CHAPTER XIV.

That Mrs. Pelham should fail to put in an appearance at the breakfast-table on the morning succeeding her tirade at the expense of Mr. Ray was a circumstance neither to be unexpected nor greatly deplored. It had frequently happened of late that the colonel and his daughter had been the only partakers of that meal, as we Americans are perforce condemned to designate those household gatherings whereat, be it breakfast or dinner, tea, supper, or luncheon, we thankfully consume our daily bread. I hate the word, yet what have we as a suitable equivalent? Repast is stilted, refection monastic, and refreshment applies equally to a bath or a “cocktail.” Meal it must be in all its Anglo-Saxon ugliness until some gifted word-builder come to our rescue and evolve a term less objectionable.

The morning had dawned bright and beautiful, and Grace, whose sleep had been broken and troubled, rose with the sun, and busied herself noiselessly with a neglected diary and an equally neglected correspondence until the trumpets sounding first call for guard-mounting warned her that it was time to make her father’s coffee. First, however, she tapped at her mother’s door, and receiving no answer, softly opened it and peered in. Whether asleep or awake her ladyship gave no indication, so Grace stole on tiptoe to the bedside. Her mother’s eyes were closed, and to Grace’s gentle inquiry as to how she had passed the night, and whether she would breakfast there, no reply was vouchsafed, so the girl quietly turned and left her. Breakfast over, she and her father had betaken themselves to the piazza and watched the guard as it passed in review. Then as the colonel walked over to his office to receive the report of the officer of the day, Mr. Truscott, in utter disregard of his established custom, came striding towards her. Ladies on the other galleries were as quick to notice it as Grace herself, and several pairs of inquisitive eyes followed his movements as he stopped before her and, raising his helmet in salutation, stood, with one foot resting upon the lower step, looking up into her face.

Oddly enough, her first impulse on seeing him approach was to retire within-doors and await his coming in the parlor. Glancing along the line, she could see that the unusual circumstance of the adjutant’s going to greet her instead of direct to his own quarters had attracted wide attention. Her cheek flushed, and her eyes looked all the brighter in consequence; perhaps, too, she bit her scarlet lip in the effort to quiet the strange and tremulous emotion with which she marked this, the first overt act on his part since her arrival at Camp Sandy that savored of “attention” to her. Little as it might have been among the other officers, it meant something where Truscott was concerned. The instant he had returned sabre after passing the officer of the day, and before the guard had wheeled to left into line, he faced about and went to the spot where she stood, and now here he was looking steadfastly up into her eyes.

“Are you sure you feel entirely equal to another ride this morning, Miss Pelham?” he asked.

“I am; and I shall not rest until I have subdued that scamp of a horse.”

“Then, if the hour suit you, we will start at ten o’clock,” he said, smiling at the determination of her manner. “I see you are eager to try conclusions with Ranger again, and there is nothing to prevent my starting early, provided I go at once to the office.” And with that, suddenly as he came, he left her. She could hardly realize that he had been there at all. Turning to enter the house, she saw that Mrs. Tanner had stepped out upon her piazza, and Mrs. Tanner’s eyes were fixed upon the retiring form of Mr. Truscott, who, without backward glance, was walking rapidly towards headquarters.

Only the day before, despite the vague distrust inspired by her mother’s innuendoes, Grace had been won to the gentle-mannered little lady by the interest and attention she had shown her after the runaway. She wanted to greet her with a cordial “good-morning,” but for a moment Mrs. Tanner absolutely did not seem to be aware of her presence, and once more the feeling of aversion struggled for the mastery. Grace seized the knob of the door and turned it sharply, even then looking back at her neighbor, and just as she did so Mrs. Tanner caught sight of her; a bright smile of recognition flashed over her face, and with a gesture of invitation she stepped blithely forward as though to speak. Grace Pelham simply bowed calmly, yes, coldly and entered the house; and Mrs. Raymond, two doors farther north, saw the whole thing, and went over at once to ask Mrs. Turner what she thought of it.

