The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, March 31, 1895, Page 16

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, ARCH 31, 1895. T CHAPTER I. The snow was mantling the wild waste of ren prairie stretching toward the white | peaks of the Big Horn, shrouding its deso- | lation, hiding its accustomed ugliness, and warning scout, cowboy or soldier to look | well to his landmarks before venturing | forth upon its trackless sea, for even the | cattle trails were hidden and the stag lost to view. Between its banks of glisten- | ing white the Platte rolled black and swol- len, for a rare thing had happened—one so | rare that old trappers and traders said they | never knew the like before since first they sighted “Laramie” Peak or forced the P >s of the Medicine Bow—there had | been three days of softly falling snow, and | not a whisper of a Wyoming gale. had been aw in the La preceded: by a soft south wi country of Colorado, and whole fieec aid the natives, were slump the river, and that Platte eame to be to: g ry wave under the old stoc v and sweeping in power, beneath i ket aved the into the upper waters c was how the from " the river . up to the adj ice at the rern end of the garrison, was still un> The guard at the ferry-house had been withdrawn, and for "the veteran stockade, sole relic of the early days of the 8 e road | y spoiled, over-indulged by a fond, pure- hearted mother, then reared among the isolated army garrisons of the Far West, the handsome, headstrong, daring fellow had developed into vigorous youth, but all too early had shown a tendency to wild companionship and reckless living. Few men in the cavalry army of the service were held in higher esteem than Colonel Royle Farrar, who. entering the service ith the first regiment to be sent to the front from New York City in the spring of 1861, had fought his way to the command of a brigade in the last campaign, and then been commissioned as a junior major of cavalry at the reorganization of theregu- lar army. The President himself had tendered Far- rar, long afterward, a cadetship for his son, and it was gratefully .yet almost fearfully accepted. The mother could not be brought to believe her boy would not strive to do honor to his name at the Point. The father Ireaded that the wayward, reckless fellow, intolerant of restraint or discipline, would merit punishment, and, being punished, would resent. Royle stood the ordeal only fairly well at first, Demerit in profusion and *“‘light prison” twice had clouded his record before the furlough year; but the mother’s eyes rejoiced in the sight of the handsome, stalwart young soldier after hi: two years of rigorous training, even tho the mother’s he: grieved ove: dences of dissipation and vice which speed- ily marred the long-looked for days of his vacation. Between him and his father had been \\ \\\‘\\\ N \:\\ \\ \! \ AR \.\A\.\\}\\\\ .&\\N\'\\\\\ \\\\\\\\\ “CAN YOU MAKE OUT [Drawn by a “ \ MUY >\ L\ ‘;\\"‘;\\ AW W . A \\\‘\\\l\,‘\ '\\\\‘ ,\\\\\ \ AN NN \\\‘\‘v \_\\ \ AL \\\\\Q \ \ AN W\ \ \\ \ n \ WHAT IS COMING ?” Call” artist.] overland stage route, it looked now in its| silence and desolation, heavily capped s | it was with its weight of snow, like some | huge flattened-out Charlotte de Russe, at | least that was what Ellis_Farrar, daughter | of the post commander, likened it to as she | peered from the north window of their | cozy quarters on the crest of the bluff. | d to think of Christmas being al here and not a chance getting a wagon | through from the railway,” she murmured, “and I so long to make it bright and joy- | ous for mother. It is always her saddest | season.”’ These low-toned words were addressed to | Captain Leale of her father’s regiment, a | strong soldierly looking man of nearly 40 | years, who, with field glass in hand, had | een studying the wintry landscape to the | north and east. He turned as the young | irl spoke, and, lowering his glasses fol- | owed her eyes and looked anxiously | across the bright army parlor to where the fire-light from the blazing logs upon the hearth fell full upon a matronly woman whose luxuriant hair was already turning gray and whose sweet, patient face bore | the unmistakable trace of deep sorrow. | She was seated at a_desk, an unfinished | letter ‘before her, and had paused in the midst of her writing and dropped off into the dreamland of far-away scenes and memeories. From a drawer in the desk she had taken what was evidently a portrait, a | smal! photograph, and had been intently | studying it while the only other occupants of tiie room were busy at the window. “It is—you know—Royle’s, my