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  Long lived that beautiful evening in the memory of four young hearts. A sweet south wind had been gently playing all day and left the night warm and fragrant of the pines and cedars in the mountain parks. All Fort Emory seemed made up of women and children now, for such few soldiers as were left, barring the bandsmen, were packing or helping pack and store about the barracks. From soon after eight until nearly ten the musicians occupied their sheltered wooden kiosk on the parade, and filled the air with sweet strains of waltz or song or stirring martial melody.

  For an hour, with Elinor Folsom on his arm, young Dean was strolling up and down the moonlit walk, marveling over the beauty of her dark, yet winsome face, and Loomis and Jessie, stanch friends already, sauntered after them. For a time the merry chat went on unbroken. They were talking of that never-to-be-forgotten visit to the Point—Pappoose's first—and of the hop to which the tall cadet captain took the timid schoolgirl, and of her hop card and the distinguished names it bore, as names ran in the old days of the battalion; of Ray, who danced so beautifully and rode so well—he was with the —th cavalry now somewhere along the U. P., said Dean—and of Billings the cadet adjutant; he was with a light battery in Louisiana. "Where this Captain Newhall is stationed," interrupted Pappoose, with quick, upward look. "I wonder if he knows him, Mr. Dean."

  "He doesn't like him, I'll venture to say," said Dean, "if Newhall doesn't suit you and Jessie, and I'm sure I shan't." And then they went on to talk of the lovely dance music they had at the Point that summer, and how bewitchingly Elsen used to play that pretty galop—"Puckwudjies"—the very thing for a moonlit night. One could almost see the Indian fairies dancing about their tiny fires.

  "It was that galop—my first at West Point—that I danced with Cadet Captain Dean," said Pappoose, looking blithely up into his steadfast eyes. "You've no idea what a proud girl I was!" They were at the upper end of the parade at the moment. The kiosk was only fifty yards away, its band lights sparkling under the canopy, the moonlight glinting on the smooth surface of the dancing floor that an indulgent post commander had had placed there. Half a dozen young garrison girls, arm in arm and by twos, were strolling about its waxen face awaiting the next piece; and some of them had been importuning the leader, for at the moment, soft and rippling, sweet and thrilling, quick and witching, the exquisite opening strains of "Puckwudjies" floated out upon the night.

  "Oh, Jess! Listen!" cried Elinor in ecstasy and surprise, as she turned back with quickly beating heart.

  "No, no, indeed!" replied her soldier escort, with a throb in his breast that echoed and overmastered that in her own. "No time to listen—come! It was your first galop at the Point—let it be our first in Wyoming." And in a moment more the tall, lithe, supple, slender forms were gliding about the dancing-floor in perfect time to the lovely music, but now her dark eyes could not meet the fire in the blue. Following their lead, Loomis and Jessie joined the dance. Other couples from along the row hastened to the scene. In five minutes a lively hop was on at Emory, and when at last, breathing a little hurriedly and with heightened color, Elinor Folsom glanced up into his joyous and beaming face—"You had forgotten that galop, Mr. Dean," she archly said, but down went the dark eyes again at his fervent reply.

  "Yes, I admit it; but so long as I live I'll never forget this."

  Small wonder was it that when Burleigh came driving out at tattoo for a brief conference with the colonel, his sallow face took on a darker shade as he suddenly caught sight of that couple standing at the moment apart from the dancers, seeing neither them nor him, hearing for the moment no music but that which trembled in the tones of his deep voice, for Elinor was strangely silent.

  "Marshall Dean," whispered Jessie that night, as she hugged him before being lifted to her seat, "tell me true, wasn't Pappoose's picture in your heart pocket? Didn't that bullet crease it?"

  "Promise on your honor not to tell, Jess," he whispered.

  She nodded delightedly.

  "Yes, and what's more, it's there now!"