It was a “troop drill” morning, and at nine o’clock all the officers except the staff and the officer of the day were summoned to their commands. For two years previous drills of any kind had been the exception rather than the rule in the —th, for the entire regiment had been occupied incessantly in mountain and desert scouting. Now, however, Colonel Pelham had succeeded in assembling six of his companies at headquarters, and had inaugurated a system of instruction which promised well for the discipline and _morale_ of the command. By half-past nine the flats to the north of the garrison were alive with blue-bloused troopers and gay with fluttering guidons, while the trumpets, softened by distance, floated their stirring skirmish-calls back to the spectators on the upper end of the parade; and here it was that most of the ladies had gathered to watch the lively evolutions up the valley.

Followed by his orderly the colonel himself had ridden past the group on his way to superintend the drills, and to note with practised and critical eye the work of his officers and men. And so it happened that when ten o’clock came and Mr. Truscott with the horses arrived at the Pelhams’ door, not a lady in the garrison took note of the fact. Grace promptly appeared, was swung up into saddle before she realized that her foot was in his hand, and in another instant found herself riding at a quiet walk down the slope to the south, out of sight of the denizens of officers’ row.

Beyond a quiet commendation of her punctuality and a request that she should “ride him on the snaffle,” for a few moments Mr. Truscott had not spoken. He was narrowly watching Ranger’s eye and the tapering, sensitive ears, which kept tilting back and forth in response to the varying emotions of that unrepentant quadruped. As for Grace, she sat as gracefully erect, as jauntily unconcerned to all appearance, as though the runaway of the day before were a matter of no earthly consequence; but her hand, light and low, felt warily the champing mouth, and the curb-rein lay within the pressure of her fingers, where a mere inch of a turn of the wrist would bring it into play. She noted that Truscott rode well forward, close to Ranger’s head, noted the steady gaze of his dark eye, and a feeling of security stole over her. Ranger might curvet as he pleased, no movement could be too sudden for that vigilant watch or for that ready hand. Another moment and side by side the horses plunged breast-deep into the rapid waters of the Sandy, forded the stream, and disappeared among the willows on the eastern bank.

It must have been somewhere about eleven o’clock when Lady Pelham descended to the dining-room in quest of toast and tea. These not being entirely to her liking, she fussily wandered through her parlor for a few moments, tossing over the books and magazines as was her wont when mentally disturbed, and finally betaking herself to the piazza. Recall had sounded, and the troops were returning from drill. Some little distance up the row she saw her husband, seated on his horse, conversing with one or two officers. She had not met him since the previous evening, and she was not eager to meet him now. That he was greatly incensed at her violent conduct of yesterday she felt morally certain; and whether she had bettered her cause, as she regarded Glenham’s suit, she felt by no means assured. Presently the colonel came riding towards her, and she prepared herself to greet him as she thought might be most soothing to his ruffled feelings; but to her amaze and wrath he actually pulled up his horse the instant he caught sight of her, and then, with a most flagrant counterfeit of interest and cordiality,—so she deemed it,—he dismounted at Mrs. Tanner’s door-step, and, bidding the orderly take his horse to the stable, entered into a lively conversation with that lady, who, with Rosalie, was awaiting the return of the captain from drill. Angry again, and in good earnest, her ladyship marched within-doors and spent half an hour in the preparation of a lecture to be delivered on her lord’s return. Then it occurred to her that she had not seen Grace since breakfast-time, when that dutiful daughter was tiptoeing out of the maternal bedroom. Inquiry of the housemaid resulted in the information that Miss Grace had gone riding.

“With whom?” asked Mrs. Pelham, shortly.

“Mr. Truscott, mum,” was the reply.

