The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, May 12, 1895, Page 18

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, MAY 12, 1895. R BY CAPT. CHAS.KING. CHAPTER XI. { Just as first call for tattoo was sounding, | (no one having thought to tell the or- derly trumpeter that, both on account of the holiday and the unexpected duty for the garrison, “rules were suspended”) a | long column of cavalry wound away through the shimmer of the snowy moon- light and disappeared from sight along the flats below the post. Fenton and Wayne, with four of the six troops, had ridden down stream for a ten-mile march. His object was to bring Big Road, with his little village, warriors, women, chil- dren, ponies, dogs, dirt, and all, within the lines of the reservation of Fort Frayne. Oxnce there even cowboys dare not molest them, and no self-appointed sheriff could impose his authority. With all Thorpe’s bluster, Fenton felt reasonably assured that even in so turbulent 2 corner of Wyoming, the hustlers could not | muster in force sufficient to warrant an | attack that night. Big Réad’sbraves were | few in number, but they were fighters to a | man. Their s, like those of all their | tribe and kindred tribes, bad long since been forgiven the m by Uncle Sam, and it | was not for his vassals to keep up the feud. Rare, indeed, are the cases when the soldier has long cherished a | grudge against the Indian. The Twelfth | had fought like devils after the murder, as'they could but regard it, of their be- loved colonel, but when the opposing band had finally surrendered and accepted the situation, all rancor had speedily died | away. It seemed to the regiment, therefore, a perfectly natural and obyious thing that it should hasten forth to protect this little remnant from the revenge of the whites. Laramie Pete, with all his faults, was a frontier hero whose popularity was second only to that of Thorpe, and at the latter’s call, from far and near, cowboy, ranchman, miner, and prospector, would hasten to j forces under his leadership, and’ in twenty-four hours or less he could count on five hundred determined followers, fearless as they were reckless, and defiant of any | law that was not of their own devising. In the selection of his troops Fenton had been governed by the time-honored tenets of the Twelith. ~ Leale’s men, having re- turned but a month before from a tour of detached service, escorting a Government survey through the lands of the 8hoshones | far to the west, were therefore the ones | designated to remain in charge of the post, being supported by what was left of the so-called Indian Troop—Crow Knife’s com- pany, a band of swar{hy cavalrymen that 100k to Uncle Sam’s clothing, pay, and ra- | tions with avidity, and even to hisdrilland | discipline, so long as it was a new toy, but | little by little the innate sloth and restless- ness of the savage nature prevailed, and oneafter another, non-commissioned officer and private, the Sioux soldiery had been discharged until nearly all had gone. Of the dozen that remained, however, were some of the noblest specimene of the race, men who, like Crow Knife, seemed deter- mined to rise above the apathy of the past into some position of power and influence for their people in the future, and it was almost unspeakable grief to these that they should be told that they could not go with the command. Yet Fenton’sdecision was a wise one. Eversince Big Road’s messen- gers (White Wolf and Pretty Bear) had dashed into the garrison at8 o’clock claim- i i n of the Great Father's soldiers the excitement among the rem- nant of the Indian troop had been furious. For a moment it looked as though they might cast off their uniforms and turning out in breechclout and paint and feathers | brought its tragedy to her at old Fort tion, that the mother had learned to lean upon this stanch and devoted friend. Mrs. Farrar took his hand and looked am)eal— ingly up into his face as he briefly told her what had happened and what the colonel had decided to do. “Will Willy have to go?’ was her one question, and, ignorant sas yet that Leale’s troop would be desi)!nated to remain, Ormsby gravely answered that he pre- sumed the entire command was ordered out. “But,” he added, reassuringly, *‘that fact in itself is the surest guarantee of eace. There can be no further disorderin ace of so strong a force.” | For all answer she bowed her head and hid it in her slender white hands. No wonder it seemed as though Christmas ever Frayne. And then came diversion that was merci- ful. There was a rush of light footsteps, a flutter of silken skirts on the poreh with- out, a bang at the door and in came Kitty, flushed, disheveled, tearful, indignant. W s this about Willy’s going?” she demanded. “Where is he? ‘What busi- ness has he? Why, he cannot go, Mrs. | Farrar. He’s eng: d to me for the german | to-morrow night. There was something so comical in her utter inability to understand the gravity of the sitnation, to realize that a soldier’s duty far outranked even so solemn a com- pact as an engagement to dance with his sweetheart that even Mrs. Farrar forgot her grief and apprehension for the moment and opened her arms to the imperious little lady and drew her to her heart. Ab, Kitty, you have the same lesson to learn that I "had long years ago,” she cried, as she sought to soothe and console the child, but Miss Ormsby was in no | at the chaplain’s and ushered into the par- lor, where Kitty still lay, clasped in the