The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 2, 1895, Page 18

18 CALL, SUNDAY, JUNE 2, 1895. | CHAPTER XVI—CoONTINUED. | “I've got to go, Rorke,” said Ormsby, briefly. “Inall my years in our regiment, | I've never missed an inspection ora re- | view, and mighty few drills have I failed | to be there. They’d forgive me for staying | here for the honor of the Seventh, and a sure thing of a fight, but nothing I and the colone! there’s no fight here—only another surround and capture and escort home. Why, Big Road’s drunk!” , sorr; and if the colonel was TIrish, as was him that preceied him—by | brevet, and how, and the love of ivery Irishman in the Twelfth—he'd know that | an Indian’s never so full ot fight as whin he’s full of whisky. There isn’t room in ; Road’s skin for another noggin’, sorr. s people will drag him after the village. The cowboys will jump them up the range. It'll bring on a general row, and our carbines will be crackling along Trooper Creek by noonday to-morrow or I'm worse than a Jew—I'm a bureau agent!” “How’d you get out here, anyway? You’re in Captain Leale's troop.” “True, sorr, but the colonel put me on j wid the few Indians that’s left since nife died, and by regimental orders I'm temporariously g Sioux sergeant. It's an Irishman over the Indian. That’s pOffiC justice, sorr—the green above the red.” “May you win the chevrons this night in your own troop, Terry, and I'll send you the handsomest pair to be made in New York. Good-by, old friend. Take care of them—all. I must ride back now.” And so with one long ¢! the two friends and fellow-campaigners, oddly mated, yet closely allied, turned slowly away from one another, Rorke to take up once again his post of duty, Orms- by to mount, and, riding in silence past the shivering groups of soldiers huddling about their horses and dancing and stamp- ing to keep from freezing, to hie him bagk x\\»_‘me fort and for a parting word with i rup on the snow-mantled bluff the night lights were burning in the | coloniel’s quarters. Far above them the | brilliant stars were twinkling in the sky. Over across the stream the bale fires burned like wreckers’ luring signals on the shore among the dingy cluster of wooden_sh where Bunko Jim had un- disputed v, Away out northward, | across the frozen steppe, there sounded | ome bacchanalian whoop, | ana savages dirty white | parallel parties and begin- | ning now to shout drunken defiance at one another over the intervening mile. Be- hind_him, as he swiftly rode, Ormsby could hear w increasing frequency the whoops and of Biz Road’s stragglers, | still anchored south of the Platte, but evi- | dently getting slowly under way. Then, | straight i, up along the plateau, in | ringin, rless fone, the sentries began their midnight call, and all the valley re- | echoed to the stirring assurance that, as | far as Frayne and its sleeping populace wu]sl concerned, it was 12 o'clock and all well. And then somewhere across the stream among that cluster of ramshackle hovels there flared a sudden light, a single, in- stantaneous flash, followed in'a few seconds | by aloud bang that revived the echoes of | the watch cry, just as the last, in faint aerial ripglu, seemed dying miles away, and then Jack Ormsby struck spurs to his horse and galloped to the post. Even | though no answer came from the sentries on the bluff, he knew that shot wasno | empty, meaningless, ess deed. Tt | was a signal to some dist: watcher and was answered, just as Ormsby expected, | by a faint, far-away crack of rifle, miles | perhaps, to the silent north. A corporal came running to meet and identify him when he was halted by the westward sentry on No. 3. “Have they started, sir?’’ asked he. { s all but a few are gone. Whatare | sabout? Anything astir at the ‘ Troop ordered right out, sir. The wires quit working twenty minutes ago, | and they’re cut along the railway to the | east.” Throwing himself from his horse when he reached the colonel’s quarters, Ormsby hastened in and found that energetic war- | rior saying things that impelled Aunt Lou | 10 stop her ears and lift up a plaintive | voice in vain prof The adjutant was there, a sympathetic listener, however, and | the orderly had gone for the officer of the | day—the official who, next to the adjutant, was always sure to be summoned when anything of unusnally exasperating char- acter had happened. “‘Did you ever know anything more con- temptuously impudent in your life, Jack?” | said his uncle. “They've let me wear | these wires hot sending all manner of pray- | ers to be allowed to do something, and, | just so long as the replies were orders not to interfere, our friends and fellow-citizens have let them through. Now,the moment the tide begins to turn, and the agent or the general, or somebody else, has a lucid interval, and things begi coming our way, they find it out and climb the wires, | How could they find itout? Why, they have more friends at conrt than we ever | could hope to have. I'll bet six months' | pay the order for us to move is siz Zin | the snow somewhere east of nyon Springs. I've sent half & dozen of the best light riders in K Troop east to find the break, but it will be broad daylight before & word can reach us, and by tlut time that whole outfit will be at Trooper Creek. ‘Were thereany left when you came away ?” “Just a few, sir. They’ve been supplied with whisky from Bunko Jim’s, I fancy, and some of them seem very drunk. Far- weel thinks the village is strung out over as much as a dozen miles. Youghend that shot a few minutes ago, did you?’’ “The sentry did and reported it—No, 5— and he said there were others far to the north. I'm told that there isn’ta man left in that hell hole across the creek—all gone to take part in some prearranged scrap with Big Road’s people and here we are powerless to do a thing.” “Well,” said Ormsby after a moment’s reflection, *‘on ieneu.l principles don’t you think it rather a good thing to let them scrap? It will only result in a uum- ber of very objectionable characters, red and whlwrgoth, being cleaned out and for once the Twelith will have no losses to frontiersmen sent courier after courier to the fort, praying for aid, and the cowardly commander and hisdude cavalry were most of them helplessly drunk and couldn’t do or wouldn’t do a thing. We'd have inspectors and courts of in- quiry and all that sort of thing, and by the times the lies had saturated the whole country and the truth was beginning to come out, the papers would say it was no longer a matter of sufficient interest to publish. No, Jack; you thank God you're in the Seventh, even when you’re brick- batted. I'm going to launch after that gang, orders or no orders. So that'’s the end of it. Ride after Farwell,” said he to his silent staff officer, “‘and tell him to fol- back him with all we've got. Tell him if | ring with accounts of how the gallant | sobbed, and Helen came and twined her s, 1 agree with old | Kenyon down at Fort Russell, by Jupiter? | | low close on the heels of Big Road,and I'll | he hears firing ahead to stop it, if he can, | but if he can’t, then, by thunder, to help the Indians—they're the injured ones in the deal!” And with those memorable instructions on his lips Fenton strode ferth upon the porch of his quarters out into the still and starlight night, now faintly illumined by the rays of the wan- ing moon, and in anothér moment the trumpets were blaring ‘“To horse,”” and all Fort Frayne sprang to life. It was but a little after midnight, and many of the men were still awake. Others lyinE down on their bunks without remov- ing boots or blouses had fallen into an un- easy doze. It seemed buta minute before. full panoplied, they were streaming down to the stables, where the horses were al- ready pawing and snorting cxcited]?', as though the sonnd of this midnight ala had conveyed its full meaning to them. At any other time Jack Ormsby would have found keen delight in watching the prompt, soldierly style in which the troo ers sprang to their work, and the swift, deft saddling and rapid formation of troop after troop, but to-night his heart was leaden. Not for him the rush and vigor and exhilaration of the sudden start and arms_about her, and Ormsby bent and | kissed the fragile hand and went noiseless- {1y out into the night. Twenty minutes- later, when once again he gazed upward at the little dormer window of the room where Ellis slept her fevered sleep, the | sgnunmn had gone, the parade was desert- ed. There were bright beams from the | windows of the colonel’s quarters, but all | was darkness in his heart, and here in the | little army home, where were left only women now, bearing the name and the sorrows of the Farrars. CHAPTER XVII. “A happy New Year to you,” said the conductor of the *limited,” as Jack Orms- by was whisked away eastward from Chi- cago, after sixty hours of inoessant railway riding from Fort Frayne. Happy New Year indeed! Itsounded like mockery. Turning away with a sigh from the gateway of Will’s quarters he had gone at last to Leale’s, and bitterly did he re- proach himself that so little thought had he given to the appeal of that stanch and loyal friend. The attendant ushered him in to where, with bandaged, sightless eyes and;painful breathing, the stalwart soldier lay, heroic in his endurance. Their inter- view was brief, for Leale was forbidden to talk at all. Bending over his bedside Jack had taken the captain’s hand in his and told him that the troops were gone on their stern chase in default of orders to the contrary, and that Fenton hoped to overtake them and interpose again between them and the cowboys before the latter could gather in overwhelming strength, and then he briefly gave the reasons which compelled him {0 take the morning train for the East. Even under the band- ages Ormsby thought he saw an instant shadow of disappointment. ‘W hat is it, Leale, old chap?” he asked. “Had you any plan? Anything in which I could serve you?”’ “I must go—too—but they will not let me move—yet,” was the whispered reply. “0UT OF THE WAY, EVERY ONE OF YOU!” sharp pursuit. While they, the men anmnfi | 5 whom he was proud to be hailed as_frien and comrade, were speeding on their ride to the rescue, he, summoned by a duty as imperative and held as obligation every bit as sacred, would have to turn his back on the bounding column, on Fort Frayne, with all that was dearest, fondest, fairest in life, and hasten eastward by the morn- ing train, or be held as having broken the spotless record of his company. Even as the men were leading into line | and the stern voices of the troop sergeants could be heard calling the roll, and lights | began_to gleam in the lower windows of the officers’ quarters and pallid women ap- peared at the doorways, clinging to the very last to husband or father hastening to his duty, poor Jack stood in front of the little gateway of the Farrars, gazing aloft l@t the window of Ellis’ room, where the im night light told of the sad and anxious | Leale,” | turning my back on everything I hold dear watch maintained, and with all his soul he | longed to follow the bug footsteps of the gallant boy come rushing by from the adjoining quar- ters, admitted at the hallway for the moth- er's parting kiss and blessing and long, long clinging embrace. Witk all his heart bourd up in that little household, Jack stood there at the threshold, unbidden, yet longing to enter. eyes on the face of the girl he loved since the night