For an instant her ladyship stood transfixed. Then she abruptly left the room, mounted the stairs, took from her desk a letter she had received only a few days before, read it carefully over, thrust it in her pocket, and returned to the piazza. Colonel Pelham was still talking blithely to Mrs. Tanner, and the captain, holding Rosalie on his knee, was toying with the child’s pretty hair. It made a cheery picture, that group at the neighboring quarters, and Mrs. Tanner, catching sight of her lonely ladyship, forgiving the slights and coldnesses she had received at her hands, rose, and, coming to the end of the gallery, invited the elder lady to come and join them, but retired in unmistakable mortification at the very discourteous manner in which her invitation was received. Pelham himself colored with indignation and speedily rose, bade them good-morning, and with a fixed determination to bring his wife to a realizing sense of the outrageous nature of her conduct, accosted her briefly with, “I have something to say to you, Dolly; come into the house,” and led the way into the parlor. There he turned and faced her, and was surprised to note how preternaturally calm and complacent she looked.

“Sit down,” he said, and without a word she obeyed. “I had grave reason to want to see you earlier this morning. Now I have still graver reason to claim your attention to what I have to say. Are you at leisure? Have you time now to listen to me?” he continued, striving to speak gently and quietly.

“I am entirely at your service, Colonel Pelham,” was the stately reply.

“Very well, then,” and as he spoke he paced slowly up and down the floor. “Yesterday you saw fit to behave with infinite discourtesy and rudeness to Mr. Ray, my guest, at dinner,—a gentleman whom I have every reason to regard highly personally, and an officer of whom the regiment is proud. Yesterday morning”—and here his voice began to tremble—“he saved your daughter’s life. Last evening you actually insulted him at our table. The reasons you gave were frivolous, if not absolute falsifications. I trust that a night of reflection has taught you the propriety of your making amends to him as well as to Grace in the near future.” He paused and looked at her. She was seated placidly in the easy-chair, her hard eyes fixed on a tiny statuette on the mantel. She never looked more imperturbable in her life, and he could not understand it. The mere fact that he should have been allowed to address a few score of words of reproof to her uninterrupted was in itself so unusual as to be absolutely disconcerting. She answered not a word. So he went on again: “Ten minutes ago, in my presence, you rudely, very rudely rejected a courteous invitation from Mrs. Tanner. I have seen other instances of your discourtesy to her, but nothing so glaring as this, and now I have called you here to listen to my opinion of your conduct——”

“One moment, Colonel Pelham,” she calmly spoke.

“Hey?” he stammered, at the placidity of her tone and manner.

“One moment, I say. Let me suggest that before you proceed to wither me by your remarks upon my so-called rudeness to Mrs.—to the person you have mentioned, it might be as well to be sure of your ground. You propose calling me to account because I repel, have repelled, and shall repel” (now she began to warm up to her work) “every attempt of that woman to seek my society. Be sure of your ground, colonel. Do—you—_know_ Mrs. Tanner, do you think?” And with uplifted eyebrows and insinuating accents her ladyship looked into his flushed and astonished face.

“Know her? Of course I do! There isn’t a more thorough lady in the regiment. What devil’s nonsense is this you are driving at? What do you mean to—to—hint or say? Speak out. I hate these feminine slurs. Who has dared malign her to you? or what do you dare say against her?”

“_Dare!_ Colonel Pelham. _Dare!_ I warn you to guard your temper. I pass over what you said regarding my manner to Mr. Ray. _That_ need not be touched upon now, but it is high time you were made aware of the character of the woman you desire to force upon my acquaintance and your innocent daughter’s. More than that, if you cannot see the desperate recklessness of allowing such men as Ray and Truscott to monopolize your child’s society and to go riding alone with her through the seclusion of this out-of-the-way neighborhood, I can and do, and as her mother I protest against it. You hate feminine slurs, you say; then beware lest the slurs of the whole garrison follow Grace, innocent as she is, as they have followed Mrs. Tanner, innocent as she is not!”

“Stop right there,” said Pelham. “Before you go one point further give me your authority for your insinuations against Mrs. Tanner, that I may judge whether it be even worth my while to hear a specific statement.” And his voice was harsh and strained, his eye troubled.

