The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, May 26, 1895, Page 18

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, MAY 26, 1895. BY (APT. CHAS.KING. who hurled aside the curtain, just as old Rorke, re-entering, sprang to the middle of the hall. “Come away, ma’am! For the love of God, Miss, stand clear of that window! The poor divil’s climbed to the tnp,snd the cannon powdher’s in the tower.” With a moan of despair Helen burst through the group and toward the open doorway, as though she herself would hie to the rescue. Rorke, with one leag. Te- gained the threshold and thrust her back. “My God, can no one save him?” she cried. “Save him, ma’am! It's sure death to the man that dares to try it. Any mo- ment it may blow up. They’re rushing clear of it now. The colonel’s ordered CHAPTER XIV—CONTINUED. “Very well, I'll notify Captain Farwell,” said Leale, briefly, “and he will attend to | it,”” and he left the building on this quest just as the second relief came tramping | out into the storm, leaving the guardhouse, | its few minor prisoners on the lower floor, | and that one- execrated criminal, his old | colonel’s first-born and once-beloved son, cursing at his captors in the tower, all to E thbe care of the members of a single relief; and the sentry on No. 1 set up his watch ery against the howl of the wind, and no one a dozen yards away could have heard, | nor did it pa round the chain of sen- | tries, nor was there other attempt to call off the hour that memorable night. For long daysafter men recalled the fact that | the last hour called from under theold | guardhouse porch was half-past 10 o’cloc Mean having had two dances with and repentant sweet- joled into atleast , Will Farrar had sought his colonel to say that he really ought now to return to his guard, at least for & le t , but Fenton, conscious of the wat had overspread the garrison n the evening, seemed bent on be- j 3 He bade the boy re- urn to his immediate commanding officer 1 obtain her consent before again com- ing to him, and_Kitty flatly refused. She | was dancing with Martin at the moment, and that left Will to his own devices, and, after a fond word or two from mother, he had stepped back of the occupied by her iittle circle of chosen friends, and was stan atching the animated scene before him. Close at hand, not a dozen feet away, stood Helen Daunton, partially screened from observation of the dance: It was at this moment that Leale aca came sf 2 in, glanced quickly around until he ca ill's eye, and the young officer promptly joined him. “Is Farwell here?”” he asked. “He came in a moment ago. Yonder he 1 is now, sir,” answered Will, indicating by j a nod the figure of the officer of the day in tion_with some of the guestsat er end of the room. | “Then him if he will join me in five | minutes at the guardhouse. I need to see | him,” said Leale, and the youngster sped | promptly on his mission. | The mus 1 just sounded, the signal | for the forming of the sets for the lancers, | and with s promptitude the officers | with their partneis began taking their | positions. Floor mana have little labor | at a garrison hop. Ellis Farrar, who had | reappeared upon the arm of Captain Vin- ly bowed her head and accepted | Ormsby’s hand, as_he led her opposite | Will and her now radiant Kitty, and Mal- | colm Leale, baiting at the screened thres- | hold before taking his departure, turned for | one long look at ielen Daunton’s face. Some intense fascination had drawn her once more to the east window, and there, as the dancers formed, alone, almost unnoticed, she slowly turned and her eyes met his. One last, long, intense gaze; one impulsive movement, as though he read in her glori- ous eyes the kindling light of a love that matched his own. He could have sprung to her side, but, with sudden recol- lection of the barrier between them, gath- ered himself, lifted his hand in gesture of farewell and turned abruptly away. The music crashed into the opening bars of the lancers and the dance began. For a moment longer Helen stood there. Again that powerful fascination seemed to lure her to draw aside the curtain and | gaze forth across the white expanse of the. parade to where the guarded prison stood, within whose walls was caged the sav- age creature whose life was linked so closely with those of many there besides her own. Then the thought of that other— the man whose love, all unwittingly, she had won, and the fear that, glancing back, he might see her shadow as when he came—caused her to draw hastily away. | In all that gay and animated scene, as once more she faced the merry throng, Helen Daunton stood alone. The dance | went blithely on. Chat and laughter and the gliding, rhythmic steps of many feet mingled with the spiri“gmuslc of " Fort Frayne's capital orchestra. Even Mrs. Farrar's sweet face, so long_shadowed by sorrow, beamed with the reflected light of | the gladness that shone on many another. | Longing to be alone with her misery, | Helen returned to seek the seclusion of the dressing-room, and had almost reached its threshold, when over or through the strains of the lancers and the howl of the wind without, there came some strange | sound that gave her pause. | Somewhere outon the parade she hearad | the distant muffled crack of the cavalry | carbine. Another—another, further away, | and then, mingling with them hoarse, low | murmaur, as of many voices and of com- mands undistinguishable through the gale. Louder grew the clamor, nearer came the sounds; then the added rush of many feet in the adjoining barracks of K Tmagt the quick, stirring peal of trumpet, sounding some unfamiliar call. Over- strained and excited as were her nerves, fearing for him against whom the wrath of garrison was roused, she could only con- | nect the sounds of alarm and_confusion | ‘with him and hishapless fate. She started | forward to call the colonel’s attention, for among the dancers the sound was still un- heard. Again the shots and shouts, the rush of hurrying feet on the broad veranda without. Again and nearer, quick and imperative the thrilling trumpet call. Then, close at band the loud bang of the sentry’s carbine and the stentorian shout of “Fire!’ And then, just as the music abruptly ceased in response to the colonel’s sienal, bursting in at the door, followed by a w“f)]e of troopers, came Rorke, rushing for a ladder that had been in use during the day. “It’s that madman Graice, sorr!” he cried, in answer {othe look in his com- mander’s face. ‘‘He’s fired the tower and he’s burning 1o death.” Springing to the window, Helen Daun- ton dashed aside the curtain, and, all one glare of flame, the guardhouse burst upon the view, a black ladder, silhouetted against the blaze, was being raised at the instant the curtain fell from her nervless hand. ‘Will seized his cap, made one leap to the door, despite Kitty’s franti effort to seize him; then, missing his saber, whirled about and rushed from point to point in search of it. Divining his object, the girl threw herself in front of the settee, behind which she had concealed it and, when he sought to reach around her, desperately, determinedly fought him off. Seizing'a cap the colonel vanished into the night. Throwing over his shoulders the first mantle be could lay his hands on—which happened to be Lucretia’s — Wayne fol- lowed his leader. Will delayed and mad- dened, only succeeded in capturing his saber by {oycibly lifting Kitty out of the way; then he sprang to the doorway to join the men hurrying from distant points to the scene. Ormsby, too, had rushed after the colonel, and only women were leit upon the floor. These, horror- stricken, yet fascinated, had gathered about the eastward window, where Helen Daunton erouched, unable to look lm upon the frightfal spectacle, It was | | sive that worthles: them all back. No!God of hivvin, some | one’s climbing the ladder now! It's Cap- tain Leale! Oh, don’t let him, men! Oh, | God! dbrive him back! Oh, what use is it? Did a man ever live that conld turn Mal- wn 2’ And away rushed poor Terry. Ellis sprang to her mother’s side just as, | to the accompaniment of a_shriek from | Kitty’s lips, there came a dull roar, fol- lowed by a sullen thud and crash of falling | timbers, and the hoarse shouts of excited men. An instant later Ormsby, nearly breathless, leaped in at the door. “They’ll have to brin; Leale would have saved iim if he hadn’t jumped. Ellis, your mother must not see ixis face. Take herinto thedressing-room.” “And why?” cried Ellis. *“The lives of our best and bravest have been risked to a life? This is no place for him. He shall not be brought here.” “Hush,” said Ormsby, in a low, intense tone. “In God’s name, Bilis, hush! The man on that litter is your mother’s son— your own brother—Royle Farrar. the secret I was gnarding for Helen Daun- ton—your brother’s wife.” A moment later as the women gathered about Mrs. Farrar, obedient to Ormsby’s murmured injunction to keep her from see- ing the face of the dying man, lest it prove too severe a shock to her weakened heart, the men came solemnly, bearing a stretcher on which lay the blanket-covered form, followed by a silent group of officers. The colm Leale from the duty he deemed his | him in here. | That is | young Lieutenant Farrar, with him Mr. | Ormsby, the adjutant, quartermaster, the | surgeon, and one or two veteran captains; | Major Wayne, and even Colonel Fenton himself! Who ever heard of such an array of that attending the obsequiesof a criminal ! Fort Frayne was mystified and talked of it for hours, but the story told itself before tattoo and the mystery was done. The; had buried the first born of the colonel, whom all men loved and honored and mourned; and old Fenton had himself de- cided that, as Graice had never yet been tried and convicted, and could never ap- ear before an earthly tribunal, he must ge considered as innocent, and so issued the order that no military honor should be denied, except the band. It was too bit- terly cold for them to attempt to play, for the valves of the instruments would freeze atonce, and it was deemed best that no sound of the dirge music should reach the ears of Marjorie Farrar. Neither she nor Ellis knew when the funeral took place, Mrs. Farrar learning only on the following day, Ellis not until weeks thereafter, for, | as a result of all the long, gradual strain, culminating in the shock of that tragic night, and the realization of the wrong she had done the honest man who had so loved her, her strength gave way, and | brain fever and delirium supervened, In the week that followed that hapless holi- day, Ellis hovered on the borderiand | ’twixt life and death, and no man could say that the fatal Christmastide might not | claim still another of the Farrars. And that week was one of woe to poor Jack Ormsby. He haunted the nelghbor- hood of the Farrars; he hung about the | gateway, importuning the doctor, the