brother’s picture,” whispered Ellis. “I know it, though I haven’t seen itin ever so long— five years, I think.” Again the captain bowed, inclining his head in the slow, grave way that was habitual with him. “I know,” he said, brifly, and the gaze he fixed upon his colonel’s wife was full of anxiety and sym- athy. ‘I have often wished that your ynther‘s promotion had brought him to any other garrison in the army. You re- meémber, he was stationed here when lieu- tenant-colonel and it was from here that Royle went to West Point.” ] remember it but vaguely. That was nine years ago, captain, and I was but 7. We saw him during his cadet furlough two ears later—in 1883—and that was the last. Yother only rarely speaks of him, and father never, unless—unless,” she added, with timid appeal, ‘‘he does to you. Does e 2" Captain Leale paused a moment before re- plying. Only that very morning had his colonel talked with bim, the most trusted of his troop commanders, of Ellis’ long- missing brother. Only within an hourhad Farrar_sought again’ his advice as to one whom he could not bring himseif to name, and referred to i:i in fhnum l;mih sor;n:; as % ldest,” and only rarely us “my son.” First born of the il fock, the boy been given his father’s name. ’.l‘be! only child for several years, petted, 1 more than one stormy scene before Royle returned to the academy—interviews from which the senior issued pale, stern, sorrow- ful; the young man gloomy, sullen, and more than half defiant.. In his second year came tidings of misdemeanor almost broke the mother’s heart. arrar hastened from the distant frontier to the banks of the Hudson, expecting nothing short of dismissal for the boy, and | promising the mother to fetch him at once to her, but the court, even in sentencing, had signed a plea for mercy for the cadet who bore so honored a name—a plea that his classmates would never have indorsed, and the President remitted the punish- ment to a term of confinement to barracks and camp. The father wasted no words in reproach. He pointed out to the son that now was his last chance. Royle Jr. had sullenly responded that his disgrace was due en- tirely to spies and tale-bearers, and showed neither contrition nor promise of amend. A year later came the last straw. Reported for a violation of regulations in having liquor in his possession, Cadet Farrar wrote a lying explanation to the effect that it was placed in his room by parties unknown to him and for the pur- Ko!e of bringing him into trouble, but he ad been seen “‘off limits’’ at a question- able resort in the neighboring vi(lllage the previous night, had been drinking and card-playing there, had lost money and refused to pay, had been seen returnin by two lower classmen, to whom he offcre liquor, then staggered to his quarters only an hour or so before reveille rollcall. He was placed in close arrest after beins confronted with the array of evidence, an that night deserted and was seen no more. Again the colonel made his mournful pil- grimage to the Point, and old comr: pityingly, sorrowfully told him the whole story. He went back to his regiment look- ing ten years older, took his wife and two younger children, Wiil and Ellis, to his eart, and from that day never spoke again his fixfibbnn&'}u n':me. Ituhad been " for ears his custom sign all official papers 1yn full—Royle Farnrflut the very‘;oxl)l;d of the Christian name seemed from that fime on to give him distress, and R. Farrar became his signature, personal or official. The young man was heard of occasion- ally, however, borrowing money from ofii- cers and friends and ~relatives on his father’s account. Then_he went to sea, then returned to New York and wrote a long letter to his mother, telling how he mourned the old days, and was going to ead a new life, and she too gladly sent him all the money she had. Then ‘there was another interval, and, aftera year, he again appeared as suppliant for aid. He had been desperately ill, he said, and kind but r humble people had cared for him, and ey ought tofbe rewarded. The mother would have sent again her last cent to him direct, but Farrar interposed. His check went to a trustedfriend, with instructions to investigate, and that friend was his old comrade, Major Fenton, and, as he ex- pected, it proved only another lie. Then there came an era of apparent prosperity, and now the poor mother in joy besought her husband to recognize the son, for he reported himself in good em- ploy, with a fair salary and brilliant pros- pects. He even sent a draft torepay a small portion of what he termed his father's loan, but_this was soon followed