mother’s arms. She scrambled to her feet the instant he entered and began an energetic outburst, but the sight of his woe-begone face checked her suddenly. Mrs. Farrar read instantly the cause of his gloom, and her eyes brightened with rejoicing. “Willy, my boy, then you don’t have to " “Don’t have to go!” was the wrathful answer. ‘“Don’t have to go! I've been on my knees to that stony-hearted old HF for the last ten minutes, and he won’t let me “God bless him!” were the mother’s gol” fervent words. ‘He knew—he well knew what it would cost me to have my only boy torn from me at this time,’” was the thought that flashed through her mind, and her eyes welled with grateful tears, though she could say no more. It was Kitty who restored the social equilibrium. “I won’t have you speak of Uncle Fenton in that disgraceful way, Mr. Farrar. You ought to be thankful you don’t have to go, as you put it. Have you totnlly_forgggten our engagement for to-morrow night? “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Kitty! Wba't is that at such a time as this! There won't be a sign of a dance, unless they all get back in time, and I'd rather be dead than left here the first scout the regiment has after my joining it.” He threw himself disgustedly into a chair, refusing to see his mother’s outstretched band, and for the time being absolutely indifferent to Klttz's reproaches. It was the discovery of this fact that tanght her how thoroughly in earnest he was, taught her that there was | something alive in his heart of which she might well be jealous, and, for the first time in her life, the girl stood a little in awe of him, and, relinquishing her pur- pose of upbraiding, she turned back, baf- fled and defeated and took refuge by the mother’s chair. . “Tell us who are to go, Willy,"” said Mrs. Farrar, entreatingly. “Everybody but me—and Leale. They'll be off in ten minutes, too. Even Jack Ormsby goes, and I'm ordered—absolutely ordered—to stay here, as if I were some— some baby in arms, untit to do duty with ‘“AHEAD OF THE COLUMN, FULL GALLOP.” indulge in a genuine old-fashioned war- dance on the parade. They were wild to get theirarms and horses and gallop to the succor of their kinsmen down the valley, but the lieutenant commanding was a cool hand, and, aided by the persuasive talk of one or two older warriors, measurably qui- eted the disturbance. Then, as most of the | men on guard begged to be allowed to go | with their comrades, seven of the Indians were distributed among the three reliefs, and Leale’s men filled all the other gaps. It about 9:30, as has been said, when the column marched away. It might be back before Christmas night. It might not be back for a week. Noone at the moment could say, because even mow Big Road could have broken camp and started with his whole village on a night march for the fastnesses of the mountains, uncertain | what fate might be in store for them if he remained. With the column went White Wolf and Bear, the former generally be- lieved to be one of the four Indians en- gaged in the fracas that wound up the earthly career of Laramie Pete. Ahead of the column, full gallop, with only a single orderiy, but with instructions to tell Big | Road and his reu&-le to stay just where | they were, as the Great Father meant to | come to their protection, went Lieutenant | ‘Warren, and the maddest, “‘miserablest” man in all the garrison was Lieutenant ‘Will Farrar. When a young fellow is full of soldierly ambition, when he knows he is master of his work and is eager for an opportunity to prove it, when evervbody has been treat- | ing him as a boy and he knows he has all | the ability of a man, when his sweetheart even has been teasing and twitting him with his apparent lack of consequence in the eyes of the garrison, and he is there- fore all the more mad to prove at any hazard that it conteinsno more daring and spirited an officer, such an opportunity as was here afforded Will Farrar was not to be lost. He had implored Colonel Fenton to let him be the bearer of the message, and was broken-hearted at the kind but firm refusal. ‘‘The Indian is .peculiar, Will,” said the old soldier, = gently. “He never forgets or forgives. If his father had been killed as yours was he would hold it something to be avenged, although resentment had to be | concealed, perhaps for years. They know you are his son. They know that the white are leaguing now to avenge the death of Pete. They cannot understand such a thing as white soldiers, from sheer sense of duty and_justice, terposing against their own kind to save the red man. In your coming they would read only treach- ery, and would argue that you came to urge their remaining so that we might join our white brethren’ in surrounding and wiping them out_of existence. Whatever igu urged, even in my name, they would sure not to do. No, I must send War- ren. They know him well and trust him.” But Fenton was thankful he had so good an excuse, for even without it he coulfnot have brought himself to send Marjorie Farrar’s only remaining son upon a mis- sion that might prove perilous — that would certainly seem perilous in her eyes. Hastening to the chaplain’s as soon as Thorpe made his melodramatic exit, Ormsby was met at the door by the go old dominig himself, and begged him to say to Mm‘Fmar that there was no cause for alarm. There had been a fight between Indiansand cowhoys several miles away, and Colonel Fenton had decided to send a force out to keep the peace. She heard