“Your past experience _ought_ to have told you that I never made an allegation I could not substantiate,” said madame, majestically (“It hasn’t, by a—gulp—good deal,” said the colonel, _sotto voce_), “but you pay no attention to my warnings. I tell you no idle gossip. Ask any lady in the garrison, any lady in the regiment, ay, any lady in Arizona, how Mrs. Tanner stands, and you will then begin to believe me. My ‘authority’ is legion, Colonel Pelham.”

“Then of what do you accuse her?” he demanded, wheeling sharply about and again confronting her.

“Of shameful or shameless (as you please) conduct with an officer in this regiment during her husband’s absence in the field.”

“Trash and nonsense! I don’t believe a word of it.”

“Ask any lady in the garrison.”

“I wouldn’t believe one of them against her. The whole thing is some vile concoction of jealous and malignant women, who envy her the respect in which she is held. By the eternal! Mrs. Pelham, you will do well to keep out of such infernal garrison scandal as this! You _would_ do well to——”

“Copy after her, I suppose you mean to say! Copy after _her_, colonel! Now listen——”

But listen he would not. The crunching of hoofs was heard on the gravelly road in front, and through the blinds he had caught sight of Grace and Truscott on their return. He stepped eagerly to the door, but even before he could reach the piazza the adjutant had thrown his reins to the orderly and lightly swung her from the saddle. A soft flush was mantling her fair cheek, and the brilliant eyes seemed bathed in a dewy light as she glanced up from under the fringing lashes to thank her escort. Even as he came forth to greet them the colonel could not but note how radiant was her beauty, and how earnest, how grave and reverent was Truscott’s manner as he bent low over the shyly tendered hand.

“It has been such a lovely ride, Mr. Truscott,” she said, “and I’m sure Ranger could not have gone better.”

“It has been a lovely ride to me, Miss Pelham,” he replied; “and I hope for others yet to come, may I not?” he asked, and as he asked he—he could not have been thinking as he stood gazing down into her face—retained in his the slender hand he had taken, and for an instant it did not seem to her at all an unusual thing; then she suddenly but gently withdrew it, and her color deepened as she answered,—

“Yes, indeed; I will ride with you gladly.”

And Mrs. Pelham, noting every look and word, set her teeth and muttered, “Not one more if _I_ know it.”

“Come to lunch, Truscott,” called the colonel; “we never see you nowadays. Come, man.”

And Truscott looked first towards her, a quick, flitting glance, but though she spoke no word, he thought he could read a second invitation in the sweet eyes that for one instant met his own.

“I will come, colonel, with pleasure,” he answered. “Let me sign those papers on my desk, and I will be here in fifteen minutes.”

Then Colonel Pelham re-entered the parlor. Grace darted up-stairs to change her dress, and Lady Pelham turned sharply from the window to meet her lord.

“You have asked Mr. Truscott here to lunch?” she inquired.

“Certainly I have,” said he, stung by the indescribable tone of her query.

“You consider Mr. Truscott a suitable escort for your daughter, and a fit person to invite to your table, I suppose?”

“Suppose!” he broke forth, flashing with indignation and annoyance. “Suppose! Look here, Dolly, this is becoming insupportable. Last night it was Ray. To-day, Truscott, my adjutant, the best officer and most thorough gentleman in the regiment. What has got into you? You of all others ought to welcome him. You know he has been the means of saving Ralph. You——”

“I know nothing of the kind. We owe everything to Mr. Glenham where Ralph is concerned, though Mr. Truscott would, doubtless, like to arrogate all that to himself. What I _do_ know is this, that your paragon of an adjutant is the man to whom Mrs. Tanner owes her fall——”

She stopped suddenly, trembling at her own audacity, at the force and outrage of the blow she had struck, and at the horror and amaze in his face. For an instant she longed to unsay, at least to qualify her words, to avert from herself the consequences she felt sure would result from the vile exaggeration of which she had been guilty. The expression in his face frightened her. At first he glared with anger; then, little by little, the color died away. Incredulity, pity, contempt, one after another, shone in the steady eyes which never left her face. At last, with a shrug of his shoulders, a “pa-a-h!” of utter disgust, he turned coldly and deliberately away. At the door he paused.