colo- | nel, Kitty, Will, anybody, for tidings of | the girl ixe loved. "His fine, alert, intelli- | | | gent face was clouded with the dread and sorrow that overcame him. He could not see Mrs. Farrar—she rarely moved from her stricken danghter’s side—but twice he saw and talked with Helen, and once, with | her, walked out to visit the new-made grave. All that week the shadows cast by the glare of the guardhouse flames seemed to wrap Fort Frayne in gloom, and peo- ple gazed upon the black yuins, only with a shudder. The Indians, ever superstitious, | had professed to see the hand of the Great Spirit in the clouds, pointing remorse- lessly at the spot and warning them of fur- | ther wrath to come as a consequence of the unavenged murder of a chieftain’s son. Cowboys and “hustlers,”” angered against the garrison because it had interposed be- tween them and their purposea punish- ment of Big Road’s band, saw here a cap- ital opportunity of embroiling the red men th their white defenders. y dozens in shivering silence, wrapped in their blankets ONE-EYED BULL AND HIS DELEGATION. doctor simply touched the wrist, gave one glance into the scorched and blistered face, shook his head, and drew the blanket. Kitty, sobbing, clung to Willy’s arm, their quarrel forgotten. Helen, who had thrown herself almost hysterically upon her knees, at the stretcher’s side. turned in added terror at the words of the colonel, ‘“‘Another patient, doctor,” for atthe in- stant, supported by Wayne and others, Malcolm Leale was led within the door- way, a handkerchief pressea to his eyes. “‘He got the full flash of that explosion in his face,” murmured the old soldier, as the doctor met them. Then, in the solemn presence of death, in the hush and silence of the throng, Mrs. Farrar stepped forward and laid her white hand gently, reverently upon the lifeless breast. “Reckless and hardened he may have been,” she said, “but somewhere—some- where, I know, a mother’s heart is yearn- ing over him, and a mother’s lips are pray- | ing for the boy she loves.” o And so it hagpcncd that only one or two could hear the single, whispered word with which the doctor turned to his com- mander after one brief look into Malcom'’s yes. “Blind!” CHAPTER XV. Jack Ormsby did not go East by the first train after the Christmas ball, as had been his purpose, but he saw no more of the lady of his love. Late that dreadful night, rousing for a few moments from the stupor into which she bad been thrown by the announcement that it was her own brother who lay there downstricken in the midst of his career of crime and shame, Ellis Farrar, little by little, realized the whole miserable truth—that he, her brother, was the man who had wrecked Helen Daunton’s life—Helen,who, to spare that invalid mother an added sorrow, had hidden from her the name of the man whose brutal blows and curses had re- warded her love. More than all did Ellis realize that the lover whose - loyalty and devotion she herself had repaid with scorn and contempt had suffered her wordsin silence rather than betray another woman’s confidence and thereby divulgea truth that would overwhelm with shame all who bore the name of Farrar. Then it was that, hystefica]lz‘weeping, she broke down ut- terly, and before the setting of another sun the mother and all the household learned from her lips that it was all that was left of Royle Farrar that now lay there, cold and stiff and still in that bare, echoing ward of the old hospital, awaiting the last volleys and the solemn trumpet salutation to the soldier dead. Only a corporal’s guard formed the firing party, when, just before sundown, the re- mains of *‘Private Graice” were laid in the bleak, snow-covered cemetery out on the rolling prairie, but more than a dozen men in the crowded farrison knew by that time that the folds of the flag were draped over the mortal remains of a colonel’s son. It was an awe-stricken group that gath- ered about the hospital when the bearers came forth with their burden and placed it in the waiting ambulance, and the firing squad presented arms. The idea of the recreant—the would-be murderer, Tom Graice—being buried with military honors had not occurred to the garrison as a possibility. Yet here was the little escort, here were the trumpeters (the band had been mercifully excused), here were pall- bearers from his troop, instead of from among the garrison prisoners, as might have been ruled, when one of their num- ber died; here were old Terry Rorke and some of the senior sergeants of the regi- ‘ment; here, indeed, with pallid face, was and seated on their scraggy ponies, the war- riors had looked on at the solemn little ceremony, and within another day by scores the cowboys and settlers were s%readin the story that the white chief had buried Tom Graice, with all the honors of war, despite his crimes and misdemeanors, simply be- cause he had killed the son of an Indian chief—the son of the chief whose people killed the colonel of the Twelfth, when he attacked the fleeing village on the Mini Pusa three lonF years before. It was the white soldiers” way of taunting the red man. It was proof of his real feeling to- ward the Indian, *‘Louk out for yourself, Big Road!” said these astute frontier statesmen; ““Chief Fenton and his soldiers have only lured you here within range of their walls, that they may the more read- ily swoop upon you some bitter mornin; and put you and your warriors an children. to the sword.” In