Kitabı oku: «Trumpeter Fred: A Story of the Plains», sayfa 3

CHAPTER VI.
CONCLUSIVE EVIDENCE

BLUNT turned sorrowfully away and began to pace slowly up and down the bank. Near at hand over a little camp-fire his coffee pot was bubbling and hissing enticingly, but even the aroma of his accustomed morning beverage failed to attract him. What was he to do? What could he do? Ordered to remain there to escort the captain safely to Red Cloud, on his return from the court, it was impossible to pursue. Equally unwise would it be to send a small squad. Waller had taken his life in his hands when he rode away through the night, but he could cross the Rawhide and be in comparative safety, so far as the Indian attack was concerned, by sunrise of this day. Now that daylight had come, Blunt well knew that every stretch of prairie from the Platte to the White River would be thoroughly searched by keen and eager eyes, and death would be the very least that any small party of whites could expect. He knew perfectly well that already he and his little troop were being closely scrutinized from the distant ridges. Had he not seen in the tepees of the Cheyennes, but the week before, as many as three pairs of binocular field-glasses? and had not Colonel Randall told him they knew their use and value as well as anyone? If there was only some way of getting word to Captain Charlton at Laramie. There ran the single wire of the military telegraph, but there was neither office nor station nearer than Red Cloud Agency. No man in the troop would thank him for being ordered to go either way with dispatches, though he knew the order would be obeyed. Silently and gloomily, instead of with their usual cheery alacrity, the men had got to work with their curry-combs and brushes and were touching up their horses while waiting for their own breakfast; and presently Blunt's orderly came forward, holding a tin cup of steaming coffee.

"Won't the lieutenant drink a little of this, sir, and try a bite of bacon? There isn't much appetite in the troop this morning, sir, but it ain't so much because the money's gone. I've known the old sergeant and the boy nigh unto ten years now, sir, an' I never thought it would come to this."

Blunt thanked the soldier and sat down at the edge of the rushing stream, sipping his coffee and trying to think what to do. The drink warmed his blood and cheered him up a trifle. Ordering his horse to be saddled, he mounted and, taking his rifle, rode through the Niobrara and out upon the open prairie on the other side. It was not long before he found the hoof-tracks made the night before, and, without knowing why, he slowly followed them out toward the low ridge at the southwest. For ten minutes he went at a quiet walk and with downward-searching eyes as he reached the road, striving to decide which hoof-prints were made by Waller's horse.

Suddenly, back at camp he heard the ringing report of a cavalry carbine borne on the rising breeze, and, whirling about, saw that they were signaling to him. Putting spurs to his steed he galloped full tilt for the ford, and then for the first time saw the cause of the excitement. Far up on the opposite slope, and jogging easily down toward the troop, came an Indian pony and an Indian rider, but not in war-paint and feathers. As Mr. Blunt plunged through the stream he recognized the young half-breed scout known to all of the soldiers as "Little Bat," and Bat, without a word, rode up and handed him a letter. It was from the commanding officer at Fort Robinson, and very much to the point. It read somewhat as follows:

"Captain Charlton telegraphs that he will be detained several days. Meantime you are needed here, as the Indians are again quitting the reservations in large numbers. Move immediately upon receipt of this."

That evening therefore the little troop once more rode down the valley of the White River, the "Smoking Earth" as the Indians called it, and by sunset were camped at Red Cloud. In much distress of mind Mr. Blunt called upon the commanding officer to tell him of the disappearance of the money and his trumpeter, and to ask the colonel's advice as to the proper course for him to pursue. It was agreed that telegrams should be sent at once to the captain at Fort Laramie and to the commanding officer at Sidney barracks on the railway, notifying them of the crime and the desertion. Blunt begged for a moment's delay until he could hear from Sergeant Graham, whom he had sent to make certain investigations, and long before tattoo the sergeant came – and with him the hospital steward.

"Lieutenant, the store-keeper says he sold just such a handkerchief as that to Trumpeter Waller last week, and the steward can tell about the chloroform."

Both officers looked inquiringly at the steward.

"Yes, sir, it was pay day that young Waller handed me a penciled note from Sergeant Graham, saying that he had a bad tooth-ache and asking for a little chloroform, and I gave it to him."

"I never wrote such a note, sir, and never sent him on such a message," said Graham.