of his startling announce- ment. Only once had he caught sight of the mother's pallid, patient fea- turesat the window. Had he no rights, no welcome there—he, who would serve them with his heart’s blood, if that _could save them from ill or suffering? Booted men in rough campaign dress brushed him b; with unheard, unanswered words by sol- dier greetinfi. and the surgeon, hurryin past, swgpe to say, “‘Leale begs you will come to him & moment and I can’t forbid it now.” Ormsby bowed assent, yet hardly knew to what.” He was waiting only for Will, and presently the boy came springing forth and, as Ormsby ulefaped eagerly forward with inqui? for Ellis and her mother, the words died on his lw: for, dashing his hand across his eyes, W fill sped swm! by, with only this for greeting: ‘“‘Hello, Jack! Don’t stop me now, for God’s sake! I've just time to see Kitty,” and more than half he words came back over his shoulder. It was Helen Daunton who, peering forth from the doorway, saw him standing there and mercifully bade him enter—Mrs. Far- rar would be only too glad to see him— and %ratefully Jack obeyed. The squadron was forming on the parade as Ormsby en- tered the little army cottage and was ush- ered into the parlor. There at the window, with tears still streaming down her gentle face, stood Mrs, Farrar, gazing out over the dim expanse at the dark ranks on the opposite side and longing for one more peep at her boy, whose horse had been led away up to the colonel’s quarters. She partly turned as Jack tiptoed in, and a wan, ;ad smile flickered one moment about her ips. *“You, too, are going,” she said, “and I know how busX fou are, but I could not ]etflan go until I had told you—as I told Willy to tell you, if I did not dee you again before the start—that from Helen I have learned how true, how noble a friend and helper you have been to herand how you strove fo shield my poor, poor boy. Sod bless you, Jack—I shall always call you that now, for you seem like my own to me. ant, bounding had just mourn. I'd let ’em fight and say, bless you, my children, if 1 had anything to do with it,” “Oh.'w would I, if I weren’t a ‘regular’ and therefore blamed, no matter which way the thing goes. If the Indians get the worst of it, the Interior Department, the peace societies, the Y. M. C. A.’s, and God knows how many other pious ple all over America will be howling, Abolish the army, for looking on an allowjng this wholesale slnughler of inno- cent and helpless wards of the Nation, and if the wards come out atop and clean out *he cowboys, the press of the country will God bless you for all you've done and tried to do for me and mine.” She had clasped both his hands now, and the tears were raining down her face. Before he could answer, a little knot of borsemen rode past the gate. One of them reined aside and waved his hand toward the window where the mother stood. Again | at she turned thither with love and dread, with pride and sorrow and yearning in her gaze. Then a trumpet sounded, and the tall young soldier spurred suddenly away. “Forgive me, Jack. I know you have to go. Don’t let me keep ynnynow," she Not once had he set | ““Man and boy,” eried poor Jack, “I’ve een in the Seventh ever since I was old | enough to enlist, and never until this night have I known what it was to wish I were free to stay away, but, dear old fellow, I thought it was costing me more than I could bear before seeing you, and now— he broke off, impulsively, “I’'m in this world to-night—my sister, my heart’s love, my trustiest friend when most he needs me, everything but one, and that is the old regiment in New York. You're | a_soldier, Leale, if there ever lived one. | You know our record and our traditions. | So long as I hold my warrant in the Sev- | enth is it not my bounden duty to goto | them, and go at once?”’ A clasp oi the hand and a movement of the lips were the only answer for the mo- ment, then “You're right, Jack—go! I'm coming—soon.”” “Then T'll come half-way to meet yon, Le: I'll join you in Chicago. If there be time I'll€ome *way back here, and, un- less your doctors say you must go into hospital my house isto be your home, and the specialist can see you there. I have eaid good-by to Mrs. Farrar—to Will's mother and to—Helen. They think I went with the command. Will you prom- ise? Will youcome to my roof, Leale, and let us nurse you there to sight and strength again?”’ Lth Leale slowly /shook his head. “I must go home, Jack, a little while, and then—toEurope.” And so the friends had parted—each aware of the other’s plight, yet neither able to help. Nct until long after the train had gone whistling away did the Farrars Ormsby had been called, and then it was throuih Kitty. She came hurrying in to say® that with their glasses they could Elninly see some of the command riding omeward from the direction of Trooper Creek. And meantime the line repairers who had gone along the track from Canon Sé)rings had found the breaks—a dozen_ of them—and restrung their ll;;]ht copper wirs, and now that they were no longer of con- sequence orders, injunctions and sugges- tions by the dozen were comingin. Wayne, left at the post in temporary command, opened, read, reread and_pooh-poohed the first that came—these being from theagen- cy—but began to wake up in earnest as he opened the sixth or seventh of the brown envelopes. Then suddenly he hastened over to the colonel’s house, leaving the clerks gt the office to their device and, with his fieldglass and an _attendant officer and orderly, began studying the northward stretch of snow; rairie, while Lucretia wistfully watched him from the gallery. ‘When a messenger came running up wirg, and Wayne had opened, the next dispatch, she could no lol:fier restrain