by a draft on his father for double the amount, and later another, and then letters of inquiry came from his employer, and then rueful complaint of how that trusting person had been swindled. In her agony of grief and disappointment, the mother’s health was giving way, and Farrar con- cealed from her particulars even worse— that their wretched son had won the love of his employer’s only daughter, ana tha}t she had iolfewed him from her father's house. There had been a secret marriage. There was another Royle. This news had come to the colonel buta day or two before. It was this that had unsealed his lips and turned him to Captain Leale for cornsel and support. “My aaughter,’ wrote the bereaved father, “was the idol of my heart, the image of the mother who was taken from her Jong years ago. Yet she turned from me in the passion of her love for him, and they have gone God alone knows where. If you can find him, say that_thopgh he has robbed me poor, I can forgive bfm all if he will but be zood and kind to her. She was delicately nurtured, as carefully educated as your own daughter could be, sir, and she was more to me, for she wasmy all. I own that, having married him, her duty was with her husband, but why should she have hidden that marriage irom her father? My own fortune is well-nigh wrecked, but she has her mother’s little ortion—enough, if he can_resist his crav- ing for drink and gambling, to support them in comfort. I pray you help me save my child.”’ All this sad history was now well known to Malcolm Leale, and his eyes were full of sorrow as he bent them upon the gentle, yearning woman at the desk, lost in her study of her tirst-born’s face. Ellis in turn stood watching him. She was a girl of 16, yet seemed older far, because of the years in which she had been her mother’s com- panion and closess friend. Then as he made no answer to her query and seemed plunged in thought she turned and stepped lightly over to the mother’s side. “Day dreaming, again, Queen Mother?” she asked, in the half-playful way that was habitual with her. vyou don’t go on with your letter to Will it won’t be ready for the courier. Captain Leale tells me they are to send one out at noon.” “Will they really?”’ asked Mrs. Farrar, rousing suddenly. “Why, 1 had given up all hope of hearing from him this week, or of getting a letter to him. Who is to go, captain? The pass must be breast deep in snow. “I think not, Mrs. Farrar. There was very little wind, y6u know, and the fall seems to have been very uniform. Cor- poral Rorke and a couple of my men zre getting ready now. The colonel was only Waiting, hoping that there might be still some news from Red Cloud.” “Why, how can it come? The wires are down, the road hidden, and the river un- fordable,” said Ellis, eagerly. “The last news was bad enough. I ownIdon’t want to hear further.” Over Leale’s face a_graver shadow fell. “There are Indian riders who could easily make the journey,” he said. “Crow Knife, for instance, whom the colonel sent over with the scouts five days ago. The fact that he hasn’t returned makes me hopeful that matters are quieting down,”” but_here he turned again to the window tolevel his glass upon the broad, rolling expanse of white, stretching in wave alter wave to the bleak horizon. “God forbid there should be further trouble,” said Mrs. Farrar, slowly, linger- ingly replacing the portrait in its drawer. “Surely the general has force enough there now to keep those Indians in check,” she ventured appealingly. Leale lowered his binocular again. ‘‘He has, provided the renegades captured on the Cheyenne are not sent back there. Those people should not be taken to the agency. They are Minneconjous, Unkapa- pas, Brules, a turbulent, ill-conditioned Iot, who make trouble wherever the others are peaceably disposed. They should have been disarmed and dismounted and put under guard at Fort Robinson until this question is settled. What I fear is that Red Wolf’s band is still out and is defying the agent, and that the revolt will sprea to Kill Eagle's village. 