CHAPTER VII.
TELEGRAPHIC DISPATCHES

BAD news travels fast. Captain Charlton at Fort Laramie was stunned by the tidings flashed to him by telegraph from Red Cloud. Despite the array of damaging evidence, he could not bring himself to believe that Fred Waller was a thief: but he was sore at heart when he thought of the misery and sorrow the news must bring to the dear ones at his army home – above all to the proud old sergeant, whose life seemed almost bound up in the boy. Well knowing that it could only be a day or two before the story would make its way to the posts along the railroad, and would reach Sanders, doubtless, in a more exaggerated form, the captain decided to warn his wife at once, and by the stage leaving that very night a letter went in to Cheyenne, and thence by train over the great "divide" of the Rockies to Fort Sanders, giving to Mrs. Charlton all particulars thus far received, but charging her to say nothing until further tidings.

"I cannot believe it [wrote he], and am going at once to join the troop and make full investigation. Meantime I have written by the same mail to Major Edwards, who commands at Sidney barracks, to make every effort to trace the boy, should he have come south of the Platte; and you must be sure to see, when the news reaches Sanders, that the sergeant is assured of my disbelief in the whole story, and of my determination that Fred shall have justice done him. It will be several days before you can hear from me again."

And the news reached Sanders, as he feared, all too soon. Telegraph offices "leaked" on the frontier in those days. The operators at the military stations were all enlisted men, who were not bound by the regulations of the Western Union, and who could not keep to themselves every item of personal interest. The Sidney office wired mysterious inquiries to Sanders; Sanders insisted on knowing what it meant, and presently Laramie, Sanders, Sidney, Russell, Red Cloud, and even Chug Water were clicking away in confidential discussion over the extraordinary theft and flight. And Mrs. Charlton's letter came none too early to save old Waller from despair. It was a woman, a gabbling laundress, who first told him of the rumor, and Mrs. Charlton saw him hastening to the telegraph office just as she had finished reading the letter.

"Mr. Nelson, quick!" she called to a young officer just passing the gate. "Stop Sergeant Waller at once. Don't let him go to the office. Make him come here to me. He will hear and obey you."

And Mr. Nelson touched his cap, leaped lightly across the acequia, and his powerful young voice was heard thundering, "Sergeant Waller!" in peremptory tones across the parade. "Sergeant Waller!" echoed a half dozen voices as the loungers on barrack porches took up the cry, "Lieutenant Nelson wants you!" and the soldier instinct prevailed, the old man turned and hastened toward the officers' quarters.

"What is it, Mrs. Charlton," asked Nelson. "Has there been another fight? Is Fred killed? It will break the old man's heart."

"Oh, Mr. Nelson! I can't tell you about it yet!" she almost wailed. "There's bad news, and I'm afraid the old man has heard it. Stay here, near me a moment, can you? Oh, look at his face! Look at his face! He has heard."

White, livid, trembling from head to foot, the old soldier hurried toward the young officer and dumbly raised his hand in the mechanical salute.

"It is Mrs. Charlton who wants you, sergeant," said Mr. Nelson kindly. "Go to her," and without a word the veteran passed in at the gate.

She held forth her hand, her eyes brimming with tears. Instinctively he halted, the old respect and reverence for "captain's lady" checking the wild torrent of grief and anxiety, but she caught him by the arm and led him wondering and submissive, yet overwhelmed with cruel dread, into her cool and darkened parlor. There, with wild, imploring eyes, the old man half stretched forth two palsied hands, his forage cap falling unheaded to the floor, his whole frame shaking.

"Don't give way, sergeant; don't believe it!" she cried, and at her first words a look as of horror came into the stricken old face, and the hands clasped together in piteous appeal. "Listen to what the captain says. His letter has just come, and I was sure, when I saw you, that someone had told you the rumor. Captain Charlton will not believe a word of it. He was at Laramie on court-martial or it would not have happened. He has hurried back to Red Cloud to investigate, and he declares that Fred shall have justice done him. I'll never believe it – never! Why, we would trust him with anything we owned."

"I – I thank the captain. I thank Mrs. Charlton," he brokenly replied. "It's stunned like I am." He raised his hands and pressed them against his eyes, and one of them was lowered suddenly, feebly groping for support. She seized his arm and strove to lead him to a sofa. "You must sit down, sergeant," she said.

"No, ma'am, no!" he protested, straightening himself with a violent effort. "Now, may I hear what it is they say against my boy, ma'am? I want every word. Don't be afraid, ma'am, I can bear it."