his - voice and faintly but eagerly asked that he should come in. It was Helen, not Ellis who bore her message. Helen, who nof -with comfort, and Ellis, with mixed emo- mood for petting. She was up in arms. | She was being defrauded. Uncle Fenton | had no business whatever to send Willy | away on such a quest at such a time. It | was worse than inconsiderate. It was out- | rageous, and then Mrs. Farrar’s face went white again as she asked what Kitty meant, and then Kitty’s nerve gave way and she buried her bonny face on that motherly shoulder and burst into tears. “] thought you heard,” she sobbed. “They have only just told me. Captain Farwell came home to change his dress, and I asked him where Will was, and he said he left him offering his services to Uncle Fenton to ride ahead tothe Indians, and he wanted to know if I didn’t think Will was a trump. I don't—I didn’t—I think it's simply h-h-heartless in him,”’ And then Mrs. Farrar raised her eyes appealingly to Ormsby, and he went with- out a word. He knew what she needed, and he hastened in search of Will. He found him at Fenton’s, whither he had accompanied the colonel, and where he was still pleading and tugging at his tiny mustache and tramping up and down and biting his nails, while Fenton, in the adjoining room, was calmly getting out’ of hisbdress clothes and into winter field arb. “Would you mind dropping this and going down to the chaplain’sand comfort- ing your mother and my sister,’” said Ormsby, as soon as he coulid get in a word edgewise. “Yes, go, Will,” said Fenton, “and tell her that there is nothing whatever in this affair to worry about. We’re merely going to bring old "Big Road up here to take Christmas dinner at the fort. There’s no chance for a fight, or you should go along. No; it's useless arguing, my boy. I'd do anythinF for you that's right, but this is absolutely unreasonable on your part. Now go and tell those two blessed women that you’re to remain on guard over them, and they’ll rise up and call me blessed—at least they ought to.” And so, finally, Ormsby got the pery young fellow out of the house and fairly started, Ormsby keeping pace with him as he strode excitedly from the room. “I want you to do something for me, Will,” said he in a low tone, as they hastened alonfi, “I’m going with the com- mand, and I haven’t a moment to spare. Give this note to Mrs. Daunton for me as soon as possible after you reach the house. May I rely upon you?” And as he spoke he held forth an enve- lope,evidently snufily filled,and Farrar took it mechanically and without reply. The boy was thinking only of his own disa; poini- ment. “Do you understand, Will?"”" per- sisted Ormsby. “Itis of greatimportance that she should have it before 10 o’clock. You won’t forget?” and, wondering now, Farrar gromued, and Ormsby turned ab- ruptly back. “I wish to the Lord I were in place,”” was poor Will’s the guardsman hurried the night ride. Already the four troops had marched to stables and were saddling. Al- ready there were sounds of excitement over across the river, and much sci ing through the straggling street of the cattle town of well-mounted ranchmen and cow- Emchers. Thorpe was as good as his word. e was rousing the country with a venge- ance, hoping to ride down the valley in strong force within the hour and “wind up the whole business” before the cavalry could come to the rescue of the offending band. Will could hear the occasional whoo; and yell that came ringing over on the still night air, and he was in a petulant mood. bordering on exasperation, when admitted W our arting shout, as ck to dress for my fellows. I'll never forgive Fenton as long as I liveg’ “And I'll never forget it,” murmured the mother, as she gently checked Kitty, once more about to burst into impetuous speech. “I'm sure Colonel Fenton had grave and good reasons for keeping you here, my son, and if so tried and brave a soldier'as Cap- tain Leale can remain without reproacg, surely you can.” “There’s just the difference,” answered Will, miserably. ‘Leale has been under fire and on trying duty time and again. His reputation was assured long years ago. I'm treated as a boy by—by everybody in this garrison, high or low, and forbidden a chance to do a thing. If you folks want to see that command off the sooner you get out to the bluff the better.” ‘“‘But you are going to take us, Willy,” said his sister, sympathetically. “Kitty and I, at least, wish to see the regiment. Do you care to go, mother, dear?”’ she asked, anxiously, and then, crossing over to her mother’s side, bent down and kissed her, but the question was no sooner asked than shé would gladly have recalled it— “or will you come home now with me?” she hastened to say. - “I'll take mother home,” said Will. “Go on, if you want to see them start. I don’t. That’s more than I could possibly stand. The chaplain will take you gladly enough.”” And so at last did Miss Ormsby begin to realize that even in the eyes ot the man she had captivated she was for the time being of no account. It was one of Fenton’s fads to have out the band when the regiment or any con- siderable detachment of it marched away, and now, even at night, he did not de; trl from his practice.. The chaplain had opened the door to note the progress of the nregarafion across the parade. Orderlies with the horses of the officers were trotting past. The non-commissioned staff were already mounting at the adjutant’s office, and over at the band barracks the gray chargers, the