the intense cold of three days that succeeded the blizzard, there was no interchange of visite, so to speak, between the fort and the Indian village, but_emissaries of Ben Thorpe had been busily at work. Big Road and his warriors had been bidden to attend the stately funeral of their kinsman and friend, Crow Knife, on the morning after Christmas, and had flocked to the scene and had lifted up their mournful chant when the volleys flashed and the crowd of attendant soldiers bowed their beads in mingled homage and sorrow. That was all asit should be, but what did it mean that his slayer should then be ac- corded equal honors—aye, that more officers—chiefs—were present at Graice’s grave than when the son of a Brule war- ior was laid to rest? This they could not fathom, and this despite the strained rela- tions that_had resulted in the death of Laramie Pete, the ocowboy emissaries proved eag‘er to explain in their own way, and to explain to attentive ears, “‘Qld Fenton thought he'd done me when he moved that bloody band up here to the fort,” said the cowboy kingto his admiring audience, over at the saloon across the Platte. *“If I don’t pay him off with compound interest within the month and make him wish he hadn’t monkeyed with' my business, call me a coyote, He and the stuck-up gang he heads will wish to God they’d left those Indians where they were.” And five days after Christmas Colonel Fenton heard of goings-on within the village that gave him cause to summon his adjutant and officer of the day, to double his sentries on every front and to realize how much in these few years he had learned to lean for counsel and support on Malcolm Leale, for now the colonel was forbidden, as was every one_else, to see him. even for a moment. Notonly had the flash of the explosion wrecked his eye- sight, but there was gnva reason to fear that he had inhaled the flame. Captain Leale, was suffering torment, yet bearing his burden without a moan. . A troubled man was the veteran post surgeon all that woeful week. Ellis Far- rar delirious in burning fever; Malcolm Leale prostrate on a of pain, blind and breathing only in agonizea gasps; Mrs. Farrar looking so fragile and weak that it seemed as though a breath might blow away the feeble flicker of her lite; others oty the women more or less over- come and shocked by the events of the last few days; and now, right in the miast of it all, came indications of trouble in the Indian village up the stream—pow-wowing, speechmaking and dancing bg night, run- ners flitting to_and from the Bi Horn, messengers darting in from other tribes— and when Fenton sent for Big Road to come into the office and explain the chief temporized, expressed himself as suspi- cious of some plot to separate him from his people and to hold him as a hostage at the fort. If Colonel Fen- ton desired to talk let Colonel Fenton come to the council lodge at the village, but leave his soidiers behind. Big Road’s old men had seen visions and had heard warnings: his medicine chiefs had been signaled by the Great Spirit; his young men were excited and alarmed; Lis women were weeping and gathering their children to their knees. If the white chief meant peace and friendship, let him show it biy coming to his lodge with gifts in his hands instead of guns. He, the white chief, was rich, and his horses and his horses and his' young men were fat and utrong‘.] Big Rous was poor and his Heqple were hungry and cold; his ponies dying. Fenton, indyeed, would have gone wi only his adjutant and interpreter and a single orderly but for the warningof a Brale girl, who had left her people a few ears before to follow a soldier lover, and ad made her home among the whites, a patient, sorrowing woman, ever since his nnhmely death. The Amorys had pro- vided for her in every way, for the soldier was one of the captamn’s traog, and she )t:l:d zrhown deeply utachel{l to t hem, even ough now occasiona visitin, er kindred. 3 i It was at luncheon, talking to his wife, that Amory told of Colonel Fenton's pur- pose of riding over to the village that very afternoon, and the story was repeated in the kitchen, where it réached the ears of the Indian girl. In an instant she had darted out of the house and gone to the colonel’s, where she frightened Lucretia out of her seven senses with the first words she uttered: ‘“I'hey kill the colonel! He no go!” Luckily, Wayne was at hand tosoothe, support and explain. Other officers were sent for, and despite Fenton’s pooh-pooh- ing, so strong were theirarguments that at 2 o’clock a messenger was dispatched to Big Road’s bailiwick to_tell him the colonel had heard that which made him say to the Indian chief that now the only way in which he would meet him would "be at the adjutant’s office, as originally pro- Ensed, or else alone and unarmed midway etween the fort and the village, no sol- diers or warrfors being allowed to approach within 200 yards, unless, indeed, Big Road himself should propose an adjutant for each. If this was satisfactory, let the time be set for 3 o’clock and Fenton would be there. The half-breed messenger came back in half an hour. *Big Road would send his answer by a squaw,” and that was Big Road’s way of saying that the white chief was an ‘old woman. Utterly forgetful now of the service Fenton had rendered his people and him, duped by the visions of his medicine men,and fuddled with the liquor lavished on him by the cowboys, Big Road was hot for war. No squaw