1f they go on the warpath some of our best scouts will be in- volved. That boy Crow Knife is worth his weight in gold, but his father and mother would follow Kill Eagle.”” “Do you think—do you think that if they -should revolt, we, our command would have to be ordered out?’ asked Ellis, anxiously. “It might be,” he replied, cautiously, “but I am hoping that no winter campaign is in store for us. Think of a march over such a waste as that,”’ and he pointed to the snowclad scene before them., “We couldn’t cross the Platte this side of Laramie, either, even if the stream were fordable. The running ice would cut the horses from under us.” Out across the parade, clear, yet soft, as though muffled by the snow, the cavalry trumpet began sounding orderly call. “Rorke and his men will start as soon as they have had dinner, Mrs. Far- rar,” said Leale, “and I must see the colonel before they go. I will send for your letters.” He took up the glasses again for one last survey, Ellis narrowly watching him, while her mother went on with her writing. For a moment the search seemed barren of result as before, butsuddenly Leale started, stepped nearer the window and riveted his attention on one spot. Ellis quickly noted it. ‘“You see some one ?”” she asked. A brief nod was the only answer. Then, glass in hand, the captain suddenly turned to a side door, let himself out into another room, and thence to an_outer gallery sur- rounding the house. Here his view was unobstructed. Two gentlemen were com- ing up the pathway from the adjutant’s office, and a soldier in immaculate uniform and_sidearmg following a short distance behind, indicated that the one in_uniform was the post commander—the elder one a distinguished-looking man of nearly 60, whose pointed mustache and imperial were wellnigh as white as the new-fallen snow about him, whose complexion, bronzed by years of exposure to prairie sun_and wind, was ruddy brown, almost like Russia leather. Over Leale’s face fell the same shadow of anxiety that was noted when he stood gaz- ing in silence upon the sorrowing mother at the desk within. The colonel was talk- ing in an earnest manner to the man at his side, u civilian, so far as his dress would indicate, yet a civilian with the erect car- riage and brisk step of a soldier—a hand- some fellow, too, of perhaps seven and twenty years. Leale turned from them in some impatience. *‘I’d bet a month’s pay, if I ever bet a cent in the world,” he muttered to himself, ‘‘that old Fenton’s nephew had no thought whatever of hunting when he came here in midwinter. The 3uestion is, What else has brought him besides what I have already learned, and why he haunts Farrar from morn till night?” At the window the fair girlish face brightened an instant atsightof the soldier coming, then clouded as quickly as the civilian came in view. “‘Mr. Ormsby again,” murmured Ellis below her breath, and tfze bow of recognition which she gave him in answer to the quick uplifting of his sealskin cap lacked all of the warmth and interest that beamed in Ormsby’s face at sight of her. Seeing Leale the colonel pressed on to join him on the northward Porch. Catching sight of Ellis the civilian ell back, entered the gateway and came briskly to the door. An instant later and his step was heard in the hsllwaiyl. Eilis turned to the window in something not unlike aversion. The mother it was who rTose eagerly to welcome the coming guest. “Prompt as ever, Mr. Ormsby,’* she cried, as he entered the parlor, fresh and Tosy from tne keen outer air. *‘I wish you mlgiht teach my husband to be more punec- tual at luncheon.” ‘“Indeed, I feared I was detaining him, Mrs. Farrar. He’s merely stopped one mo- ment to speak with Captain Leale. He was showing me over the barracks. You have no idea how vividly interesting all this is to me. T have shouldered the mus- ket with the Seventh for eight years, and have never visited an army post before.” “Oh, didn’t you see your uncle when he was at Riley? He used to write to my husband of you time and again, and of your pride in your regiment.” e ‘*No, he wasin New York on recruiting service then, a few years ago, you remem- ber, and we used to get him up to the armory or to our camp occasionally.” ““And he was very, very kind to my poor bov, my Royle,” said Mrs. Farrar, wist- fully, searching the tace of her guest, “‘and when you came to us with letters from our old friend, for we had known him before our marriage,’” she continued, a f.int color rising to her cheek, *it seemed almost like welcoming him. There was nothing too good for Major Fenton that our home afforded after all he tried to do, at least for—for him.” The sigh witn which she spoke seemed to well up from the depths o?othe mother’s heart. Ellis, with light footsteps, had left the room to greet her father on the piazza without, and for the first time since his coming, three days pre- vious, just in time to be hemmed in and held at Frayne by the great snowfall, Mrs. Farrar was alone with her guest. ‘‘There is something I have longed to ask you, Mr. Ormsby,” she went on, “something I must ask you, for a mother’s intuition is keen, and I feel sure you have seen or known my poor boy in the past. Have you heard—do