“I _thought_ the whole thing was a lie before. _Now_ I know it.”

She fairly rushed towards him. “You shall _not_ go until you have heard all. You must hear it now. You say”—seizing his arm—“you would believe no lady in this garrison. The time was when you used to hold Mrs. Treadwell up to me as the model of all an army wife should be. Perhaps you would ignore her opinion?”

“Mrs. Treadwell would never be mixed up in any such disgraceful business as the circulation of such a story,” he answered, coldly.

“But it _was_ Mrs. Treadwell,” she panted. “She herself who saw—who discovered the whole thing. She who warned the others that what they suspected was—was true.”

“You have been told this, perhaps,” he said, weary of the matter and of her, striving to pull away from her grasp; “but these women’s yarns are too malicious, too utterly base and baseless to be listened to. I don’t believe Mrs. Treadwell ever said such a thing.”

“You wouldn’t believe it, I suppose, if she herself were to write and tell you.”

“She never would write such a thing.”

“_Wouldn’t_ she, Colonel Pelham? Read that.” And her ladyship forced into his hand the letter she had secreted in her pocket. Barely glancing at the superscription, he thrust it aside.

“I will not read it. It is—well, it _may_ be hers, of course, but I do not desire to see it.”

“See or hear it you must. You accuse and believe me guilty of slander and malice. I tell you that the proof of my words is here. Be just, Colonel Pelham. I have some rights in this matter.”

Wearily his head bent forward on his breast, and his hands clinched in the paroxysm of disgust that had seized him.

“Read, if you must,” he said, finally; “I will hear what she has to say.” And read she did, slowly, emphatically, what follows.

“FORT HAYS, KANSAS, December 7, 18—.

“Your letter of the 23d ult. reached me yesterday, my dear Mrs. Pelham, and I am greatly distressed at its contents. You give me to understand that recent events have revived a story that I had hoped was long since forgotten, and you indicate that for your daughter’s sake it is necessary that you should know just what I know or saw. It is inexpressibly painful to me to have to write upon such a subject, and that I do so at all is due, first, to your urgent appeal on Grace’s account; second, to the fact that I believe you have heard a most exaggerated statement of what took place at Fort Phœnix. Under these circumstances I yield to your request.

“Mr. Truscott arrived suddenly at Phœnix. Captain Tanner’s quarters adjoined ours, and for a month or more Mrs. Tanner and I had been on terms of intimacy. I felt for her a warm and constantly-growing friendship, even admiration, and had been in the daily habit of running in to see her at any hour, never thinking of knocking at the door. Hearing of Mr. Truscott’s arrival and knowing how warm a regard she and her husband entertained for him, I dropped my work and hurried in to tell her, as I supposed, of his presence. The front door was open, the parlor-door partially so, and, as I entered hastily, I could not but see what I did. Mrs. Tanner was sobbing in his arms as he stood facing the door, her back was towards me, and she was looking up into his face, he down into hers. Neither of them observed me, and I withdrew at once.

“Two weeks afterwards, to my infinite regret, I, in strict confidence, told what I had seen to a lady now no longer with the regiment. She had heard some very cruel rumors, and—well, I cannot justify my action at all. I told her, and, beyond all doubt, the story has reached you in hideously expanded form. Beyond this I know nothing, and I beg that you will do all in your power to suppress any mention of even this that I have told you.

“It is hard to believe, but you compel me to believe that what took place at Phœnix was but the preface to the recent events you allude to. With all my heart I hope that all may be satisfactorily explained. She was my ideal of a true woman, and Colonel Treadwell thought _him_ a perfect gentleman and soldier.

“I have no heart to write of ordinary news or gossip. You will, of course, welcome the order relieving you from duty in Arizona and bringing you all East. Give much love to Grace, and tell her how I wish I could see her now. We have heard so much about her from Mr. Sprague and Mr. Walker of last year’s class. You do not mention Mr. Glenham, and they did.

