CHAPTER IX.

“She is no more engaged to him than I am, Jack Truscott, and you may take my word for it. More than that, it is my belief she has no interest in him whatever,—never has had, and that all the talk of this match is due to Lady Pelham’s manœuvring. The wish is mother to the thought.”

So spoke the general’s wife the evening of the drive, and Truscott listened with outward calm, but with emotions far from placid. He had not seen Grace since their brief conversation, and, the ladies being out at tea, had spent several lonely hours. During the afternoon, however, he had visited the telegraph-office, and a despatch worded as follows was already in the hands of his anxious correspondent in San Francisco:

“RALPH PELHAM, Occidental Hotel, San Francisco.

“Rely on Glenham. All fixed. Letter by mail.

“TRUSCOTT.”

Now considering the fact that Glenham was miles away in the mountains, with no possibility of communication, it may be considered a piece of assumption on Truscott’s part to make such positive use of his name. Truscott, however, though well knowing that his friend would be prompt to respond to any call he might make upon him, had no intention of putting him to the test.

Some two years previous, after an extended consultation with some business friends in San Francisco, Truscott had placed his savings in the hands of a firm, one of whom he knew well and trusted. His wants were few in Arizona, his habits methodical, and from time to time he had added from his pay to the original amount. These were matters of which he never spoke to anybody, but the investment had proved moderately remunerative. The growing business of the firm led to further enterprises, and Jack’s money, with his entire consent, had been devoted with other funds in their hands to the purchase of a mining claim in Nevada, which gave promise of a profitable yield when properly developed. Already the firm had sent three successive offers to Truscott to purchase his stock at a tempting “rise,” but he had no need for money at the moment and decided that he preferred to hold on. The promise of the investment was quite as good as any other in which he could embark. Glenham for a while had placed ten times as much money in the hands of the same firm, but had declined to invest in the very purchase in which Truscott was interested. “I don’t know enough about mining ventures to risk it,” he said to Truscott, showing him the prospectus and the familiar letter-head of the firm. “What do you think of it, Jack?”

“If you have money you don’t know what to do with, it might be put there as well as anywhere, but you know I never advise any one in a matter of this kind.”

“Well, what would you do yourself?” persisted Glenham.

“I never had so much money at my disposal, but it seems to me that it is poor policy to take it from a safe though slow investment to put it where you may lose the whole lump in no time.”

Glenham inferred that Truscott had no confidence in the new scheme, never dreamed that he had invested his all therein (“Why tell him?” thought Jack, “he will then be sure to go in full tilt, and if we are swamped hold me accountable”), and had concluded to try elsewhere; but the firm held, as Pelham had stated, a few thousand dollars of his money, and within a week from the receipt of Truscott’s despatch young Ralph was relieved in mind by the arrival of a letter which, with one other, Truscott had written that very afternoon. It ran somewhat as follows:

“DEAR PELHAM,—On presentation of yourself and this note at Rundell, Stearns & Co. you will find five hundred dollars at your disposal. You know Stearns, I think: simply give him a receipt for the cash as voucher.

“Glenham is off on a hurried dash after Apaches, but the matter was easily arranged. I think it would be just as well _not_ to write him any thanks, but to stick close to your work and resolution, and don’t worry over the matter. Preaching is abhorrent to me, and experience, though expensive, a far better teacher.

“Your letter reached me by the hand of Mrs. Pelham herself, and excited her anxiety. I assured her you were well and in no trouble, as she imagined. (Mental trouble was not allowed to count.) May I suggest that frequent letters to her or to Miss Pelham would be the easiest way of dispelling their anxiety and averting the possibility of cross-questioning me? No one should know of this transaction, and I can assure you that Glenham, who is a noble fellow, will not breathe it to a soul. My reasons for suggesting that you say nothing farther to him are cogent, but too many for explanation here. Be guided by me, however, I will make all due acknowledgments.

“Were I to attempt to tell you of the sensation created by the arrival of Miss Pelham this letter would require extra postage, and I regard letters of that length as an imposition on friendship. The colonel is at Sandy. I am on escort duty with the ladies, and expect to join him next week.

“Yours sincerely,

“JOHN G. TRUSCOTT.”

This letter, as was stated, was posted with another addressed to his business friend in the city:

“FORT WHIPPLE, A. T., November 28, 18—.

“DEAR STEARNS,—Mr. Ralph Pelham will call upon you in person for five hundred dollars, which please pay him and charge to my account. If necessary, dispose of sufficient stock to cover it. Your voucher will be his receipt.

“I have reasons for preferring that he should regard this as coming from Mr. Glenham (who would not have to sell), and desire you to consider the affair as strictly confidential.

“Very truly yours,

“JOHN G. TRUSCOTT.”

Late that night the ladies had returned from a quiet tea-party at Captain Lee’s, Grace and her hostess enthusiastic over the lovely, winning ways of Mrs. Tanner, Lady Pelham, to their perplexity, maintaining on that subject an attitude of austere, even mysterious noncommittalism (for which word the writer desires to apologize). Grace had been speedily summoned aloft by her mother, so that when Jack entered the parlor only his hostess was there.