you know anything of him now.” “‘Mrs. Farrar, I give you my word I have not the faintest idea of his where- abouts.” “Forgive me if I am intrusive—impor- tunate,” she persisted. ‘“But Major Fen- ton—he was Major Fenton then, you know, and T think of him with the title he bore when he was so good, so friendly— when my unhappy boy most needed friends. You were with your uncle often | then. Did you not meet—did you not know my Royle?” Ormsby’s honest eyes betrayed the deep embarrassment under which he lubnrmf, and she, watching every sign with painful intensity, read the truth despite his falter- ing reply. “‘Once or twice, Mrs. Farrar; but I knew him only very slightly.” “‘Teil me still more, Mr. Ormsby. You have been most considerate to me. have sought to spare me; but in my hus- band’s sad_face, in his abstracted manner, I have read the trath. Hehas heard news, worse news, of Royle, and you have been the bearer. Is it not s0?” But Ormsby pulled himself together this time, at least, like a man and braved her. “I assure you it is not so, Mrs. Farrar. |and by You | the silent gronp at headquarters told all too_ plainly with what dread the tidings had been received. With the wires down, the railway blockaded, the stage road deep in snow, there was only one means of com- munication left, and two Indian scouts on their hardy ponies, leaving the field col- umn at dawn the previous day, had made their unerring way through the trackless maze of snow-clad ridge, ravine, divide and coulee, through a labyrinth of Bad Lands, bad enough in midsummer, and across many a frozen creek, until at last they struck the northern shore of the swollen Platte, and followed on up-stream until opposite old Fort Frayne. And now, indeed, was the road to the ferry broken and plowed and speedily trod- den hard, for hosts of stalwart men had rushed to the riverside, and out from its winter hiding place they dragged one of the huge pontoon-boats and launched it in the ice-whirling flood, and the sweeps were manned by brawny arms in blue, and, with boathooks driving at the ice cakes and the foam flying from the oar blades and from under the blunt and sloping prow, cheered from the southern shore they fought their way to where, like black, silent statues, the riders waited at the brink, and then In- dians and ponies both were bundled aboard and ferried back again, landing two hun- | dred yards down stream; but even before they could breast the blaifs and carry their dispatches to the cavalry chief the news they bore was shouted up the heights: “Red Wolf escaped; Kill Eagle's whole village has jumped for the Bad Lands.” And that meant that the Twelith must drop its Christmasing and fetch the wan- derers home, The old, old story told again, and just as it had been time and time b bsurdity in the Indian policy; m ment of the Indian Bureau: starva- nanag | 1 tion in the Indian villages; murmurings of discontent among the old warriors; talk of summary action among the young s; emissaries from disaffected bands; ight councils, harangues, dances, threats, an arrest or two, escape, and then ?‘ffi""”l rush to join the hostiles in the ield. Prompt to act on this occasion, as ever before, ‘the moment he was enabled to learn through the chagrined officials of the Indian Bureaun of the escape of this turbu- lent leader and the flight of Kill Eagle’s people from the agency, the general com- manding in the field dispatched a smal force of cavalry to interpose between the latter and the large bands of hostiles al- | ready lurking in the Bad Lands, and, giv- ing the commander of this force instruc- | tions to turn Kill Eagle westward steady pursuit keep him AN A\ \\\,\\\\ \ AELLLEARARAR AR ‘.,‘\\\\\‘ \ \\ \\‘\\\\\\'\“\\\j\\,‘\ W ) \ \ TWO INDIAN SCOUTS ON THEIR HARDY PONIES. \\“ \! \i\g\\\*‘ W IR \LBBILIA \ W ) [Drawn by a “Call” artist.] From me. at least, the colonel has heard nothing new—nothing worse. 1 beg you to dismiss the thought.” But he did not say that he had come | to Fra “on 2 hu he s _ the jump” toward his old ting grounds behind the Black Hills, 0t couriers across country post haste ne, with orders for Colonel Farrar prepared to tell, aye, instructed to_tell of | to start at once with his entire force—four written proposition of his empioyers to relinquish pursuit of Royle Farrar pro- vided the father would make good the sum they had lost through the son’s forgery. “God bles ou, Mr. Ormsby, for the load you have lifted from my heart,” she cried. ‘“Ever since you have come I have dreaded more and more each day that you were the bearer of evil tidings of him who has almost broken his father’s heart, and