorning chat, and though she cordially disliked him, Mrs. Stannard wastoo thorough a lady to show the least discourtesy to an officer of herhusband's regiment. Gleason well knew it, and laid his plansaccordingly. For a long time, indeed, there were ladies who could notunderstand why Mr. Gleason should be so contemptuously spoken of by theofficers. He was so thoughtful, so delicate, and then he was so lonely.Gleason was a widower, whose eyes would often overflow when he spoke ofthe little woman whom he had buried years ago down in Connecticut; butwhen Mrs. Turner once questioned Captain Baxter, who knew them when theywere in the old infantry regiment in Louisiana, and referred to itsbeing so sad and touching to hear Mr. Gleason talk of his dead wife andtheir happy days among the orange-groves near Jackson Barracks, thecaptain astonished her by an outburst of derisive laughter. "Happy,madam?" said he; "by gad! if ever a woman died of neglect, abuse, andill-treatment Mrs. Gleason did, and next time he attempts to gull youwith sentiment, just you refer him to me." But then, as Mrs. Turnersaid, poor Captain Baxter's finer sensibilities seemed to have beenblunted by a lifetime in the quartermaster's department, and for quite awhile Mr. Gleason was one of her favorites,--quite a devotee in fact,until the disastrous day when she discovered that so far from havingbeen ill and unable to ride with her, as he claimed, he had beenspending the afternoon in the fascinations of poker. One by one theladies of the --th had learned to trust Mr. Gleason as little as didtheir lords, but there was no snubbing him. "Snubs," said the seniormajor, "are lost on such a pachydermatous ass as Gleason," and howevertough might be his moral hide, and however deserved might have been theapplied adjective, the major was in error in calling Gleason an ass.Intriguing, full of low malice and scheming, a "slanderer andsubstractor" he certainly was, but no fool. More's the pity, Mr. Gleasonwas far too smart for the direct methods and simple minds of hisassociates in the --th. He never in all his life failed to take fullnote of every slight or coldness, and though it was his role to hide thesting, and "smile and smile and be a villain still," never was it hispurpose to permit the faintest snub to go unpunished. Sooner or later,unrelentingly but secretly he would return that stab with interest tentimes compounded. And sooner or later to the bitter end he meant to feedfat his ancient grudge on Ray.

  Up to this time he had scant opportunity. For two or three yearspreceding their removal to the East Gleason had been stationed inSouthern Arizona, while Ray, after months of lively service in themountains, had been sent to regimental headquarters, and marched withthem when they came into Kansas. Now once more six companies weregathered at the post of the standard,--two were tenting on the prairiejust outside the garrison, the other four were regularly in barracks,and the concentration there boded a move or "business" of some kind."Old Catnip," the colonel, was East, but the lieutenant-colonel wascommanding, and the junior major was there. Drills were incessant, butscouts were few, and after the years of "go-as-you-please" work inArizona the --th was getting rapidly back into soldierly shape. Thelittle frontier fort was blithe and gay with its merry populace. Allthe officers' families had joined; several young ladies were spendingthe spring in garrison and taking their first taste of military life;hops and dances came off almost every night, a "german" every week;rides, drives, hunts, and picnic-parties were of daily occurrence; theyoung officers were in clover, the young ladies in ecstasy, the youngmatrons--perhaps not quite so well pleased as when they had the field tothemselves in Arizona, where young ladies had been few and far between,and all promised delightfully for the coming summer,--all but thewar-cloud rising in the far Northwest.