Then, with infinite sympathy and pity, she told him, softening every detail, suggesting an explanation for every circumstance that pointed to his guilt; and all the time the old man stood there, his eyes, filled with dumb anguish, fixed upon her face, his hands clasped together as though in entreaty, his fingers twitching nervously. At every new and damaging detail, condone or explain it though she would, he shuddered as though smitten with a sharp, painful spasm; but when it came to Fred's midnight disappearance – horse, arms, and all – in the heart of the Indian country, stealing away from his comrades in the shadow of disgrace and crime, the old man groaned aloud and buried his face in his hands. Some time he stood there, reeling, yet resisting her efforts to draw him to a seat. She pleaded with him hurriedly, impulsively, yet he seemed not to hear. At last with one long shivering sigh, he suddenly straightened up and faced her. His hands fell by his side. He cleared his throat and strove to speak:

"You've been good to me, ma'am – so good" – and here he choked, and for a moment could not go on – "and to my boy" – at last he finished, with impulsive rush of words. "I know how they're sometimes tempted. I know how, more than once, the little fellow would be led away by the roughs in the troop, just to worry me; but he never hid a thing from me, ma'am, never; and if he's in trouble now he would tell me the whole truth, even if it broke us both down. I'll not believe it till I see him, ma'am; but I must go – I must go until I find my boy."

Blinded with tears, Mrs. Charlton could hardly see the swaying, grief-bowed old soldier as he left the house; but Nelson was waiting close at hand, and stepped forward and took his place by the sergeant's side.

"I don't know what the trouble is," he said, "but I'm going as far as the headquarters with you, and if there is anything on earth I can do to help you, do not fail to tell me."

That night, with a week's furlough and a letter from his post commander to Major Edwards at Sidney, old Sergeant Waller was jolting eastward in the caboose of a freight train.

CHAPTER VIII.
LOYAL FRIENDS

IT was on Friday morning, at daybreak, that the desertion of Trumpeter Waller was reported to Lieutenant Blunt. It was Friday night that the telegrams were sent to Laramie and that Charlton's letter left by stage. It was Saturday afternoon just before parade that the mail was distributed at Fort Sanders; and that very evening, before Major Edwards had received and had time to read his letter from the West, the sergeant had started on his long and fatiguing journey. All night long in sleepless misery he sat in a corner of the caboose, occasionally rising and tramping unsteadily to and fro. At Cheyenne a delay of half an hour occurred, and he left the train and paced restlessly up and down the platform under the freight sheds. He dared not go down to the lighted offices and the crowded passenger station just below him. It seemed as though everyone knew of Fred's story by this time. He could see the gleam of forage-cap ornaments and the glint of army buttons among the people at the dépot, and knew there were several officers and soldiers there. Never before had he known what it was to shrink from facing any man on earth; but to-night, though he almost starved for further news from his boy, he could not bring himself to meet them and ask.

Along toward morning, at Pine Bluffs, a herdsman got aboard, and what he had to say was of startling interest. Hitherto the Indian war parties had kept well to the north of the Platte, "but" said he, "ever since Friday the Sidney road has been swarming with them – both sides of the river – and they are killing everything white they can lay their hands on."

"My God!" thought Waller, "and Fred must be in the very midst of them. Better so," he added, "if indeed he can be guilty." The herder had evidently been sorely frightened by all he heard, and he was hurrying to Sidney to join a party of cattle-men who were camping there. He had been drinking too, and took more and more as the night wore on, and became maudlin in his talk. It was nine o'clock on Sunday morning when they reached Sidney station, and the first thing that old Waller saw was a strong concord wagon with a four-mule team and an army driver. Two infantry soldiers with their rifles and girt with cartridge-belts were standing close at hand. Two officers were stowing their rifles inside the wagon, and an orderly was strapping the tarpaulin over the light luggage in the "boot." One of the officers the sergeant knew instantly – an aid-de-camp of the commanding general. The other was older in years and bore on his cap the insignia of the staff. The younger officer saw him before he could step into the office, and Sergeant Waller knew it – knew too, with the quickness of thought, that he had heard of Fred's disappearance and presumable crime. He could have shrunk from meeting his superiors in the shadow of this bitter sorrow and disgrace. Even while he could not accept the belief that his boy was actually a deserter and a thief, he knew full well what other men must think. But Captain Cross was a cavalryman himself, and had known old Waller for years. He dropped his rifle, came straight forward, and took him by the hand.