her curiosity, and so came boldly forth to demand ex- planation. Over across the Platte, umonfi the shan- ties that surrounded Bunko Jim's estab- | gravely. know that it was back to Gotham that|q lishment, there were signs of excitement and lively emotion. The sentries reported that ever since daylight, in squads of twos or t] , cowboys and ranchmen had been riding to and fro, and now there wasmuch carousing about the bars, and no little scurrying hither and thither of slatternly women. Two teams had been hitched and driven away northward, and the few sol- diers who swarmed out nlons the sentry post—forbidden to go beyond or to hold communication with the gang across the river—surmised that they were needed to bring in wounded, and that therefore there must have been a scrimmage. Old Jimmy Brewer, a frontier character to whom no iong edTor iy o gurann st garrson long-1 ¥ n T n 1§nyne, had been relied upon to come in as usual with his load of dairy goods and gossip, had failed, however, to ma- terialize this morning, of all others, and Frayne was shortof cream and news of the neighborhood just at the time when both would have been comforting. But Wayne, as has been said, was a man who, once aroused from the dreamy ab- straction of his daily life and_thrown upon his mettle as commanding officer, had been known to display surprising energy, and here was a case in point. *I wish you,” said he to the post quarter- master, who was in attendance upon him at the moment, “to take a couple of men and find out what you can in the settle- ment yonder of what has been going on this morning. Then I need a first-rat‘e rider to go at the gallop to Trooper Creek.” Then he turned and bowed to the agpeal- ing face peering out at him from under its hood of fur so close at his side. ‘‘Let me put an end to your anxiety, Miss Fenton,” said he, reassuringly. ‘‘Your brother, the colonel, wiil be on fnis homeward way just as s00n as he gets those dispatches. So you and Miss Ormsby can breakfast in peace and comfort.” 5 But Wayne, for once in his life, revealed no more than was his actval intention. Pouring forth her voluble song of thanks- giving, Lucretia talked a steady flow until once more he raised his cap to_her at her door, and then, turning suddenly awaf. hastened to the oftice before she could recover from her astonishment at this un- usually precipitate move. She had de- rived herself of all opportunity of asking or particulars or for learning what Wayne himself was now to do. Hearing from his lips that her brother would scon be on his homeward way, she placed no other interpretation upon the news than that the regiment would be coming with him, that thswar was over and their troubles at an end. But could she have seen Wayne's face as he hastened to his _quarters, bade his orderly pack his field kit at once and then get the horses, she would have known that & serious matter was in hand. Krom his own door the major hurried back to the office again, wrote three telegraphic mes- sagesand summoned the orderly trumpeter. ““Give my compliments to the post sur- geon, and ask him if he will meet me at my quarters at once,” he said. Then, di- recting the clerk to have the messages rushed, he hastened across the parade, and, ringing at the Farr: door, begged to see Mrs. Daunton a moment. As luck would have it, Dr. Gibson himself was in low-toned consultation with Helen in the parlor, and he looked up with marked Interest as Wayne was ushered in. The major read the inquiry in the doc- tor’s eyes. He greeted Mrs. Daunton with brief courtesy, and then spoke. ‘Yes. He's ordered in—relieved—and I'm or- dered out. It’s only another instance of the old story. I go in ten minutes, and bave no idea at this moment of what has been going on at the front--no more idea than Fenton has of what has been going on at the rear. If there’s been a fight, cowboy and Indian, is probable, and the band has slipped away to the moun- tains, then we will have to follow, and probably take up a fight we had nothing to do with at first and did our best to pre- © vent. T came, Mrs. Daunton,” said he gravely, to ask for Mrs. Farrar and Miss Eltis, as Will will be anxious to know, and I fear it will be some time before he can hope to see them again.” ** That is what his mother feared, major, and it is that we have to contend with now. Miss Farr: omewhat better, as the doctor will tell you, but of course, she is very weak,and knows nothing of the excitenients of last night. But whatam I | to tell Mrs. Farrar?” she continued with brimming eyes. * The servants have béen saying in the kitchen that there has been a battle, but the corporal of the guard de- | clared to us that the regiment could be seen coming home, and I have comforted her with that, and now—" “ And now I fear I’ only some little detachment convoying prisoners,” answered Wayne, ** but the | command itself will have to pushon in pursuit. Tell her, though, there is no like- lihood of our having any serious fighting, and that I'll watch over Will and care for him as though he were my own boy.” “1 wish she could hear you,” pleaded Helen,* but I made her go back to her | bed a while ago, and you must start—" | I must go at once,”” he answered, ‘‘Is there anything I can take for you or for-her?”’ “‘She is sleeping, I hope,!’ said Helen, in reply, “for all night long she has hardly closed her eyes, but there will be other sengers, probably, during the day, will not?” several, doubtless, especially after chment gets mn.”" then, 1 have one—packet; I ke to burden you with it, major, vet ought not, perhaps, intrust it to any one else. It can be ready in five minutes.” “Then I will call for it,” he answered promptly, and, taking the doctor with him, retraced his steps to his own door. Fifteen minut fter a motley little pro- cession began strageling across the Platte and heading for the post. A small party of troopers escorting a bevy of Indians, some prostrate on travois, some astride of scragely ponies, some shuffling along afoot, some few big-eyed, solemn little pappooses on their mothers’ backs, and with them came the first tidings of the night gone by. Long before Big Road’s party had begun to reach the appointed rendezvous on Trooper Creek there had been hostile demonstrations from white men put out on the bluffs to the front and on their righr flank; that is, to the north and east. There had been firing during the night. Now came serious action with the break of day. These men wore fur caps and gloves, soldiers’ winter overcoats just like the reg- ulars—and why shouldn’t they,. since Bunko Jim and his associates had long driven a thriving trade buying up such items of winter wear of deserters or drunk- ards from the post? They formed along the hillsides afar off, keeping up the sem- blance of cavalry skirmish order and evi- dently striving ‘to harass or delay the movement of the Indians 2s much ag pos- sible and yet to keep well out of harm’s Wi There was also evident desire to convince the fleeing village that its as- sailants were cavalry from Fort Frayne, have to say it_is but even before. the few young braves, riding valiantly out to in- terpose between their women and children and old folks and these, their aggressors, sent in word that no sol- iers were among the enemy—that it was all a cowboy crowd—the older men who remained had discovered the fact and dis- patched runners to Big Road with the news. That redoubtable chief was still drunk, but the sound of firing had van- quished the stupefying effect of his pota- tions, and, though two or three of his chosen followers were helplessly gone, he appeared with the first peep of day, ag- gressively hostile and eager to fight any- thing or anybody. Galloping forward, reel- ing in saddle, but hanging on as only an Indian can, he had marshaled and led his EeoPle’ and the next thing the cowboys new old Big Road had turned on them like a bnin bull. Within balf an hour after dawn the bluffs along Trooper Creek were ringing to the musicof warwhoop and battle-cry, and the wintry air was throb- bing to the swift rattle of muaketri'. With haifa dozen of his prominent fellow-citi- zens stretched on the snow dead or crippled, Bunko Jim thanked God when some one shouted that the cavalry were riding into line not two miles away. Gathering up the stragglers of the village, old Fenton had pushed his skirmish e straight out across the frozen creek, and, while Big Road -n\%l most of his v;arrion 'lv(ent whirl- ing up the opposite slope, backing away for the Big figm with most of thegvulage beyond them, and firing from a distance at the switt but regulated advance of the Twelfth, Fenton had swung his tight wing in wide-spreading sweep across the snow- covered prairie, brushing aside, turning back, and, in some few instances, ridin; :hver the cowboys whe wouldn’t get out o e way. *“You tricked those lgom' devils into making a break,” he furiously replied to the first plainsman who claimed to be fighting to help the soldier. “You lied them “into leaving, and then attacked them on the run. Get out of the way, eve: d—d one of you, or, by heaven, therell be war that'll make your head swim!” But, do his e was too late for the real object of his comin’fi; Bunko Jim’s strategy had prevailed. The Indians were in full fllght for the mountains, and the onus of the whole business was satisfac- torily transferred to the shoulders of the troops. Two of Jim’s numerous allies had been knocked on the head, but, as he ulfely reflected, they were fellows from the Pow- der River country who didn’t owe him a cent. Certain others were more or less | severely wounded and would bave to be | cared for at Jimtown, but, on the other hand, they had gathered in a number of Indian ponies, had shot a warrior or two and could easily swear they’d killed a dozen; but, best of all, they had embroiled Big Road with Uncle Sam and brought on a war that would involve all Big Road’s friends, Sioux or Cheyenne, call to the scene thousands of soldiers and ‘‘bull the market”’ for beef cattle, provisions and forage, on all of which Jim held a corner. And so, when noonday came, his wounded were safely in hospital, within the log walls of his prairie town, and the Indians were far away northward toward Cloud Peak, the Twelfth following in steady pursuit, exchanging shots from time to time with the daring rear guard of the redskins, who refused all efforts to | bring them to a halt and parley. A dozen Indians, young and old, were once more huddled “about the smoking fires on the flats above the post, a few troopers were swearini and shivering on guard about them, while up along the plateau, from | door to door, flitted the wives and children of the officers, thus summarily hustled away into savage campaign, and all thought of holiday rejoicing was at an end. It was just 8 o’clock when the major rode away, attended by a single orderly, leaving the post to the care of the few soldiers who | remained. He had dismounted at the | colonel’s, ostensibly to ask if they had any messages to send before reflecting that, unless something utteriy unforeseen should occur, the colonel himself would be there to hear the messages in person | before the setting of the sun. The consciousness of this fact dawned upon him as Lucretia_met him at the door and covered him with an embarrassment and confusion which made nothing short of ludicrous his farewell to the lady of his love. Kitty had gone to the Farrars, as has been said, to mingle her