music-stools of the musi- cians were bemfi,led into line. A mounted band was something Kitty had never seen, and curiosity and coquetry combined, led her to lend ear to the chaplain’s suggestion that she should come out and see the col- umn ride away and wave good-by to_ her admirers among the subalterns. ~ If Will persisted in = his ill temper _there Wwas no sense in staying there, and per- haps the quickest way to bring him to terms was to manifest interest in his fel- lows. 8o, leaving him to the ministrations of his_mother, she danced away to the front door, Ellis promptly following. The nifiht was still and beaufiful, softly hazy, and not very cold,and the scene across the snow-covered parade was full of life and animation. Lights were dancing to fro among the company quarters. Two of the designated troops had already marched up from the stables, formed a line in front of their barracks, and dismountin, , were awaiting the sounding of adjutant’s call and the formation of the squadron. Officers were mounfinfn every moment along the row and trotting out to join their com- mands, and presently from the colonel’s big house on the ige of the bluff came three horsemen clad in heavy winter field garb, and even in the dim light there was no difticulty in recognizing Fenton’s sol- dierly form. These were joined by the adjutant as they rode out upon the parade, and then one of the grou en:::d;o ging over toward the c!;:glnln, ollo an orderly. It wasJ: Ormsby, and Kitty fluttered down to the gate to meet him, “You and Aunt Lucretia will have to keep house by yourselves to-night, little | roll, w sister,” said he laughingly, as he bent to kiss er good-by. HGorporal Rorke is to sleep at the house so that you will not lack for guards. Where’s Will?"’ . ‘‘He’s with his mother in the parlor and ust too miserable for anything,”’ said itty, who, now that she could see for her- self the preparation for the march, began to feel far more sympathy for her lover, if not actually to wish_that .she were a man and could go too. Ellis, quick to notice Ormsby’s coming, had slipped back within the hall and partially closed the door. Glancing over ger shoulder she could see that her mother had left her reclining-chair and was bending fondly over Will, smooth- ing his tumbled hair and striving to soothe and comfort him, but it was evident that Will was sorely hurt, for he turned away in irre‘frqssible chagrin and distress and cov- ered his face with his hands. Helen Daun- ton, forgetful for the moment of her own bitter trouble, had sought to aid her friend in consoling the boy, but it was her first experience in such a case. She had never realized what it meant to a proud and am- bitious young soldier to be held in garrison when his comrades were being sent to the field; and finding presently that she could be of little aid she drew away toward the window to join the chaplain and his wife, who were gazing out upon the parade, when the stirring notes of the adjutant’s call came trilling through the hazy moon- light, and with a groan that seemed to rise from the depths of his heart poor Will threw himself downward upon the sofa, utterly refusing to be comforted. ‘‘Come,” said the chaplain, in a low tone. “They will be better left to themselves. Let us go and see the troops form line,” and hastily quitting the parlor they came suddcnly upon Ellis, lingering at the outer oor. “Mr. Ormsby was saying good-by to Kitty,” she nervously explained, “‘and I remained here fora moment. He is still there.” Yes, still there, although he had said adieu to his little sister and the squadron was rapidly forming on the parade. Still there‘ and looking now and then beyond Kitty’s pretty, pathetic little face, clouded with a trouble altogether new to it. Still there, and longing for a sight of the face he loved as he did no other despite all its coldness and aversion. Then they came hurrying forth—the old dominie and his faithful = helpmeet—the two young and beautiful women, and at the sight of them Ormsby suddenly dismounted and passing the reins to his orderly ran nimbly up the steps and extended hishand. “Good-night, chaplain—good-night, Mrs. Ransom. We count on eating our Christmas dinner here despite the night march. Good-nifht. Miss Farrar,” he added gravely, gently. ‘“We still hope to be here to "wish you merry Christmas. Please extend my sympathies to Will. I know how hard it isfor him to stay. Good-night, Mrs. F—, Mrs. Daunton,” he stumbled on, and extended to her the hand he had withheld from Ellis. “Oh, ardon me. Did Farrar give you a note I intrusted to him for you?” “Not yet, Mr. Ormsby. He has hardly thought of anything but his grief at being retained here,” *“Well, ask him for it before 10 o’clock. It—" and he was halting painfully now, for Ellis, withdrawing a pace from the group, was gazing straight into his face. “It—it explains itself. You’ll understand it. Good-night, good-night all, I must hurry,” And with that he ran down the steps and out of the gate, mounted quickly, and, without a backward glance, rode swiftly away to take his place by the colonel’s side. Amnother moment and the adjutant, galIoFing out in front of the long line of horses, had presented the squadron to Major Wayne, and that distinguished officer, unexpectedly awake and lively, lost no time in preliminaries, but broke his command at once into coluinns of four, and, with the band playing its joyous march music, and with old Fenton him- self in the lead, away they went down