came; no conference took place. Darkness was settling down upon the post when at last the westward sen- tries reported a small party of Indians riding out from the village toward Fort Frayne. The trumpeters were just scat- tering after sounding retreat, when the officer of the day conveyed the news to Fenton, and in two minutes an officer, with a dozen men, trotted out from the stable of Troop K, and 400 yards beyond the sentry post signaled to the advancing ‘warriors, “Halt!"” There ‘were ten in the party, and Big Road was not among them. The officers, returning from stables and retreat roll- call, had gathered about the colonel on the westward bluff, and field - glasses were brought to bear on the opposing parties, now only dimly visible in the gloaming. Over at the barracks the men were still gnthered about their respective parades, espite the fact that supper was ready and they as ready for supper. All over the garrison had gone the rumor of Big Road’s osiile and defiant message, and the troops were wrathiul at the indignity put upon their colonel. Some of them had stepped inside the quarters and were quietly“ex- amining their beits and equipments and counting the cartridges in their b S, Ormsby, sharing the suppressed excite- ment, had hastened out to join his friends of the Twelith, his nerves tingling again at the thought of the pussibilili of a skirmish, and now he stood with Fenton close at hand, waiting eagerly for the first de\'elollvments. Baut little time was wasted. There was a brief parley between the lieutenant with the troopers and a formidable-looking In- dian who seemed to lead the others. fi‘lmn the officer turned and senta man galloping back to the post. In four minutes he was in the colonel's presence, dismounted, and making his report. “Big Road’s compliments—I mean, the lieutenant’s compliments, sir— and Big Road sends his delegation for three wagon- loads of meat, flour, suf,'ar and coffee, sir, and says as the colonel hasn’t come to see him, he’s going to move.” The colonel laughed—the first laugh since Christmas, somebody remarked at the time. ‘“Are you sure there’s no mistake, Fallon?’’ he asked the messenger. “That's what the lieutenant asked the Indians, sir; but we have two of L Troop with us—what's left of ’em—one Brule and t’'other Ogallalla, and they both trans- late it the same way, and Bat is with us, too, sir, and he says it’s like Big Road when he %ew liquor in him. He thinks he’s lord of the earth. Batsays he’sdrunk now, and believes the colonel will be glad 10 do as he demands for fear of him.” “Well, who brought the messa;e? ‘Who's that big buck in the lead there?’ ““What is it, sergeant? Whatnews have you?' asked the young platoon com- mander. “They’re off, sir! A whole raft of old folks and women on ponies and travois have started across the Platte. The war- riors are-all there yet. You’ll hear Big Road shouting in a minute. He’s fightin, full and is urging on some deviltry—I can’t make out what, but from all we can under- stand of it he wants to lead a rush through the stables to capture or kill the horses. He’s just drunk enough to try, but the others won’t let him. They declare they won’t follow him. They know too much. ‘What they want to do is to gec out and reach Trooper Creek, I reckon.” ‘“‘Ride_back, then, and let the captain know. Who else are out at the front on watch ?” ““Only Rorke and two or three of the In- dian troop, sir. They are taking care of themselves, though.” And then for a moment the forward movement ceased. ‘‘Halt! Halt!” were the low-toned orders of the non-commis- sioned officers dispersed along the line, | and under the twinkling starts, dim ghostly and silent, the extended rank of riders seemed as one man to rein in and wait. Here and there an impatient charger began to paw the snow, and others sniffed suspicious‘liy and cocked their pointed ears in the direction of the unseen village. Some young troopers, tremulous with excitement and cold combined, began to slap their fur-gloved hands on breast or | an thigh, and had to be sternly calied to or- der. Presently a muffled horseman came riding up from the rear, a trumpetex in his tracks. i “That’s right, Martin. You did well to halt 2 minute. I've sent back word to Colonel Fenton. He had wired to the agency before we Pulled out.” ““Can’t we turn 'em back without his au- thority, sir?” *‘No: even when we know the{ mean to cross the Platte. But orders will come to- night. The wires are working well.” “‘Captain, did you hear what Captain Amory said this evening?” asked the youngster, us he edged in cleser to the elder's side; “‘that Ormsby never came out here that we didn’t have a shindy with the Sioux.” “Yes; but poor Jack is out of the dance this time and can’t be with us as he was before.” “Idon’t understand,” said Martin, hay- mf some vague theory® that the illness of Miss Farrar was at the bottom of Ormsby’s inability to take part in the promised chase. "“I—didn’t suppose anything could keep him from taking a hand in soldier seryice.” ““Well, that's just it! Those fellows in the Seventh are as punctilious on a point of duty as any man we know in the am¥ Ormsby promised to be back with hi cqmguni for some review or ceremony within this week. He’s got to go. They’ve telegraphed to remind him, and he “has just time, barring accident, to make the trip. )Slpa o’clock, ten o’clock of that wint evening came, but no orders, Fenton h: reported the situation by wire to