"Sergeant, I don't believe it of your boy; I've known his father too long," was all he said, as he pressed the veteran's hand. Poor old Waller, worn with anguish, long vigil, and utter lack of food of any kind, was now so weak that he could only, with the utmost difficulty, choke back the sobs that shook his frame. Speak he dare not; he would have broken down. Cross led him to the lunch room at the station and made him swallow a cup of coffee, then gently questioned him as to what he knew.

"We go at once to Red Cloud – Colonel Gaines and I – and maybe on the road I shall hear something of him. Sergeant, rest assured your son shall have fair play," said the aid-de-camp, as he was about to turn away.

"But, captain – I beg pardon, sir," broke in Waller hurriedly, in almost the first words he had spoken. "Where is your escort? Surely you won't take this route without one?"

"There isn't a trooper at Sidney, sergeant. We have a couple of infantrymen in the wagon and another on a mule. That's the best we can do, and we've got no time to spare. We must be at Red Cloud to-morrow, and this is the shortest line."

"But, sir, haven't you heard? The Sioux are out in force and all along the road, both above and below the Platte. There's a herder on the train who told us. He got aboard at Pine Bluffs this morning."

"I can hardly believe that," answered Cross. "Captain Forrest with the Grays is scouting south of Red Cloud. Captain Wallace was ordered to watch the fords along the Platte on this line; Captain Charlton is out – or at least the whole troop has been, and there are three more. Surely Major Edwards would know over at the barracks, if the Indians were anywhere between us and the river, – we'll get an escort from Captain Wallace the other side, – but he has not heard a word."

"But I beg the captain to hear what the man says, sir," urged Sergeant Waller. "He's been drinking, but he tells the same story, practically, that he told us when he got aboard. Let me find him, sir."

And find him he did, even more maudlin and thick-tongued by this time, and evidently determined to make the most of his dramatic story for the benefit of the two officers and swarm of interested lookers-on. He only succeeded in inspiring the colonel with mingled incredulity and disgust.

"I don't believe a word of it," he said to Captain Cross. "And we are losing valuable time. We must start at once."

An hour later this peaceful Sabbath morning, the sergeant stood, cap in hand, before Major Edwards on the veranda of his pleasant quarters. Two pretty children were playing with a big, shaggy, lazy staghound, pulling his ears and tormenting him in various ways; a pleasant-faced lady came forth, sunshade and prayer book in hand, and at sight of her the little ones reluctantly rose and bade good-by to their four-footed friend, and the party started slowly away across the green parade to the post chapel, nodding and smiling to the spruce orderly, who stood respectfully aside to let them pass. Mrs. Edwards glanced quickly and sympathetically into the sergeant's sad face as he stood there before her husband's easy-chair. She knew well what it all meant, but there was nothing for her to say. Small parties of infantry officers and of ladies and children joined them on the way to the humble wooden sanctuary; the soft notes of the bugle were sounding church call; a warm gentle breeze from the southern plains stirred the folds of the big flag; the sunshine was joyous and brilliant, and all spoke of peace, order, and contentment. Yet there stood Waller with almost bursting heart; and yonder, only a few miles across the grassy ridge to the north, rode that little party of officers and men to almost certain death.

The major looked up as he finished reading the letter placed in his hands.

"I have no words to tell you of my sympathy and sorrow, sergeant. Of course you know my plain duty in the matter. The sheriff has been notified, and two of his deputies already have gone out to search. He would hardly be mad enough to come anywhere near us, if guilty. But if he is taken he will be held here under my charge, and I will see that you have every proper opportunity of visiting him. The adjutant tells me you had heard something of the Indians being south of the Platte. What was it?"

"A man who boarded our train at the Bluffs, sir. He claimed to have had to ride hard for his life yesterday afternoon, and that there were scores of the Sioux this side of the river. I took him to Colonel Gaines and Captain Cross, sir; but the man had been drinking so much that they distrusted him entirely. They left the station before I started for the barracks, sir."

The major sat thoughtfully gazing out across the parade a moment; then answered:

"We have had no rumors of anything of the kind, and they would be almost sure to come this way to us, if anyone heard of such stories. There are no settlers along the road, after leaving the springs, out here until you reach the Platte. I can hardly believe it, but we'll see what can be got from the man when he sobers up. Now the sergeant-major will go with you to the quarters, and I will see you later in the day."