the winding road to the flats to the east. Once out of the garrison the band wheeled out of column and played the troopers by, then trotted back to unsaddle for the night. Men, women and children, the populace of Fort Frayne, gathered along the eastern edge of the plateau and silently, and in not a few cases tearfully, watched the col- umn out of sight in the dim, ghostly light, and then little Trumpeter Meinecke came out from the guardhouse and trilled the martial curfew that sent them shiver- ing homeward — an ominous Christmas Eve tattoo. CHAPTER XIIL Ten o’clock was called b{ the sentries and no one came riding back from the column with later news. Almost as soon as the command had disappeared from view Mrs. Farrar had gone home, Helen, Ellis, Kitty and Will in close attendance, and there they were presently {'oined by Aunt Lucretia, whose volubility even calamity seemed powerless to check, and then, to the relief of all the women, Ca; tain Leale knocked and was promptly ad- mitted. G “I am in search of my right-hand man,” said he, with his bright cordial smile, “They tell me he is playing Achilles and sulking in his tent, but I have work for him to do,” and then once more did Kitty look remonstrance, for she could form no idea of work for him that did not involve deprivation for her. “You are not going to send Mr. Farrar away aiter all,” she began, but Leale laugh- ingly checked her. “¥ar from it,” said he. ‘‘Ineed him at the guardhouse, and mean to put him in charge of the prisoners when they come in. The chances are that the colonel will have to arrest not a few of those fellows, and he’ll do it in_the interest of fleuce and good order, despite the_fact that he has no warrant. Are you ready, sir?”’ “I'm ready and willing to do any duty, Captain Leafe,” answered Will, ruefully. “But I was the first to volunteer for that courier ride to Big Road, and I think the colonel ought to have given it to me. I'll be officer of the guard {o-morrow, uuflbow ?d would just as lief begin now. Shall i ome at once?”’ ‘Yes, the second relief goes on in a few minutes, and yeu would better inspect them. Everythingis started right. You have a_capital sergeant of the guard. I want the sentries on the north and east bluifs to listen for all sounds from the east, and keep close watch on that plant of Bunco Jim’s. Watch every movement in that rowdy town over yonder, though I believe most of the populace has already ridden away at the bidl:iing of the so-called cowboy king.” Will’ bent over and kissed his mother’s forehead. “I'll get my sword and go at once,” said he, “‘and I'll be back as soon as I've made the rounds of the second re- lief. I suppose nobody here means to turn in for an hour yet. We oughtto haye news of some kind before midnight.” With that he quickly lefv the little parlor, and vaulting ‘the low fence let himself in at his own door in the adjoining bachelor roost. Mrs. Daunton, who had been oc- cupying herself close to Mrs. Farrar, presently arose, stepped into the hallway, took a heavy wrap, and noiselessly quitted the house. Surprised, Captain Leale looked about him for explanation. Ellis had drawn aside the curtain, and with pale, set face, was gazing fixedly out upon the parade. Kitty looked bewildered. It was Mrs. Farrar who spoke. “This has been a trying day for Helen. She is not strong, I {fear, and to-night she is 50 nervous and unstrung that she seems to shrink from company or conversation. I have never known her so_distrait. I fancy she wants to be alone a few minutes and to take the fresh air on the gallery.” Ellis moved impatiently, but said not a word. She couhf see that so_far from hav- ing stopped on the gallery, Helen Daunton has hastened through the gate, and, turn- ing to Will’s quarters, next door, was there awaiting his reappearance. The boy came out in a moment, his sword at his side,and wrapping his cloak about him, stopped short in evident surprise at sight of Mrs. Daunton. . Ellis well understood the pur- port of the conversation that ensued, though she could hear no word. ill searched one gockec after another, then ran back into the house, came forth again in less than a minute, handed a square white envelope to Mrs. Daunton, and, rais- ing his forage cap in farewell, hastened away across 5)5 parade. Ashamed of her espionage, yet fascinated, Ellis lingered at the window and saw Helen tear open the envelope and draw forth a little packet or idly counted over. Money! Treasury notes beyond question! Money, and paid her by Jack Ormsby! Ellis dropped the curtain and turned away. She cared to see no more. 5 Over at the guardhouse the second relief was being formed as Farrar reached the spot—seven soldiers in their fur caps and gloves and heavy winter overcoats and arc- ties. The corporal had just reported them all present, and the lieutenant quickly yet closely inspected their equipment, then stepped to the front again. e “In addition to the usual orders,” said he, “Nos. 6 and 7 are cautioned to keep a sharp lookout and to listen attentively for anytging at the eastward. In the event of any unusual sight_or sound call for the corporal at once. Who is No. 52" ““Graice, sir,” said the corporal. % The young officer’s face darkened a bit. He hag no trust in the man whatever and knew well his evil reputation. ‘‘Graice, said he, “you have double functions to- night. You have not only the same orders as Nos. 6and 7, but the commanding officer directs that you keep a sgeclql watch over the settlement across the river, particu- larly of the plant of Bunko Jim. I believe you know it.” X *“There are plenty of others that know it as well,”” was the surly and unexpected answer. “That will do, sir,”” was the stern re- joinder. “You were asked no question and will keep silent until you are. Do you un- derstand your instructions?” “I am "not deaf,’” was the sullen re- sponse. 