“Very sincerely yours,

“E. G. TREADWELL.”

During the reading of this letter Colonel Pelham had stood motionless. Little by little the lines upon his brow grew deeper, and his mouth set firm and rigid. An ashy gray replaced the flush on face and forehead. He passed his hand wonderingly once or twice across his eyes, and at last stretched it forth.

“Let me see that one moment,” he said; and, taking it, he glanced over the pages, scrutinized the signature, and then, with an irrepressible shudder, handed it back.

She stood in silence before him. Well she knew that now it was no time to speak. The blow had struck home. She watched him as again he passed his hand along his forehead in that dazed, almost helpless manner, and at last in a voice hoarse and strange he spoke:

“Say no word of this to any one. I—I shall think it all over. There is—there must be some mistake, some explanation. Do you mean,” he asked, with sudden vehemence, “that they assert worse than this of her—of him?”

“They do,” was her answer. And without a word he turned and left the house. Going to the side-windows, she followed him with her eyes. With bent head and slow, uncertain steps he walked a few yards towards his office, whither the adjutant had gone, but, as though suddenly recollecting himself, he turned abruptly and went to the bluff-side east of the post. There she lost sight of him, and with vague uneasiness she left the parlor and sought her room. Presently Grace’s voice, blithe, low, and happy, was heard. The sweet words of a favorite song came floating back through the hallway, and her light footsteps went dancing down the stairs and into the empty parlor. “More like herself than she has been for days,” thought the mother, as she listened to the thrill and gladness that rose in every mellow note. Were her efforts, then, all in vain? Had she been too unwary in her guard? Had she allowed her, after all, to become interested in this man, and that, too, when fortune, position, independence, luxury, lay at her feet? Bathing her hot face in lavender-water, her ladyship stood in deep anxiety, even distress, before her mirror. She had seen nothing of Glenham that morning; he had not even come to inquire after Grace. What could that mean? Then how had it happened, too, that, despite all her warnings, Grace had gone riding with Truscott? She could not control her annoyance. Down she went into the parlor to investigate. It was the first meeting of mother and daughter that day, for Grace still believed that her mother had been asleep when she entered her room before breakfast. The girl had by no means forgotten her ladyship’s conduct of the previous day, and her kiss of greeting, though dutiful, was not warm and loving as of yore. Her song, too, ceased the instant she heard the stairs creaking under the maternal weight.

“You look unusually well, Grace,” madame deigned to say. “I was not aware that you proposed riding again to-day, much less that you would ride with Mr. Truscott.”

“I went to your room to tell you, mother, but you were asleep. As for riding with Mr. Truscott, that was father’s doing, and I have to thank him for a very pleasant morning.”

Something in the calm glance of her daughter’s fearless eyes awed yet provoked her ladyship. Had it come to this, that Grace, always so docile, dutiful, and yielding before, was now asserting independence of the mother’s counsel or control? It stung her all the more, doubled her resentment to realize that her own conduct had been such as to warrant, even to dictate, the withdrawal of much of the trust and deference that was a mother’s due. She struggled a moment with the feeling of pride and love evoked by her daughter’s radiant beauty as she stood before her. But the thought of all that was at stake nerved her to other efforts.

“Have you forgotten, then, the warnings you have received as to Mr. Truscott?”

“I have forgotten nothing, mother. I simply cannot and do not believe what you have heard; and I cannot help liking a man who has been so true a friend to Ralph.”

“What do you know, pray, of his relations to Ralph?”

“Nothing but what Ralph’s letters have told me, of course, and what he himself admitted to-day——”

“_What_ did he admit? How did you come to speak of such a thing?” asked Mrs. Pelham, alarmed and angry.

“I do not remember what he said, mother. I do not know that he admitted anything. I was talking of Ralph and of Ralph’s last letter to me, and—and you know how gratefully he wrote of Mr. Truscott. How could I help telling him how glad I was that Ralph had found so good a friend? Ralph said he owed everything to Mr. Truscott. And—well, he really did not say anything except to protest that he was only too glad to be of any service to father’s boy, but that really he had done nothing deserving of any thanks.”