depart- ment headquarters late” in the afternoon and had twice sent messages to the agency. In answer to these latter came characcer- istic appeals to do nothing to excite or ex- asperate Big Road, but to induce him to remain where he was until he, the _agent, could come and confer with him. He'd be along the first train_in the mommg. To this Fenton respondea that, unless he was rmitted to go out, surround and arrest im and his principal braves at once Big Road would break camp and be off before the rising of another sun. Fenton felt sure of it.” To this came response that such a course would only anger the Indians, who were very sensitive at anything that looked like coercion, and until they had actually crossed the Platte no steps such as were indicated by Colonel Fenton should be taken. Still they should not be allowed to attempt to.cross. “Now, how on earth,” said Fenton, ‘“am 1 to prevent their doing that without some- thing that looks like coercion? I can,g stop them, I at least won’t lose touch,’ said he. And so, while the rest of the com- mand was held in readiness, Farwell’s troop had been dispatched, as we have seen, with orders to observe and follow— but not to interfere with—the movements of the village. U‘Y to 10 o’clock, as he learned through Indian scouts, only women and children, old men, old ponies and dogs had been spirited away. ith them went perhaps half a dozen warriors as guards against night attack from hostile white men, but the main_ body still hung about the site of the dismantled village. Big Road wanted more talk with the cowboys— and more firewater. Now was the very time to attempt the arrest, since none but warriors remained— none but fighting braves would suffer if they resisted nns opened fire, and, all eagerness, Farwell sent back messengers explaining the situation and asking from Eleven o’clock came ‘and still no orders reached Fenton either from the general his colonel authority to do something. | waiting and many a housewife had to be placated when thelord and master hurried 1n, and. tongues that were primed with wifely reproof were stilled by the tidings that quickly spread from door to door. Bi; Road had made an insolent demand an coupled it with a defiant message. Big Road was drunk and had threatened to move with his_village, and then it wonld become the duty of the Twelith to sur- round and herd him back. Under the stipulation of a late treaty he was al- lowed for his winter range only the south bank of the Platte, from Frayne to the breaks of the Medicine Bow. If he crossed the Platte and struck out for the Big Horn, he invaded the cattle lands and laid him- self open to attack from the “‘hustlers.” If he dove into the mountain range to the south, he left his reservation and forfeited the rations and supplies which the agent at Fetterman Bend was bound to issue at regular intervals. He had quarreled with the agent and moved his vitlage up stream to within ten miles of Frayne—which he had a right to do. He had quarreled with and on good grounds, the cowboys, an been taken unser the wing of Uncle Sam business for all at Frayne. But One-eyed Bull was no truculent war- rior. He had delivered his message in ac- cordance with his chief's demand, and in far more civil terms and tones than it was nifie b flippant bluecoats from the fort, refusing to make any response to the jocularity and ridicule in which some of their number in- dulged, or to enter into any discussion with ast. Well enough he realized when the adjutant arrived upon the scene that the word was spoken read contemptuous refusal in the f’oung officer’s face. They were in- deed cold and hungry over in the village, commanding or his chief of staff—no fur-! and he himself and the warriors with him N\ ARARN \ A AN WIS \ A\ THE HAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT IN THE CLOUDS. ther authority from the agency. Itlooked as though the wintry night would be allowed to slip away, and the Indians with it, and that meant that more of their Christmas holidays would be lost to the Twelfth through having to go cam‘l)aign» ing in the biting cold. Taps sounded at 11, and Fenton, disgusted, gave orders that the command should unsaddle and go to barracks, but practically to sleep on their arms. Meanwhile luckless Farwell and his fellows would have to make a night of it up the Platte, and already two poor boys were sent in, numb and more than half frozen. ‘The waning moon was not yet risen, and the darkness was intense, but for the glint- ing of the stars on the snowy surface; yet keen-eyed scouts hung close to the site of the Indian camp, and sharp ears noted every sound. There was a guffaw of de- risive laughter among the blanketed war- riors in answer to the faint, far-away aonndin? of “lights out.”” “Small used to sound ‘Iiéhts out,” whin it’s lightin’ out thim blackguards are do- ing already,” growled old Rorke to his fel- low-trooper.” “It's many a Christmas they've " spoiled for me and mine now they do be drawin’ on the New Year's party, too. It's‘in the Big Horn }va’ll"bn against Sunday next, or I'm a ew. “That’s the prettiest country in the world for fishin' and_ fighting,” was the answer, “‘but [’ve no likin’ for it when the cowld would freeze the soup twixt the mug and the mouth. Who’s yon?”’ he broke off suddenly, bringing his fur-guarded thumb to the hammer of his carbine and indicating with a nod of his head a dim, dark shape coming crouching toward them through the starlight. “That’s One-Eyed Bull, sir—him that was nursed in the hospital here after the fight three years ago?” “Bull? He ought to know better than to bring any such message,” said Fenton, reflectively. I presume he dare not re- fuse, however. 