yet cannot, must not, shall not, be beyond redemption, if a mother’s love and prayers are of any avail. Even Ellis has seemed to share my dread. I have read it in her manner, as, perhaps, you have, too. She did not mean to be unkind, inhospitable to our guest, but that sorrow has over- shadowed us all, all. Even my bright, brave Will, who is doing all a boy can do to redeem the name at the Point—even ‘Will, I say, is sometimes confronted by the record that his erring brother leit."” The tears were starting from her eyes now, and in uncontrollable emotion she turned away. Then came a loud rn&) at the front door and a servant hastened to open it. A loud cheery Irish voice re- sounded through the hallway an instant later. ‘“Corporal Rorke to report to the colonel for ~ dispatches,” and glancin thither Ormsby saw a stout trooper, with broad, jovial, ruddy face, his burly form clad in winter service dress. Mrs. Farrar, striving to hide and to check her tears, hac turned into the dining-room. Ormsby stepped to the north window and glanced out upon the little group upon the porch. Ellis half shiveringly clinging to her father’s arm, he_intently eying Leale; Leale, with leveled glasses, steadily at gaze at some dim black object far, far across the turbid Platte, far out- to the eastward acr%ss the snow-clad slopes. e : “Can you make out what's coming, ‘1 think so, colonel.” “What is it?” Leale slowly lowered the glass and never turning answered in low but positive tone: ‘‘Our marching orders—for the agency.” CHAPTER IL At noon that bright December day the barracks and quarters of Fort Frayne were resounding with song and laughter and all “the good-natured, soldierly noise” with which the garrison was busily preparing for the blithe festivities of Christmas. Two hours later, though the scene was un- changed, the preparations were for war. “Leave the band to guard the post, but take every available trooper,” were the injunctionsthat accompanied the general’s brief orders to Colonel Farrar. “Strike when you find—and wherever you find— Kill Eagle’s band.” 3 earful eyes along officers’ row watching the crowning disgrace—come with the | fine troops of the Twelith Cavalry—to cross the Platte at the first possible point, and by forced marches throw himself across the Indians’ front and strive to hem them in. With the Platte sweeping along as it was, bank full, a crossing might be impossible nearer than the rocky shallows at the Fet- terman Bend, but that made no difference; prompt action was the thing. More than half expecting just such a contingency, Farrar had long since com- pleted his preparations. His packers and their lively mules had been kept in trim. Ten days’ rations were always set aside in readiness to be packed onthe apparejos the moment word should come. Boxes of extra ammunition for carbine and revolver were stacked up in the ordnance storeroom, reaey to be lashed, two to each, on the sturdy little burden-bearers’ backs. Double sacks of grain, precious as pewder on a winter campaign, were banked at the quartermaster’s corral. Every trooper’s winter kit of fur cap, gloves, fur-lined can- vas coat, boots, blankets and re-enforced breeches had been carefully inspected only a day or two before. Every horse had been as carefully shod. Extra shoes and ghoe- nails had been stored in each pair of sad- dle-bags. The horses themselves in their warm, thick winter coats and uncropped manes and tails, looked shaggy an({’ far from ‘“swell”” from the point of view of the Eastern avenues, but were eminently fit for campaigning among the blizzards of the plains, and as for the men, they were serving under a soldier who didn’t believe in letting troopers grow ‘“‘soft” and out of condition even in midwinter, and so, no matter what the weather, Far- rar had his ople out for exer- cse every weekday of the year, and the exercise durmE. the snowstorm had con- sisted in breaking roadsin long compact column of fours all around the platean on which stood the great spreading garrison, and -the men liked it and throve under it, and came in each day glowing with health, to the enjoyment of their substantial din- ner, vowing the colonel knew no end of tricks worth their studying, even if he wasn’t a West Pointer, even if he had gone into the army ‘“from the militia’’ in the old days of the war. And now that all their Christmas fun seemed summarily ended and they them- selves were to be hurried forth upon a sharp and sudden campaign, they sprang to their preparations with cheery vim, almost with eager rejoicing. For three weeks they had been excitedly reading and discussing the reports of