5 ‘“Answer my question, Graice,” said Will, tingling with indignation, but keep- ing his temper. There was a moment’s si- lence, then— “I "spose I do.”” “There appears to be some doubt, how- ever, said Farrar, coolly. ‘‘Post your re- lief, corporal, and we will look further | after No. 5. Has that man been drinking again?”’ he turned and asked the silent sergeant, as the relief marched away. “It’s hard to say, sir. He’s one of those steady soakers. 2 find him when he hadn’t been drinking more orless. I think he has been drinking t would be difficult to | Wili turned away and watched the rapidly retreating form, growing dimmer every second. ‘I suppose he dreads trouble for his people, and this row makes him nervous,” said he, “I’'m going the rounds now, sergeant, and will leave you here in charge.” 5 It is just 10:30 now, sir. Shall we call off 2"’ “Aye, aye, let it go,” was the answer, as the young fellow stalked away in the di- rection of the stables. It was his purpose to take the sentry posts in inverse order, 80 as to visit first those on the eastern flank. ‘Without a break the watchery went from man to man, No. 5 shouting a” gruff, sten- torian ““All’s well,” that again directed the attention of the officer of the guard to his probable condition. The last sentry had called off and No.1had given loud and prolonged the final assurance that all along the chain was peace and security before Will reached the bottom of the slope and began his examination of the stables and corrals. The last thing he saw as he casta backward glance northward along the snowy slope that, terminated the plateau on its eastern side was the solitary figure of Crow Knife standing mute, motionless and attentive just at the upper end of tne post of the sentry on No. 6 He was delayed unexpectedly among the stables, for on)e of the orderlies, in the ab- sence of his troop and officers, had gone visiting among his associates in the ad- joining building and one or two spare orses were loose and roaanE about the gangway. The next thinghe eard of his sentries there were excited shouts for the corporal of the guard, and, hastening out into the night to ascertain the cause, he nearly collided with little Meinecke, the umpeter. "“Lile’utennnt,” cried the boy, breath- lessly, “Crow Knife’s killed, sir. Stabbed | to death!”” “My God!” moaned Will, as he has‘ter}ed | up the slope. ‘‘There’s a curse on Christ- | mastide at old Fort Frayne.” When ten, twenty minutes had passed | away and Helen Daunton failed to return, i Mrs. Farrar had become anxious and ill at “QUT ON THE SNOW-COVERED HEIGHTS.” Sy NS RERNE TR all day, but he knows what he’s doing, | and is as sober as he is at any other time.” 5 Farrar gazed doubtfully after the relief as it trudged away through the m moonlight, shook his head in some dissat isfaction, then turned in at the doorway of the tower. “T will look over the guardroom and cells,” said he, “and visit sentries later,” and, taking up his lantern, the sergeant followed. g ; A big stove burned brightly in the cen-| ter of the guardroom, and the men of the third relief, sitting or sprawling about, sprang up and stood to attention as the officer looked in. Another stove, the mate to it, was burning almost at red heat in the geperal prison room, across the hall. Here were confined some half dozen poor devils, the scapegraces of the command, some drink-sodden and stupid, others merely reckless and “ne’er do weel.” Fol- lowing the spirit of holiday decoration, and never expecting the visit of an offizer | that night, one of the number, with a fine | sense of humor, had induced a comrade to | fetch him a parcel from the barracks, and now on the bare wooden wall opposite the | entrance there hung a chromo with the | flowery border and the pious sentiment, “God bless our happy home.” Will’s eye caught it at the instant. “Take that down!” said he, with manifest indignation. There is to be no burlesque business here to-night.” There was a faint odor of dead tobacco about the grimy room. “You'll have to search those men and that room,” said he to the sergeant, as they turned away. “There must be neither ‘pipes, matches, nor anything with which they can start a fire. If this old rookery ever flames it will go like a flash. Doitatonce. Any men in the cells?” '&one, sir, and none in the other prison room.” “Keep the other empty, then. The chances are it'll be filled to-morrow when the column gets back. Remember the orders about fire.” “No man’slike to forget that, Lieutenant, with the powder stored there on the second floor.” ? “I know,” answered Will, gravely. “How much powder is there there?”’ “‘Only a dozen cartridges for the reveille gun, sir; but that’s enough to blow the place into flinders.’” . E “There’s no one in the light prison room on that floor?”’ % “Noone, sir. That flooris empty. There's no fire up there at all.” 3 Presently the tramp, tramp of martial feet was heard on the crunching snow, and officer and sergeant both stepped forth to receive the relief of sentries fi\st taken off post. One of them was Crow Knife. He gravely saluted as he passed his officer, and placed his carbine in the arm rack, then went out on the east side of the Imlefimld- ing and stood there, silent, listening for sounds from the distant east. “‘May I have thelieutenant’s permission to go out on the bluff awhile?”’ he asked, as Farrar came by him. “I can hear the call of the corporal if we are wanted for anything, and I am very anxious.” And ‘Will, who at first would have said no, saw the anxiety in the Indian’s face and con- sented. L “Crow is strangely superstitious,” said the sergeant, and after a moment’s silence. “‘He has been like that ever since he came on rd. He says the ghost dogs were | own little chamber, for a moment or two |and Ormsb; ease. Leale, too, had been Ilistening eagerly for her step on the porch without, and, unable to control his longing to see and speak with her, despite her palpable efforts to avoid him, he had early taken his leaye and gone forth in search. Ellis, slipping from the parlor into the dining- room, had thence managed to go to her to herseli. Whatever doubt remained as to the justice of her suspicions up to din- ner time that evening, it was banished now and her heart was hard against Ormsby that he should have so braved and de- ceived her. Looking out from her window she could see much of the walk in front of Officers’ Row, but not a sign of Helen Daunton. The clouds had thickened, the moonlight had grown dimmer all of a sud- den. Once more the snow was sifting down. She could not dream where Helen had gone. It was a desperate woman who stole silently out of the little army home and intercepted Lieutenant Farrar at the gate. n a few words she made known her errand and asked for the note Mr. Ormsby had placed in his hand, and Will for the first time remembered it. He had stowed it in the Eocket of the overcoat he was wearing, as he returned with Ormsby from the colonel’s, and was compelled to run back indoors again to find it, Absorbed though he wds in hig own trouble, Will could not but remark how strange it seemed that his mother’s companion should be seeking, sby sending, those mysterious notes at night. He made such expiana- tion and excuse as he could, howevyer, then hurried away. With nervous fingers Helen counted over the money in the envelope. Two hundred dollars! Orms- by was indeed generous. Then, des- perate, determined, and thoughtles of the military crime she was about tourge upon her husband, thinking only of the dreadful menace hus presence was to the friends who had harbored and shel- tered her, she sped away up the row, and, turnin, tiu-ough the broad open space near the colonel’s quarters, came out upon the snow-covered brow of the heights over- hanging the silent, icebound stream; and there, barely a hundred feet away, the dim outlines of that huge, hulking figure could be seen. She knew it only too well—knew it at a glance. Uraice was standing on post at the moment, listenin, , apparently, to some faint, distant soumfi of maudlin revelry that rose from the unhallowed walls of Bunko Jim's, beyond the Platte. With one brief muttered prayer to heaven for guidance and stren. th, she sped across the snowy expanse anf was at his side be- f)o;:ehe hc:dm?i either halt or challenge. He T me to spe; G ously she began: Besk Mafore, vet “Royle Farrar, I must speak to you here and now. If your being here meant only danger and harm to me you might do your worst and I would bear it. You are here under a false name. Your life has so changed you that as yet no one has_recog- nized you, but it cannot last, and then there will be bitter shame and, perhaps, death that would lie at your door—your mother’s, your poor, gentle mother’s, Royle, who holds er life only through the belief that you are no longer alive to bring further disgrace to your father’s name.” But now he had partially recovered him- self and angrily interrupted: “Is it m{ fault I'm here? Did I suppose of all cursed places they’d send me to it would be here, to be ordered about by my cub_of howling the death song last night, and that somebody’s to get his guth bfow to-night. ich she closely inspected and rap- | We can’t laugh him out of it.” a brother, to see ble captain making 1lovago my—* afiesda «You dare not say it!”’ she cried. “You’'ve had some experience of what I dare, my lady, and one thing I dare and mean to do is to stick it out right herg and take my chances at Frayne. There's no other post where I’d find so many friends at court if things go wrong.’ “Yon shall not stay here if I have to buy you to go,” she cried, but she shrank even as she spoke, as though dreading a blow, for, with uplifted hand, he sprang to her side, then roughly, savagely, seized her slender wrist. ¥ “Who are you to pose as a guardian angel of the Farrars? ~'Who areyou to say shall to me? Do you realize, my love, that your place in the army is notin of- ficers’ quarters but Cown yonder in Laun- dresses’ Alley? By the Lord! I've a mind » But here a dark shadow fell between him and the slender, writhing object of his brutal rage; an iron grasp was laid in turn on the hand thatso cruelly crushed the white wrist. A deep voice, eloquent with wrath, controlled, vet boiling, seemed to ring in his ears thetwo words, “Let go!” and then, releasing perforce nis hold on the shrinking, startled woman, Graice writhed in furious effort to free himself from the clinch of Malcolm Leale, and writhed in vain. Sl “You've the devil’s own grip,” he savagely hissed through his grinding teeth. “I've a grip, my man, that won’t loosen till you