1. Adjutant, mount Fal- lon’s horse, gallop out there, and tell Bull to tell Big Road to go to the devil. That's all on that head. Captain Narwell, as soon as your men have had supper. let them saddle and be ready for night work. Orderly, have my horse sent up in half an hour. "That'sall for the present, gentle- men. Come, Jack—Lou’'s waiting dinner 1 to their homes, for us.” It was the first time that any one had seen Fenion mad, as Amory pit it, when the group broke up. “Either Big Road will come down oft that high horse or the old man will snatch him, and within the next few hours, too. Ormsby brings us luck. He never comes out here that we don't have a shindy of some kind.” More than one offi was thinking of would have been glad of a feast on arm rations. satisfied of the judgmentand discretion of their chief, but one and all the Indi- ans were now imbued with the warning of their medicine men, and expected noth- ing less than some sudden act of hostility on the soldiers’ part. If there ever was a time in Big Road’s history when a clear head and cool brain were “needed, it was now, just when he had succeeded in get- ting drunk, and well had the cowboys reasoned. ~While some of the number lured the chief to the banks of the Platte and plied him with lies and whisky, others were scurrying up and down the valley, routing out the ranchmen, settlers and ‘“‘hustlers,” and warning them to be in readiness to gather at the given signal, for there was no telling what would be the first consequence of their diplomacy. If Big Road simply broke camp and started with his whole village in the dead of night in hopes of leldifig the soldiers a stern chase to the Big Horn, they could stumble in his way, imgede his flight, and bring on arow in_which, with vastly superior numbers, they could at least rob the red men of their pony herd. That would be art satisfactory for the death of Laramie ete. Then, when the soldiers came up, thei could sail in after them and claim such spoil as worth havinE and all the credit of having hrouiht the taief to bay. If, on the other hand, Big Road became so crazed with their fire-water as to go down and beard the lionin his den and defy the cavalry at the fort, then there might be a pretty scrimmage right over the flats when the colonel ordered the chief’s arrest, and when the soldiers were tackling the war- riors in the open and having a nip-and- tuck fight of it the frontiersmen couf; sur- round the village and help themselves. There would be only old men and women and children. to defend it. There was gloom, therefore, in Bull's sole remaining :Rg.w as he received in majestic silence the utant’s indignant rendering of the colonel’s message, and, motioning to his blanketed braves to follow, he turned about and rode away. “What do you think they’ll do?’ was the eager question asked the adjutant on his return to the post. *Is he mad enough to mean fight 2" “He is he doesn’t get any drunker,” was the answer. “‘More whisky would be the surest way of settling the guestion now, but it would rob us of the pleasure of knocking him out—and be — to him for spoiling my dinner!” At 8 o’clock that night, with one pla- toon in dispersed order well to the front and others in reserve, while the garrison of Fort Krayne stood by their arms within the fort, Captain Farwell’s troops moved slowl]; the dark valley, along the snow- uj this remark of Amory’s as they scattered enverzd gltl. out beyond the point where Many a dinner was kept | the delegation was met atdusk and held at for safety, and now he purposed quarrel- ing with' his benefactors and launching out on forbidden territory, and that meant consigned to him; then had waited in dig- fsilence confronting the somewhat Bat and the two Indian soldiers as to the robable inspiration of Big Road’s bom- “bluff” had totally failed, and before a Nor were the warriors at all | bay, and, though the stars were glinting in thgfrasty sky and not a breath of air %Vkis stirring, and the mg:t was still as soli- tude itself, not a whisper could be heard from the direction of the village, not a spark of fire could be seen. Over against them on the northern shore were socunds at times as of rapid hoof beats, muffled by the snow. Half a mile out a horseman loomed up at the front, and in a moment was merged in the advnncms line. “Halt, there!”” was Rorke’s gruff, myt. tered challenge,at the instant. ‘‘Rise up, you, and say who ye are. Ob, it’s you, iy it, Pollywog? Come in from under F-e, head an’ explain what keeps Your brother night owls yonder—why don’t they start, if ever they’re going?”’ £ 3 Obedient to the order, given in soldier terms he could not use, yet sufficiently un. derstood, an Indian scout—an Arapaho boy—whose big shock head seemed twice the size of his lean torso, straightened up from his catlight crouch and came swiftly toward the two troopers. “Big Road going—plenty quick!” he muttered. ‘‘Heap whisky now—Bunco fetch 'um!” “‘Ah, that's what kept him, was it? Run back, Clancy, and tell the captain he’s fired up, and I'll creep in closer and see if he's started.” So saying the old trooperdoubled up over his huge, moccasined feet, and, carbine in hand, crept stealthily onward toward the point where last the tepees had been seen in the dusk, Pollywog excitedly shuffling by his side. ' For iifty yards or so nothing could be heard or seen at the front, then they came upon a dark object kneeling under a stunted u,uu;n\-.q"].