tears with those of Will'’s unhappy mother, and if there ever was a time when the coast was absolutely clearand all conditions fayorable for a fond if brief avowal. Itwas this—it | was now; yetsuch was Wayne’s consterna- tion at finding he had bethought him of no | other excuse than his own longing for com- | ing at all, and such was his unconscious- | the great days of the civil war, was Fenton so enthusiastically bound up in his duties, for she who was the inspiration of his earliest ambition and to whom, through all these years, his loyal heart had clung, was there at Frayne watehing, despite the sorrows of her widowhood, the shock and shame that fol- lowed upon the death of her reckless, sin- stained boy, and the deep anxiety for the surviving children—watching and cheerin, his steadfast effort to keep the standard of the Twelfth where Farrar had left it, fore- most among the famous regiments of the army that had been her home. 3 And it was this loyal, sturdy soldier and gentleman, in the height of his dufnoua and most energetic service, whom Wayne found himself ordered to supersede—to re- lieve in the command of Fort Frayne, and so much of the Twelfth as was there sta- tioned, in order that Fenton might repair at once to the distant headquarters of the department, there to answer the charges and allegations laid at his door by officials of the Interior Department and by iso- called prominent citizens of broad Wyom- ing. Verily, the king of the cowboys had not made his threats in vain. CHAPTER XVIIL Justas Terry Rorke had said, the Twelfth had spent its New Year’s day hot on the Indian trail. Into the foothills it wound, tortuous and full of peril, for from every projecting point, from rock to rock and crest to crest the warrior rear guard poured their fire on the advancing line. Charges were fruitless. The nimble ponies of the Indians bore their riders swiftly out of harm’s way, and only among the charging force did casualties occur. Still Fenton had hung like a bulldof, to his task, hoping before nightfall to catch up with the main body and_ the moving village, then to hem it in. Nnmerically he was little petter off than the Indians, and fifty Indians can surround 500 troopers much more ef- fectively than 500 troopers can surround fifty mounted warriors. Through Bat others he had vainly striven to com- municate with Big Road to assure him no harm would be done; that all that was necessary was for him to return with his people under escort of the regiment to the reservation. Up to 4 p. M. not a shot had A SHOT WENT ZIPPING PAST HIS HEAD. ness of the fact that she would prefer that to any excuse he could possiblv devise, the bedeviled major stared blankly her as shegpened the door, and—to this day they tl‘llft in the Twelfth with renewed guffaws of rejoicing—the only words that rose to his Iips were these: ““Er, ah—does—does Golonel tenton live here?” And Lucretia, bursting into tears, be- lieved her beloved had gone stark, staring mad, “He up and grabbed her by the arm,” said Trumpeter Billy Madden “at the biy- ouac fires that night, “and kind ofgshoved hin f inside the door with her and she a: V', and the next I see of him he come a-laughin’ out, and you hear me! her shawl was a-hangin’ over his should and never dropped off 4ill he got to the gate, What'd that mean? Well, if you'd a seen the old man’s face you wouldn't ask. 1'd a-mind to strike him for ten right then and there, but Mrs. Daunton, she come a-rannin’ with a big envelope just a8 we was startin’ and says, ‘Give that to Mr. Ormsby, | rlrum‘,' and he awiped it into his saddle- higs and says, ‘You bet,’ or something like it, when he knowed and I knowed Mr. Ormsby was a-scooting for Cheyenne fast as train could talke him."’ Indeed, it was not until after Wayne was amile away ucross the Platte, riding with & light and bounding heart on a sad and vexatious errand, that Helen Daunton learned for the first time from Kitty’s lips that poor Jack had had to hurry home, that he had ‘promised to be with the Seventh early in the week, “and that,” said Kitty, “ig just the one thing no one can argue Jack out of.” And Helen’s face, sad and pale as it had been for days, grew still more sad and anxious now. This would be hard news for Ellis when she waked from the stupor of her fever. He had gone without one word, and, as Helen well knew, with a shadow black and forbidding between him and the girl he so fondly loved. Meantime, spun'ing1 ragidly northward and passing every little while small parties of returning ‘“hustlers,” Wayne was in chase of the command. A swift courier had ridden ahead with certain of the dispatches that had been received, bus those which came last of all the major bore himself. ““They will serve in some measure to pre- pare Fenton for these,” he said, as he rode over the last divide that separated him | from the valley of Trooper Creek, and thanked his stars the winds were still, in- stead of blowing, as ofttimes they were in midwinter, with bitter energy from the icy summits to the northward. Down along the frozen stream were traces of the morn- ing fight. Scndps of Indian household goods and chattels, dropped in the hurry of their scrambie for the bluffs beyond, an aban- doned travois, a luckless dog, slain bya chance bullet, and here, there and every- where the trampled snow and the count- less prints of pony hoofs. Over toward the west, further up the valley, a_gradual as- cent to the biuffs was seamed with over a score of parallel tracks at regular inter- vals, as though scrapea out of the snowy surface by some giant harrow. This was where some troop in extended order had swept up the slope, with Big Road’s war- riors scurrying hither anc ou at the distant crest. Far up the