“Then he _had_ the conscience to admit that! Why could he not have gone further and told you what he perfectly well knew,—_who_ it was to whom all our thanks were due, our unspeakable gratitude, in fact?”

Grace opened her eyes in wonderment, but before she could reply the tramping of feet was heard on the piazza, and the hall-door burst open.

“Come right in, Truscott,” she heard her father say; and the colonel, holding an open telegraphic despatch in his hand, hastily entered, followed by the adjutant. The latter bowed silently to the ladies, the former threw himself into a chair, and, with perplexity and some little trace of excitement on his face, read through the closely-written page. Then he looked up.

“Two troops to start at once, Truscott. Can we get scouts down from the reservation by sunset?”

“An orderly can go at once, sir. Shall I send the order?”

“Yes; we want twenty of their best.” And Mr. Truscott disappeared.

“What is it, colonel?” demanded Mrs. Pelham. “What is wrong? Another outbreak?”

“The general directs me to send out a command to hunt up the Apaches in the Tonto basin,” he replied shortly, “and he may be down here himself.”

“Who will have to go?” she asked, anxiously.

“Who? Oh, I don’t know. It goes according to roster. Truscott keeps that,” he answered, rising and pacing up and down the floor. “I’m sorry, too,” he said, more to himself than to her. “I’m sorry, for now or never is the time to nab this band of Eskiminzin’s, and—I’d like to select the officer to command. Some men have no idea of handling Indians.”

“Who are the best for such duty?” persisted madame.

“They’re all good, Dolly; they’re all good so far as zeal and that sort of thing goes,” he answered, impatiently, “only Tanner or Raymond or some of the youngsters like Ray and Stryker, seem to have better luck—or something. I wish this were Tanner’s detail.”

“So does Mr. Truscott, no doubt,” was the dry rejoinder. And looking sharply, angrily at her, the colonel stopped short in his walk, and was about to speak, when the sight of Grace’s troubled face restrained him. Another moment, and Truscott knocked and re-entered.

“Whose companies are first for detail?” asked Pelham, the instant he appeared.

“Tanner’s and Ray’s, sir,” was the quiet, prompt reply.

Despite his effort the colonel started, and the color leaped to his forehead. Madame gave an audible gasp.

“I thought Tanner—at least I understood that Raymond’s company had been longer in garrison than Captain Tanner’s,” he said.

“Tanner’s only went to the reservation on this last scout, colonel,” answered the adjutant, very respectfully, “and Raymond’s has been out twice since August.”

“True. I had forgotten it. I’m heartily glad that it is Tanner’s turn; he is the very man to settle this business. Well, notify them at once, Truscott, then come to lunch. I declare I had forgotten it. I would like to see Tanner myself; as soon as possible, though, if you will tell him.” And bowing again, the adjutant withdrew.

Mrs. Pelham had insinuated that Mr. Truscott would be glad that it was Captain Tanner’s detail for scouting duty. Very far from glad did Mr. Truscott look as he knocked at Captain Tanner’s door. It was opened by little Rosalie herself, her face all beaming with smiles when she caught sight of her friend. Jack bent and raised her in his arms, tenderly kissing the bonny cheek.

“Run and tell papa Uncle Jack wants to see him,” he said, as he set her down; and as she trotted away he seated himself at the window and covered his face with his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. The dejection of his attitude struck Tanner the instant he entered, but before he could speak the adjutant rose.

“What news, Jack?”

“Another scout; you to command; start to-night.” And the two men looked into one another’s eyes without a word for a moment. Then Truscott held forth his hand and took that of his friend.

“The thing has been worrying me ever since Craig and Fanshawe got in. I knew the chief would be apt to send out detachments from here, and—the detail would come on you—just at this time.”

“It is what I expected,” said Tanner; “but it is pretty rough to have it come just now.”