  Early on the morrow came further news. Troops from Steele and Bridger were on the move, but no word came for the cavalry at Emory, and Marshall Dean, hitherto most eager for field service, learned with joy he felt ashamed to own that he had still another day to spend in the society of Jessie and her friend. But how much of that elation Jessie could have claimed as due to her every sister whose brother is in love can better tell than I. At eight they came driving out to hear the band at guard-mounting, though to old Pecksniff's pathetic sorrow he could mount only twelve men all told. That ceremony over, they watched with kindling eyes the sharp drill of Marshall's troop; that soldierly young commander, one may feel well assured, showing his men, his horses, and himself off to the best of his ability, as who would not have done under such scrutiny as that. Loomis was with them, but Elinor drove, for her father had urgent business, he said, and must remain at his office. Major Burleigh, he added, was to meet him, whereat the girls were silent.

  "If you could have beard the major pleading with that cantankerous old fool at the fort in Marshall's behalf you would get over your wrath at Burleigh just as I did," said Folsom, to both, apparently, and still neither answered. Burleigh was evidently persona non grata in the eyes of both. "He tells me Captain Newhall is still here, waiting for a train to be made up to run back to Cheyenne. I'm afraid I'll have to ask him to bring the captain to dinner to-day. Do you think Mr. Dean will care to come?" he asked.

  "I think he would rather not leave camp," said Jessie slowly. "Orders may come any minute, he says."

  "Yes, I suppose so," answered Folsom, vaguely relieved. Something told him there was antagonism between the young fellow and Burleigh that would be apt to involve Newhall, too. "I'll ask them both, if you don't very much mind," he went on, whispering to Elinor. "And will you tell Mrs. Fletcher? How is she this morning?"

  "Just as usual, papa. She says she has rather violent headaches once in a while, and she thinks it prudent to keep her room to-day. But I can attend to everything." Indeed, thought the daughter, she wished she had it all to do.

  And so Folsom had gone to meet Burleigh, and the girls had planned, at least Jessie had, that Marshall after drill should ride beside them into town and have a chat in the parlor while she wrote to mother in the library. But a thing happened that no one could have foreseen. Just before drill was over and while they were still watching it from their seats in the covered wagon, a buggy drove up alongside and Major Burleigh jumped out, gave the reins to his companion and bade him come to him as soon as he had finished what he wished to do at the sutler's. The major's face was perturbed, that of his companion looked black and ugly. It was Captain Newhall, and something was amiss. The latter barely tipped his hat in driving away, the former heaved a sigh of relief, then turned to greet the girls.

  Ten minutes passed in constraint and awkwardness. Burleigh felt that he was unwelcome, but his eyes were fixed in fascination on Elinor Folsom, and he could not go. Presently drill was dismissed, and Dean, all aglow, came galloping up, his orderly trumpeter following. Not until he had joyously greeted both the girls did he see who was standing by the forward wheel on the opposite side.

  "Good-morning, Mr. Dean," said Burleigh affably. "I never saw that troop look so well."

  "Good-morning, sir," said Dean coldly. Then turned to speak again to Miss Folsom when the buggy came whirring back.

  "He isn't here, Burleigh," said the occupant petulantly. "He's in town, and you've got to find him right off. Come on!"

  Burleigh turned livid. "Captain Newhall," he said, "you fail to notice I am with friends."

  "They are friends who will be glad to get rid of you, then," replied the stranger thickly, and it was easy to see that he had been drinking. All the same Burleigh went.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XIV.

  Another day Dean and Troop "C" were held in camp awaiting orders for special service, and no orders came. "Old Pecksniff" had an eye for pretty girls, a trait by no means rare in
soldiers old or young, and prettier girls than Pappoose and Jessie he had never met. Mrs. Stevens was accordingly bidden to invite them to luncheon that very day, and Dean and Loomis were of the party, as were other young people of the post, and, despite the rising war clouds in the north and the recent unpleasantness at Emory and an odd manner indicative of suppressed excitement on part of both Dean and Loomis, a very joyous time they had until the damsels Had to drive home to dress for dinner. Folsom had named six as the hour. Burleigh, Newhall and the two boys were mentioned as his guests. Burleigh accepted for self and partner, Loomis for himself, with mental reservation. Dean at once had begged to be excused. After the morning's disappearance of Burleigh and "Surly," as Miss Folsom promptly named the pair, Marshall had ridden into Gate City at the side of the Folsom carriage, and was welcomed by the old trader himself, who looked pained when told he could not attend the dinner. "Surely Colonel Stevens will let you off," said Folsom, but that obviously was not the reason.