heights, stiffen- I:F in death, ln;vone of Armory’s beauti- ful sorrels, and Wayne’s heart ached as he thought of the miles he had yet to ride, the similar sights he had yet™ to see, an the Eallmg tidings he had yet to deliver. He had known Fenton over thirty years, | to be less than three miles ahead now, and and he knew well his deep-rooted gride in his gro@emon and the rugged honesty Which dictated bis every move. He knew that now, as perhaps never before since been fired by the Twelith, even in response to a sometimes galling fusillade from the Indians. By that_time several men had been unhorsed and two or three wounded, and the thing was getting exasperating yet was it worth keeping up, for Bat an other scouts declared the fleeing village village and peaceably, if he could, but T AT 8% e thust, escort it back within the reservation lines. Bat had ridden up just as the sun was dnsappearing_, to say that the Indians seemed to be heading for a deep cleft in the foothills through which the puffalo in bygone days had made their way. Now, if Fenton could only send Farwell or Amory with half the squadron to gauuy in wide detour to the west under cover of the darkness, and seize the bluff overhanging the canyon,meantime making every pretense of kee{nng up the pursuif with the remainder of orce, he might trap the village while most of its fenders were still far away, Darkness se tled down over the desolate wintery land- scape, and the two troops dispatched on this stirring and perilious mission were those of Farwell and Malcolm Leale, the latter led by its boy lieutenant, Will Farrar, One hour later, as the advance was still groplng along the trail, and the weary troopers, alternately leading afoot and rid- ing sleepily in narrow column, pushed steadily in their tracks, two horsemen on jaded mounts came spurring from the rear, and Wayne, with sorrowinl face, handec his dispatches to the colonel. By 'the light of a little pocket lantern Fenton read, while in brooding silence a knot of half a dozen officers gathered about them. The closing paragraph is all we need to quote: “You will, therefore, turn over the com- mand to Major Wayne and report in person at these headquarters without unnecessary delay. Acknowledge receipt.” At any other time the colonel might have been expected to swear vigorously, but the trouble in Wayne's face and th: on sympathy and sorrow were too for him. “All right, old boy,” said he, as he re- folded the papers. “Pitch in now and finish up the business, with m o Bat,” he continued, turning to ti swarthy guide, ‘‘how far is it over to tk Allison ranch? I think I'll sleep there, and no further words were needed to tell the little group that their colonel had been removed from command just on the eve of the consummation of his plans, and he was the only man of the lot who didn’t look as though all heart had been taken out of him as the immediate result. ‘—— that fellow Thorpe! It’s his do- ing,”” swore the adjutant between his set teeth.y ““He has never forgiven us for ipoi(;n?g his scheme to clean out the whole and.” “Don’t waste time swearing,” said Fen- ton, rim]{. “T'll take that job off your hands. They're heading for Elk Springs, Wayne, and I've sent Farwell with two troops around to the left to find their way to the bluffs and get there first. Every- thing depends on that.” A But even Fenton hardly realized how very much depended. It was now about 7 o’ciock and ever since the early dawn the cavalry had been pressing steadily at the heels of the Indian rear guard, never firing, never respondinE to the challenge of shot or shout from the scampering war- riors before them. Again and again haa Bat and his halfbreed cousin, La Bonte, striven to get Big Road to halt and parley, but, though the signals were fully under- stood, old Road was mad with the mingled rage of fight and whisky and believed himself the leader of an out- break that should rival that of 1876 and place him, as a battle chief, head of an army of warriors that should over- run the Northwest. Anxious only to get the women and children safely in” amon; the fastnesses of the hills, he contente himself, therefore, the livelong day, with holding the troops at long arm’s ?ength, openin livel{ fire when they sought to push ahead. 1t was glorious fun for him and his. Well they knew that so far at least the soldiers were forbidden to attack. With the coming of another day Bid Road planned to have kis village far in among the clefts and canyons of the range, where a few resolute warriors could defend the pass against an advance, while he and his braves, re-enforced by eager recruits from the young men of other bands at the reser- vation, could fall upon the flanks and rear of Fenton’s force and fritter it away as Red Cloud had massacred Fetterman's men long years before at old Fort Kearny. Everything depended on who should get there first and, as the Sioux said of Custer’s column, the bloody day on the Little Horn, “The soldiers were tired.” Extending southward from the peaks of the Big Horn was a wild range of irregu- lar beights, covered in places with a thick growth of hardy young spruce and cedars and scrub oak, slashed and severed here and there by deep and tortuous canyons with precipitous sides. Somewhere in among these hills was a big amphitheater known as the Indian racecourse, approach- able in_winter, at least, only through the crooked rift or pass known for short as Elk Guleh. In just such another natural fastness, and only a few miles away to the northeast, had the Cheyennes made their famous stand against five times their weight in fighting men the bitter winter of 1876—a battle the cavalry long had cause to remember—and now, with but a handful of troops as compared