“Does Mrs. Tanner know?” asked Truscott.

“No, she hasn’t heard, though the other ladies in the garrison seemed to know all about it; but she never goes anywhere, and I could not bear to tell her until it became a certainty. To-night, do you say?” he asked, suddenly.

“Yes, to-night,” said Truscott, sadly. “I suppose you will have to start soon after sunset.”

“And it was just at tattoo that—that baby died, five years ago. It will come hard to her; that’s all that troubles me.”

And for all answer Truscott could only press his hand.

“The colonel wants to see you as soon as possible; he is home now. Tanner, I wish to heaven I could take this detail for you. Won’t you let me tell him? Raymond would be only too glad to go; and there’s Ray, who goes anyhow. He knows every inch of that country, and it would be a splendid thing for him if he could have the command.”

“Tell nobody, Jack. I never shirked a duty, big or little, yet, and I won’t now. If it were not for poor Nellie I wouldn’t ask anything better than this chance at old ’Skiminzin. It is the breaking it to her I dread. She’s up-stairs now with—with the little one’s shoes and stockings. She thought I did not see her get them from the baby trunk, but I did. My God, Jack! it’s breaking it to her that upsets me. I’ll go and see the colonel first.” And taking his forage-cap, Tanner and Truscott went forth together, the latter crossing the parade and proceeding to the camp in rear of the garrison. It was after one o’clock, after lunch-time. The mess-room of the bachelor officers was deserted, as he could see. Several of the juniors—Crane, Dana, and Hunter—were grouped around the doorway of the court-martial room awaiting the arrival of the other members of the court, then trying some cases among the enlisted men, but none of them had seen Ray; he had not been to lunch, had not been seen since morning drill. Truscott said nothing, but continued on his way towards camp until he had passed beyond the company quarters, then turning sharp to his left, he rapidly descended the hill and took the shortest cut for “the store.”

“Good-day, Mr. Truscott,” exclaimed the barkeeper, as he entered. “Don’t often see you down here, sir,” he went on, eager to be civil to the officer who represented so much influence and power at headquarters. “Looking for anybody?” he asked, as Truscott’s keen glance took in the other occupants of the main room, then wandered to the green-baize door of the card-room beyond.

“Who are in there?” he briefly asked, in a low tone, as he noted the silence that had fallen upon the group of packers and quartermaster’s men who were loafing about.

The barkeeper winked confidentially, and whispered, “Little game going on. Some of the boys down from Prescott. The doctor’s there, and Ray and Wilkins.”

“Tell Mr. Ray I want to see him, around at the side-door,” said Truscott, and left the room.

In another moment Ray had joined him, and Ray’s face was flushed and his eyes glassy.

“What’s up, Jack?” he queried.

“Scout, and you’re wanted instanter,” said Jack, gravely.

“Hurray for hurrah! Who is it this time?”

“Eskiminzin, I believe. It’s over your old stamping-ground. Tonto basin, anyway.”

“Bully! When do we light out?”

“This evening. No time to be lost. Better come up and get your men ready right off.”

Ray hesitated and looked grave. “By Jove, Jack, that’s bad! I dropped a month’s pay last night, and now the luck’s just beginning to turn. I want to quit even if I can, but this scout business knocks it. D—n the odds, though! I’m better out roughing it than fooling around here, where I’m only in the way. Who else goes?” he asked, suddenly.

“Tanner and you with your troops and some twenty Apache-Mohaves.”

“What subs? Don’t Glenham go?”

“Probably not, as he is Canker’s only assistant now. Why should he?”

“Oh, I don’t know, only if I were in his place I’d want to. I’ll be up in ten minutes, Jack.” And with that Mr. Ray returned to the card-room to wind up his connection with the game, and Truscott went direct to his colonel’s.

“What the mischief does Ray mean?” thought he, as he walked rapidly along. “He has been drinking, to be sure, but knows well enough what he is about. ‘If I were in Glenham’s place I’d want to go.’ What _does_ he mean?”