  "I'm the only officer with my troop," said Dean, "and so cannot ask."

  But when Folsom took his daughter in his arms a little later and inquired whether there were not some graver cause behind the one assigned, Elinor calmly answered that she thought there was, and that the cause was Major Burleigh.

  "But, daughter dear," said he, "that's just one reason I wish to bring them together. Then Dean could see how pleasantly disposed the major is," and he was amazed when she replied:

  "Major Burleigh may be pleasantly disposed, but Mr. Dean is not, by any means, nor would I be were I in his place, papa."

  "My child," said he, "what do you know about it?"

  "Everything that Jessie knows, besides what we heard on the train. Mar—Mr. Dean told her of several things Major Burleigh had said and done to his discredit, and no wonder he declines to dine with a man who has deliberately maligned him."

  "I wish I had thought of that," said Folsom, his knotty hands deep in the pockets of his loose-fitting trousers. "I saw Burleigh this morning on some business, and he seemed to want to help Dean along. What took him out to the fort, do you suppose?"

  "I don't know," she answered gravely. "He had Captain Newhall with him, in quest of somebody who wasn't there."

  "Ah, yes, Griggs, the sutler. I heard of it," interposed Folsom, fingering his watchchain.

  "Very possibly. The captain was ugly and rude in manner and Major Burleigh very much embarrassed. Indeed, Daddy dear, I should not be greatly surprised if others of your party failed to come."

  "Burleigh, do you mean, or his queer guest?"

  But Pappoose did not reply. She seemed listening intently, and then with swift, sudden movement darted across to the heavy Navajo blanket portière that hung at the doorway of a little room back of the library. Her voice was far from cordial as she asked:

  "Were you looking for any one, Mrs. Fletcher? I thought you were in your room."

  "For Mr. Folsom, please, when he is at leisure," was the answer, in unruffled tones. "I believe it easier to take active part in the preparations than to lie there thinking."

  At one the girls were to lunch at the fort, as has been said, and it was time for them to dress. There were other matters on which Elinor much wished to talk with her father and, with more reluctance than she had yet experienced, she left him to hear what Mrs. Fletcher might have to say. The conference was brief enough, whatever its nature, for presently his voice was heard at the foot of the stairs.

  "I'm going over to the depot a few minutes, Daught. I wish to see Burleigh. Don't wait for me. Start whenever you are ready. Where do the boys meet you?"

  "Here, Daddy, at half-past twelve."

  It was high noon now, and the ruddy-faced old fellow grew redder as the summer sun beat down on his gray head, but he strode sturdily down the broad avenue that led to the heart of the bustling new town, turned to the right at the first cross street beyond his own big block, and ten minutes' brisk tramp brought him to the gateway of Burleigh's stockaded inclosure. Two or three employees lounging about the gate were gazing curiously within. Silently they let him pass them by, but a sound of angry voices rose upon the heated air. Just within the gate stood the orderly trumpeter holding two horses by the reins, one of them Marshall Dean's, and a sudden idea occurred to Folsom as he glanced at the open windows of the office building. There was no mistaking the speaker within. It was Burleigh.

  "Leave my office instantly, sir, or I'll prefer charges that will stick——"

  "Not till I've said what I came to say, Major Burleigh. I've abundant evidence of what you've been saying at my expense. You asserted that I lost my nerve the day we met Red Cloud's band—you who never dared get out of the ambulance until the danger was over. It's common talk in the troop. At Frayne, at Reno, and here at Emory you have maligned me just as you did in the cars to my friend here, Mr. Loomis, and in hearing of my sister. I will not accept your denial nor will I leave your office till you swallow your words."

  "Then, by God, I'll have you thrown out, you young whipsnapper!"