with the force led in by MacKenzie, Wayne had right before him a similar problem to tackle. The only oints in his favor were that Big Road’s raves were as few as his own, and that with that overhauled the warriors could be brought to bay well south of the moun- tains, and to the accomplishment of this without sacrificing men or horses to any great extent Fenton was bending every energy when overtaken by the first courier from Frayne. < N Wayne had marked the dispatches in the order in which they should be read, but the only ones which’ much concerned him now were from department headguarters, A new_king who fmcw not Joseph, a new general with whom Fenton had never chanced to serve, was there in command, and he, coming & comparative stranger to the community, knew little of the merits of the politicians by whom he was speedily besieged. They were present in force, armed with letters and dispatches by the score, from so-called prominent citizens resident along the Platte, and Fenton was practically unrepresented. It was in no spirit of unkindness, but rather that Fen- ton might have obportunity to come thither and confront, and confound if he could, his accusers, that the general had is- sued the first order which was that Fenton should “immediately, escort Big] Road and his people back to the ageney, and then report to these headquarters for cone sultation.” That dispatch, if delivered, would have ruined all the plans of the plainsmen, and the wires were clipped the moment warning came, and it never got beyond the old sub-station on the Laramie until after the repairs were made, but other dispatches were wired back from be- low the breaks, alleging first, that so far from Fenton’s doingas ordered, he was ap- parently bent on driving Big Road’s peo- ple up the river or into the open field; then, that he had done 80, and that the Indians were now raiding the scattered ranches and driving the cattle into the foothills, while the settlers were fleeing in terror. Fenton’s dispatches, wired be- fore Big Road’s escapade, had of course been received, but his report of the situa- tion was at utter variance with that from the agency and those from the Thorpe party. Gross mismanagementand general incompetency were the principal allega- .t.iona against Fenton, though the astute hustlers did not forget to add drunken- ness to the list as one which the public would accept without question, he beingan army ofiiger, and when the Governor him- self was induced to add his complaint to those of his enterprising people, the gen- eral vielded. The dispatches sent by cour- fer called for an explanation of the charges ‘rinade by the agent and civilians, intimated oubt as to the wisdom of Fenton’s course or the accuracy of his information, and wound up with the significant clause. *Do nething to provoke hostilities orarouse the fears of the Indians,” and here he had 1 in hot pursuit of them all the live- long day. Btunf to the quick Fenton, nevertheless, pressed vigorously on. The result would 1ustify him, and he could wait for his vin- dication until the campaign was over. he village at sandown could not be more than three miles away, said bis scouts, and the energy of Big Road’s defensive meas- ures was redoubled. Instructions to do nothing to provoke hostilities were dead letters now "that hostilities ‘had actually been provoked—not by him or his people, but, between them, by Big Road and the cowboys. There was only one course for Fenton to take, and that was to overhaul Fenton had already sent a force to race the Indians to their refuge. At 8 o'clock the darkness was intense There was no moon to light their way, and their only guide was the deep trail in the snowy surface left by the retreating In- dians. The darkness was no deeper than the gloom in every heart, for Fenton was gone, a wrong and calumniated man, and thefi' his loyal soldiers, obedient to a higher duty still,were forced to push on and finish his work without him. For an hour only at snail’s pace had they followed the trail. Batand his associates had had many & narrow escape. Lieutenant Martin, com- manding the advance, had had his horse shot under him. Sergeant Roe had a bul- let through his coat, and Corporal Wer- rick, riding eagerly in the lead, got an-° other through the shoulder. Luckily it was not very cold, but all the same, most of the men were becoming sluggish and sleepy, and that was just about the time ‘Wayne might be expected to wake up—and wake up he did. [To be continued.] R BOSTON GIRL'S LIFE Saved from Ruin ard Despair by the Timely Aid of a Noted Woman. [SPECIAL 70 OUR LADY EEADERS.) S there anything more truly pathetic than the ecry <, for help that springs g from the an- S guished hear} S of a young girl = a beautiful girl who sees 3 st fering and un- & cerainty 2 But oh, what joy and glad- ness her young B¢ heart pours §&\§ " forth when she ™« realizes that her dreaded enemy, the blasting influ- ence, is gone,—ban- < Ished forever. This sunshine and joy is now the happy portion of Miss Florence of Beacon Street, Boston. She often tells of her suffering from the suppression of the menses. The pain was excruciating. The doctors, instead of removing the cause of her ailment, plied her each month with morphine to prevent convulsions; but the trouble was permitted tosexist. When she could eridure no more, — prostration was imminent and future hopeless, — her family procured a bottle of Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Com- pound, which, surprising to all, rapidly 7 ¢ 'd permanently cured her. #In writing to Mrs. Pinkham, pouring forth her gratitude and happiness, she says: “Oh! that I could make every suf. fering woman try your valuable medis cine! How they would bless youl” o >