are past doing further mischief here,”” was the stern, relentless answer. Then, uplifting his voice, Leale shouted for the corporal of the guard, and at the instant the cry went echoingover the posts of six and seven. The sentry still writhed in impotent rage. Finding his struggles futile, he once more lashed with his tongue. “Don’t be too sure of that, captain. There are some kinds of a hold even your grip can't loosen.” ~ “No insolence! You go from here to the guardhouse, as it is.” “D—n the guardhouseand you, too!"” raged the soldier, hurling down his car- bine. *‘If I'm to spend Christmas in limbo, I’'m cursed if you shall spend it making love to my—"’ and here, with a tigerlike bound, his free hand brandishing a glistening knife, he lunged at the officer’s throat. A lithe form had come leaping like a pamher up the path, and even befora Helen’s cry had died away, Crow Knife had hurled himself between the men, and the shining blade was buried out of sight. There was a moment of furious struggle, and then the sentry lay felled like an ox in his tracks, and Leale’s foot was at his throat. The knife, blood-stained, had dropped in the snow. The Indian, his hand pressed to his side, was swaying slowly back, as the sergeant of the guard, with a brace of men, came running to the spot. p“’l‘ake this man to the guardhouse!”’ wag the brief, stern order, as they lifted Graice, stunned and sodden, to his feet. Then the captain turned to Crow Knife. ‘“Did that crazy brute strike you? Are you hurt?”’ he asked, in deep concern. “Captain,” said the Indian, slowly, “I believe I'm killed.” 5 Leale sprang to support him. Other men, running to the scene, linked their hands and made a chair and raised the poor fellow from the ground. *‘Carry him gently to the hospital, lads. I’ll be with you in a moment,’”’ said Leale, and then he turned to where, trembling, terrified, Helen Daunton still stood, as though pow- erless to move. % “Helen—Mrs. Daunton! First let me see you home. I ask no confidence, no ex- planation, but this is something in which I must help you. I have guessed the truth, have I not? That man is your / brother?” 2 “My brother, Captain Leale! God pity me—that man is my husband I For a moment not another word was spoken. Leale had recoiled, staggered as lEough struck a mortal blow. Then, in a hoarse whisper, so choked and broken seemed his voice: “Your husband! Your husband, Helen? Oh, myGod! And I had thought you free to be loved, as I have learned—as you have taught me—to love you.” “‘Captain Leale!” " she cried, “In pity say you do not believe that. Oh, hear me! do not turn from me,”” she implored, for in his misery he had avertcdp his face. ‘“You shall not think me so vile,” she went on, desperately, ‘I never knew until to- day that you had learned to—care for me, I thought all that had gone with my youth—oh, so long ago! I only asked of life a place where I could be useful and safe, and where, by and by, perhaps, I could forget. I have seemed to myself so old and dull and sad, so different from the women men love, that I never dreamed it my duty to say I was not free. Oh, I thought you were my friend. My heart has been so heavy and to numbed I have thought it dead since that Christmas eve, four years ago. Ah, let me tell it to you and you will understand. Four years ago this night my little sick baby woke and wailed with pain. That man—my hus- band—was in a drunken sleep on the floor. The baby’s cry woke him. He swore a dreadful oath at the little weak, white thing in my arms and struck it hard across the mouth. I don’t know what wild words I said to my husband, but 1 told him I would never see him again. Then I caught my baby to my breast and I ran and ran through the cold Christmas streets, and the stars went out, and the lights went.out in the hounses,and the little baby on my breast grew heavier and heay- ier, and by and by it was dawn, and, oh s cruelly cold, and I—I opened the shawl and saw—"" Here, overcome by the recol- lection, the poor woman covered her face in her hands and burst into wild sobbing. And then the captain turned. ‘‘Helen, Helen, my poor, poor girl! Hush! I spoke like a brute, but I was hit hard—God knows I was hiv hard. I was your friend—I am f'our friend and will be so the end. It is ate. You must goin. Take my cloak, you are shivering.” With that he turned and led her to the angle by the colonel’s quarters, and there she looked up one instant into his sorrow- stricken face. ‘Do not come further with me,” she implored. ‘“You have been so 0od to me,’” and, bowing to her will, he fat her go, and stood following her smhly retreating form with his longing eyes. And then lof% and sweet and _clear as though rising above all surrounding of crime or sin or sorrow, there floated on the night the prolonged notes of the csvnlrx trum- pet sounding the soldier lullaby—"‘Lights out. L t,” murmured Leale. “Lights tml;—lngl}:,c AG%?i efl: me—for life and love it is, indeed, lights out.” iTa be continued.] Copyright, 1895. FURNITURE 4 Rg)ggfls Parlor-Silk Brocatelle, 5-piece sult, plush trimmed. mdruom—%wo Solid Oak Suit, French Bevel- , burean, washstand. two chairs. e o e e T ‘mattress. Dining-Room—6-foot Extension Table, four RO Oak Chairs, Kitchen—No. 7 Range, Patent Kitchen Table and two chairs. EASY PAYMENTS. ‘Houses furnished complete, city or country, any- where on the coast. Open evenings. M. FRIEDMAN & CO., 224 to 230 and 306 Stockton and 237 Post Street. Free packing and delivery across the bay.