  And then Folsom, with fear at his heart, ran around to the doorway to interpose. He came too late. There was a sound of a furious scuffle within, a rattling of chairs, a crunching of feet on sanded floor, and as he sprang up the steps he saw Dean easily squirming out from the grasp of some member of the clerical force, who, at his master's bidding, had thrown himself upon the young officer, who then deftly tripped his heels from under him and dropped him on the floor, while Loomis confronted the others who would have made some show of obeying orders. And then there was the whirr of a whip-lash, a crack and snap and swish, and a red welt shot across Burleigh's livid face as he himself staggered back to his desk. With raging tongue and frantic oath he leaped out again, a leveled pistol in his hand, but even before he could pull trigger, or Folsom interpose, Loomis's stick came down like a flash on the outstretched wrist, and the pistol clattered to the floor.

  "Good God, boys! what are you doing?" cried the trader, as he hurled himself between them. "Stop this instantly. Sit down, Burleigh. Come out, Dean—come out at once! And you, too, Loomis."

  "I'm entirely ready—now," said the cavalry lieutenant, though his eyes were flaming and his lips were rigid. "But whenever Major Burleigh wants to finish this he can find me," and with these words he backed slowly to the door, face to the panting and disordered foe.

  "Finish this! you young hound, I'll finish you!" screamed Burleigh, as he shook his clinched fist at the retiring pair.

  "Go, boys, go!" implored Folsom. "I'll see you by and by. No—no—sit still, Burleigh. Don't you speak. This must stop right here."

  And so the old man's counsels prevailed, and the two friends, with grave, pallid, but determined faces, came out into the sunshine, and with much deliberation and somewhat ostentatious calm proceeded to where the orderly waited with the horses.

  "You will see—the ladies out to camp, Loomis?" asked Dean. "I must gallop on ahead."

  "Ay, ay, go on, I reckon——"

  But on this scene there suddenly appeared a third party, in the partial guise of an officer and the grip of Bacchus. Lurching down the office steps, with flushed face and bloodshot eyes, came Captain Newhall.

  "Gen'l'm'n," said he thickly, "le'm 'ntroduce m'self. Haven't th' honor y'r 'quain's. I'm Ca'm New(hic)'ll. Cap'n N-n-(hic)oohaul (this cost prodigious effort and much balancing), an'—an' you sherv'd that f'ler per-per-flicky ri'. He's dam scoun'rl—gen'lemen—an' ole frien' mine."

  For an instant he stood swaying unsteadily, with half-extended hand. For an instant the two young officers gazed at him in contempt, then turned abruptly away.

  "Good Lord, Marshall," said Loomis, as they cleared the gate, "if that's the only approbation this day's work will bring us what will the results be? You served him right, no doubt, but—" and an ominous shake of the head wound up the sentence.

  "But or no but," said Dean, "it's done now, and I'd do it again."

  There was no dinner party at Folsom's that evening. At two a
messenger trotted out to the post with a note for Miss Folsom to apprise her of the fact, and without a word or change of color she put it into her pocket. The garrison girls were bent on having them spend the afternoon, but presently Miss Folsom found a moment in which to signal to Jess, and at three they were driving home.

  "You will surely come out this evening and hear the music and have a dance," were the parting salutations, as with skillful hands the young girl took up the reins.

  "We hope to," was her smiling answer. Jess was clinging to her brother's hand as he stood by the wheel, and Loomis had already clambered in beside her.

  "Please come, Marshall," pleaded Jessie; but he shook his head.

  "I must be at camp this evening, sister mine. We go to stables in an hour. You will come back, Loomis?"

  "As soon as I've seen—" and a significant nod supplied the ellipsis.

  Something ominous was in the wind and both girls knew it. Loomis, usually gay and chatty, was oddly silent, as the light, covered wagon sped swiftly homeward. Beside the fair charioteer sat a young officer of the infantry who, vastly rejoicing that Dean could not go, had laughingly possessed himself of the vacant place, and to him Miss Folsom had to talk. But they parted from their escorts at the gate and hastened within doors. Just as Elinor expected, papa had not come home. It was nearly six when she saw him striding slowly and thoughtfully up the road, and she met him at the gate.