(vfnw, to the bank of the frozen stream. It was one of the Indian troopers, : 1t Rorke's muttered summons he raisec hand as though to caution silence, and again bent his head attentively. > “Heap whisky !""was his whispered ver- dict. *‘Pretty soon fight. Listen!” There were sounds of turmoil in the Indian ranks—harsh, guttural voices and much shuffling about. Every now and then the thud of pony hoofscould be heard, as the nimble little beasts went scurrying over the snow; then muffled shouts across the stream in impatient hail and excited answer. One party of warriors was evi- dently on its way, and the rearward mem- bers were striving to induce the laggards at the village to come on. “Bedad,” said Rorke, ‘“Jobn Barleycorn has laid some of thim buck blackguards by the heels already, and they can’t rouse ’em up. Go you in there, Poliywog. They won’t see you this night. There isn’t wan in that gang could tell a 'Rapahoe froma raw recruit with six fingers av Bunco Jim’s jig wather in him. G'wan in, boy. Harass the inemy all ye can, without bringin’ona eneral engagement—by which L manean Fiid ay:a Hatt thabia oo hi foracorporal. Did ye find the captain?” he asked, turn ing = suddenly on Clancy, who came stealthily up from the rear. ““Whist! he’s right here, an’ Mr. Ormsby with him.” Surely enough, crunching through the snow, making as little noise as they could, yet stumbling painfully at times, two burly forms could be seen creeping toward them, and presently Farwell was near enough to whisper an inquiry as to how far the vil- lage was ahead. “Not fifty yards, sorr,” said Rorke. “But ye needn’t fear to wake ’em, sorr. There’s only wan word what’s left of Big Road’s people can understand now, and that's whisky. It’s my belief thére's a dozen bucks over there too drunk to_ride and they’ve sent all the travois ahead an don’t know bhow to lug ’em along. The: haven’t all the plainscraft in the world, sorr, and the Twelfth could give 'em a line or two of lesson on that score.” “D— theluck!” said Farwell, heartily. My orders are not to interfere or to follow until they’re all across the Platte. How many are holding back there, corporal ?” “Faith, I don't know, sorr, but ivery man that’s left sees double, and I've told Pollywog to count ’em. How far back are the men, so1r?” ““They’re close at hand now. We moved forward after getting your message. Listen to those beggars.” Through the still night air a wild, mournful howl was uplifted from the direc- tion of the viilage. *“A cross betune the yelp of a coyote and the yowl of a keener,’” said Rorke.” “Bedad, they may talk Sioux when they’re sober, but Irishis the uni- versal language when they're drunk. Hark till ’em now.”” Another howl went up. Somebody was making a speech, and presently as the orator warmed up to his subject the sonorous tones rang out over the frozen valley and came thundering back from the echoing bluffs, “That’s Big Road himself,’”’ muttered Terry. “He's too crooked the night to see his own way, but _he can steer the others all the same. “What's he saying, Bis- marck?'’ he inquired of the silent Indian trooper. “‘He says Big Road’s village reaches from the Medicine Bow to the tops of the Big Horn, and there are not enough white soldiers or cowboys in the land to take him. He sa&'s he’s going to ride with his BiX sons an fight Fort Frayne at sun- rise. “Then DI'll haye time to see the fun,” said Ormsby, with a laugh, that had no mirth_in it. “My train goes at 8, and I should hate to miss the entertainment. I've come out to say f:ood-\)y to you. Terry,” he continued, as he beld forth his hand to the surprised corporal. “Shure, Misther Ormsby is not goin’ to laye us—now—wid all the new trouble—and Miss Ellis down sick ?”” “I'm of no use to them, Rorke.” said Ormsby, sadly, as Farwell edged on to the front as though to give him a chance to talk with this faithiul old henchman of the Farrars. ‘“‘Indeed, I'm_getting super- stitious. I bring them nothing but ill luck. I’'ve never come that it wasn’t like some bird of ill omen. First it cost them the blessed old colonel’s life, and now that scapegrace son is brought back into their world just long enongh to reopen all the old wounds, and the poor mother is bowed with new shame and sorrow and with new anxiety since Miss Ellis is dcwn. The doctors say the danger is past and she will soon rally. You and Lieutenant Will are all they need. So take good care of them, Terry, and of yourself, too, and don’t forget we've had one or two good rides together, even though I can’t be with you in this— and—I've left a little remembrance for you with ‘Master Will’—only don't you dare call him that again.” “Sure, no man in the Twelfth will ever need a remembrance of Mr. Ormsby that saw him the day we jum{ued Kill Eagle in the snowstorm, but whisper,”’ he mur- mured, wistfully, “who's to tell Miss El- lis? The roses will bc slow coming back to the blessed face av her—whin she finds ye're gone.”’ [To be continued.) Copyright, 1895. §Arc Your Fect | | i Goodyear Welt Shocs. The only shoes from tacks, nails, hard thread. ¢ Ask Your Shoe Dealer. WS~ Goodyear Welts are LEATHER SHOES —not rubber. free and POOPI000060000000000000 000404940 000400 0000000000000 800000000 000000 | 'S 4