“You ought to have been with us,” she said. “Grace Pelham sang, and sang sweetly. See here, Jack Truscott, you need not be so sublimely indifferent to that young lady. I don’t like it. I warrant you never saw many sweeter or brighter girls.”

“I never saw any,” replied he, briefly.

“Then why do you stand aloof, I’d like to know? One would suppose you had no appreciation of what was attractive in woman.”

“My dear lady, is there not such a thing as having too much? What sense is there in losing one’s head over a girl already bespoken?”

And then it was that his friend gave utterance to the words at the head of this chapter.

Overhead he could hear voices in colloquy; one, unmistakably that of her ladyship, was so loud and emphatic that an occasional word could be distinguished; the other, subdued and gentle, was indistinguishable. Evidently, too, the conversation was not placid. Mrs. Pelham’s somewhat ponderous tread made the lightly-built army-ceiling quiver and crackle as she paced rapidly to and fro.

“What in the world is she storming about to-night?” said the lady. “I shall confide to you, Jack, that your colonel’s wife strikes me as being a tartar.”

A door overhead opened, closed, tones again became muffled, and Jack Truscott and his hostess sat staring in blank amazement in each other’s face, for in the brief instant in which the chamber-door had been ajar her ladyship’s voice, angry and unguarded, was distinctly audible to both,—to all in the house in fact.

“—and Mrs. Tanner is not a fit person for a daughter of mine to——” And here, in the language of the Congressional reporter, the hammer fell; to be literal, her ladyship banged the door.

For a minute the occupants of the parlor were aghast. Then Truscott calmly stepped to the hall-door and closed it.

“She may open the ports and fire another volley,” he said, “and I don’t care to hear her, even by accident.”

“Well!” said his companion. “Listeners never hear any good of themselves; but I never expected to live to hear evil of Mrs. Tanner. She is my ideal of a perfect wife and mother. What do _you_ think?”

“My acquaintance is not extensive,” he replied, deliberately; “but in the army or out of it I know of no one truer, purer, or nobler. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to bed. Good-night.”

The next morning Grace did not appear at breakfast. “Had a headache,” said her mother in response to inquiries. Soon afterwards, as Truscott started forth for a stroll with the doctor, she inquired if he intended going to the office, and requested him to post a letter.

“Do you happen to know where Mrs. Treadwell is stationed now, Mr. Truscott?” she asked.

“At Fort Hays, I think. Colonel Treadwell was in command there last month.”

“Then this address is right,” she remarked, handing him the letter and narrowly watching his features.

He glanced at the superscription, bowed in acquiescence, and turned away.

As a specimen of feminine ingenuity that letter deserves to take rank. This is a chapter of letters thus far. Here is her ladyship’s:

“MY DEAR MRS. TREADWELL,—Though we have not met for years, I hold in warm remembrance the days when we were stationed together at Sedgwick, and the kindly relations which then existed” (which was more than the recipient of the letter could do, for she could not bear Mrs. Pelham). “I write in haste, and know well that you will be surprised at my writing at all; but duty as a mother compels me to appeal to you for information on a very delicate subject, and I trust you can relieve my mind. You may not have heard that Grace and I have recently ‘joined’ the —th here in Arizona, and naturally I am most anxious that she should be well guided in the selection of her friends and associates.

“Among the ladies who at first made a most favorable impression was Mrs. Tanner, whom, I am told, you knew well at Camp Phœnix. She seemed everything that was desirable, but I regret to have to say that _circumstances_ have occurred which seriously affect my opinion of her, and among other stories which _late events_ have revived is one that you at Camp Phœnix found her and Mr. Truscott alone in her parlor during Captain Tanner’s absence in the field, and saw them in a most indelicate and questionable a—well, I cannot write what was told me (in the strictest confidence); but knowing you as I do, a woman who never was known to say an unkind or a slanderous thing, it impressed me most painfully and powerfully to be told by ladies whom I believe in that you had positively made this statement. If it be true, I beg you to tell me _exactly_ the truth; for Grace’s sake I _must_ know.

“The colonel, Captain Tanner, and all the officers are in the field except _Mr. Truscott, who is here, and she also_. You know he is still adjutant of the regiment, and Colonel Pelham must be in utter ignorance of this affair or he would not regard him as he does. Pray do not ask me for any particulars. Simply tell me what you know, and please consider this letter as inviolably confidential. I have no heart to write any news, for this wretched affair fills me with anxiety.

“Your attached friend,

“D. DE RUYTER PELHAM.”

And this was the letter Jack Truscott carried over to the office and dropped in the mail-box this bright November morning. A fortnight more and it was in Mrs. Treadwell’s hands, and a constrained and reluctant answer was despatched to Arizona; but long before that reply could reach Mrs. Pelham at Sandy it was possible for the very complications to occur which she most ardently desired to frustrate. That very night there came a despatch from Colonel Pelham pronouncing the road safe and practicable, and the next morning Truscott was convoying the ladies of Camp Sandy, now reinforced by Mrs. and Miss Pelham, down to the valley wherein lay their frontier home. Three large ambulances carried the party, a small guard of soldiers went along for appearance’s sake, and without event of material importance the journey was safely effected, and Grace Pelham made her _début_ at Camp Sandy, little dreaming of the months of mingled happiness and serene content, of doubt and utter misery, that lay before her.