the doings o§meir comrade regi- ment, the Eleventh, around the agency far to the east, and coveting their prominence and distinction. Already they had envi- ously heard of one or two sharp affairs in which the Eleventh had rounded up a party of young warriors breaking for tge ghey- - enne country, or had surrounded and dis- armed Tall Bull's little band of ugly ‘‘bluf- fers.” Even atthe expense of Christmas trees, Christmas dance, Christmas dinner, they didn’t want to loaf in garrison when other regiments were having stirring ser- vice in the field. And so, while women wept, the barracks rang with shout and song and cheery whistle, and the laugh and joke went around as the troopers b stowed their treasures in the home chest and packed their bulging saddlebags. Few of their number had wives or children to leave behind. It was over among the offi- cers’ quarters that no laughter rang, and the only smiles were piteous through their mist of tears. A T ‘could bear it better at any other season, Royle,” said the colonel’s wife, as she clung, sobbing, to his neck after he had donned his rough field dress. “It seems as though the worst blow of my life had come to me at Christmas just this time.” He bowed in silence, tenderly kissing her, yet even then checking fur- ther reference to that crowning sorrow. He could not shut out the recollection of how the news of their boy’s disgrace had been received on Christmas morning, and now, with another Christmas so close at hand, he was keeping from her tidings that still more had bowed bis head in sor- row uncontrollable—that his wretched son bad robbed, deceived and deserted the sweet woman who had trusted him, leaving her penniless to struggle, unaided and un- known. Who can say what would have been his shame had he dreamed that this genial, kindly young New Yorker, this stranger within his gates, was the bearer of evidence that still further was the son a felon in the eyes of the law, and that to all his other crimes Royle Farrar had added that of forgery. At noon on this very day Jack Ormsby was striving to nerve himself to carry out his employer’s orders and break the tidings, but these few words with the gentle mother, and the sight of her pathetic face again unmanned him, and in the midst of his irresolution came these sudden orders for the field, and that put an end to all thought of anything else, “I cannot help it,”’ he was saying to Ellis, as the girl, pale and sad but uncom- plaining, was busily Facking her father’s mess-chest. ‘It would be ridiculous Icould be of any use, butall th want to go. It's the chanceof ali I have never seen an Indian campaign. I haven't an idea what an Indian fight is like, but, d’ you know, I couldn’t go back and face our fellows of the Seventh and tell them I saw the Twelfth Cavalry start on its rush to head off Kill Eagle’s band and that I aidn’t go, too.” I should want to go if I werein your lace,” said she. *I understand it fully. No doubt Captain Leale can fit you out with campaign clothing—everything you need—" “‘Then I certainly shall go,” said Ormsby. “I¢ll be something to tell about in ‘L Company for the next ten years.” And that was how it happened that five days later, in a blinding snowstorm, there | rode with the advance of the Twelfth Cav- alry a sergeant of the famous New Vork Seventh at the very moment when the word came from the scouts that Kill Eagle’s vil- lage was not two miles ahead. Left to his own devices in the matter of carrying out his orders Farrar had made a close and careful calculation. With the Laramie road out of sight in snow it might take three days of hard marching to reach the ford, h the prospect then of finding themselves almost as far from the Indians as before, for the fords lay some forty miles off to the southeast, while, when last heard from, Kill Eagle was striking across coun- try south of the Cheyenne between the Up- per Niobrara and the Mini Pusa. In the deep valleys were scattered ranches and countless herds of horned cattle, so he was living high on the country as he fled, his r well guarded by three score young aves, who hovered just ahead of the pur- ng column, peppering its advance guard with long-range shots from every ridge, and so retarding its movement as to enable their old war chief to move his whole v | Inge, teepees, lodge-poles, women and chil- | dren, Jony herd, dog herd and all, with | calm’ deliberation. By going southeast { Farrar would have taken theflooded Platte | alongside on his left hand, only to have to | turn'an acute angle to the north again, | march them over rough and broken coun- | try, with old Rawhide Butte, perhaps, as ! his'guide, with every probability of finding | himself far behind the chase aiter reach- ing the broad, deep-lying valley of the Niobrara. Wiser by far he sent back brief word by courier to Laramie, ordering it forwarded by wire from that point. “We go westward up the Platte, confi- dent ui%a\\'er water and a crossing thisside of the big bend. Thence we will swing around northeastward, and, covering a broad stretch of country, keep a sharp lookout for Xill Eagle’s band. We should meet him somewhere among the breaks of the Mini Pusa, southeast of old Canton- ment Reno, and unless they will surrender 1 shall strike at once and strike hard.” And here among the breaks of the Mini Pusa, aiter four days of severe winter marching, Farrar had thrown his little command just as he had planned square across the path of the foe. Direful were the tales that had reached him from ranch- men and settlers, who, having abandoned their homes, were fleeing for the protec- tion of the frontier forts, far back at the base of the Blg Horn. Day aiter day had the young warriors swooped from the trav- eling village down upon the valleys on either side, murdering men, women and little children, burning the ranches, driv- ing off such cattle as they fancied, and ruthlessly butchering all the rest. 'And still, one or two days’ march behind, the pursuing column plunged heavily through the snow. Farrar was an expert, however, and had shrewdly judged theirroute. Far: rar was merciful, and even in face of the atrocities that had been committed and under the warrant of his orders and in the belief that the band was few in numbers, he would not strike when the blow might fall on women and_children, too, until he l&ad given the red chief a chance to surren- er. He had been marching since dawn and it was now 11 o’clock. An hour earlier, far at_the front, along a low, snow-covered ridge that stood out sharply against the black bank of cloud that spread from hori zon almost to zenith. the scoutsbegan that fierce sudden circling of their ponies that denoted ‘“enemy in sight.” With their field glasses, the officers at the head of the column could see that one of the number, dismounted, was lying close to the crest. peering cnmiousl{ over and signaling ex: citedly to his fellows who kept welf be- hind ‘him down the slope. They, in turn, were signaling to the column _and, leaving ale in command, with orders to move steadily on, the colonel put spurs to his horse—old Roderick—and followed by his adjutant and an orderly or two, cantered on and out to the front. ~Ormsby, riding at the moment with Leale at the head of the first troop, felt a thrill of excitement as the captain coolly interpreted the meaning of the rapid movements of the scouts, Eagerly, too, the men seemed to rouse from the almost slumbrous condition of the command after its hours of ploddin, and ‘a murmur ran back from troop Fr; troop: “Indians ahead! Now for it, fel- lows!” And then all eyes were strained on that low ridge against the sky line and, unconsciously, the horses seemed to close up toward the head of the column, answering, perhaps, some in- voluntary pressure of the knees for suddenly, while the leading troop 'con- tinued its placid gait, the swift, steady four-mile walk, those at the rear of the column broke into a jog trot and never e- sumed the walk uga'm until the cautionfng voice and hand of the captain seemed to restrain them. And then they could see that Colonel Farrar, reaching the ridge, had himself dismounted and was Iyin, on the snow and veering over as Little Bat had done before him. Still no word came to accelerate the march, and at the same steady walk the long column, moving by fours here, for the prairie was wide and open and comparatively level, pushed on for the distant ridge, and when at last they came within hailing'distance of the group at the front the adjutant slowly raised his hand and gave the signal, “Halt!” and in an instant the snakelike column stood in its tracks and the men swung out of saddle and began dancing ad thrashing their arms in the effort t’ i fans effort 4 Etarb the sluggish Copyright, XBLB.n S omad 1 NEW TO-DAY. FOR THIS WEEK LY SPECIAL ATTRACTIONS ~——IN OUR——— CLOAK DEPARTMENT! A LARGE LINE OF HANDSOME S U M CAPES (worth ANOTHER EXQUISITE AS: SORTMENT OF RICHER SUMMER C $25 00), at NEW, Don't Fal to See Them ! They Are the Latest! KID GLOYES! VARIOUS MAKES, ALL SIZES, @ to close out at - = = = « - = i ‘]IOC a Pair G.VERDIER & GO, S. E. Cor. Geary St. and Graot Ave, S B, VILLE“PAR BRANCH HOUSE, BAZAAR GOLQE_NRU ; EASTER OPENING! 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