She was glad Nanette was gone, because Field, wounded and present, would have advantages over possible suitors absent on campaign—because all the women and a few of the men were now against her, and because from some vague, intangible symptoms, Mrs. Hay had satisfied herself that there was something in the wind Nanette was hiding even from her—her benefactress, her best friend, and it seemed like cold-blooded treachery. Hay had for two days been disturbed, nervous and unhappy, yet would not tell her why. He had been cross-questioning Pete, "Crapaud" and other employees, and searching about the premises in a way that excited curiosity and even resentment, for the explanation he gave was utterly inadequate. To satisfy her if possible, he had confided, as he said, the fact that certain money for which Lieutenant Field was accountable, had been stolen. The cash had been carefully placed in his old-fashioned safe; the missing money, therefore, had been taken while still virtually in his charge. "They might even suspect me," he said, which she knew would not be the case. "They forbade my speaking of it to anybody, but I simply had to tell you." She felt sure there was something he was concealing; something he would not tell her; something concerning Nanette, therefore, because she so loved Nanette, he shrank from revealing what might wound her. Indeed, it was best that Nanette should go for the time, at least, but Mrs. Hay little dreamed that others would be saying—even this kindly, gentle woman before her—that Nanette should have stayed until certain strange things were thoroughly and satisfactorily explained.
But the moment she began, faltering not a little, to speak of matters at the post, as a means of leading up to Nanette—matters concerning Lieutenant Field and his financial affairs,—to her surprise Mrs. Dade gently uplifted her hand and voice. "I am going to ask you not to tell me, Mrs. Hay," said she. "Captain Dade has given me to understand there was something to be investigated, but preferred that I should not ask about it. Now, the general will be down in fifteen or twenty minutes. I suggest that we walk over the hospital and see how Mr. Field is getting on. We can talk, you know, as we go. Then you will breakfast with us. Indeed, may I not give you a cup of coffee now, Mrs. Hay?"
But Mrs. Hay said no. She had had coffee before coming. She would go and see if there was anything they could do for Field, and would try again to induce Mrs. Dade to listen to certain of her explanations.
But Mrs. Dade was silent and preoccupied. She was thinking of that story of Nanette's going, and wondering whether it could be true. She was wondering if Mrs. Hay knew the couriers had gone to recall Hay, and that if he and Nanette failed to return it might mean trouble for both. She could accord to Mrs. Hay no confidences of her own, and had been compelled to decline to listen to those with which Mrs. Hay would have favored her. She was thinking of something still more perplexing. The general, as her husband finally told her, had asked first thing to see Hay, and later declared that he wished to talk with Mrs. Hay and see Nanette. Was it possible he knew anything of what she knew—that between Hay's household and Stabber's village there had been communication of some kind—that the first thing found in the Indian pouch brought home by Captain Blake, was a letter addressed in Nanette Flower's hand, and with it three card photographs, two of them of unmistakable Indians in civilized garb, and two letters, addressed, like hers, to Mr. Ralph Moreau,—one care of the Rev. Jasper Strong, Valentine, Nebraska, the other to the general delivery, Omaha?
Yes, that pouch brought in by Captain Blake had contained matter too weighty for one woman, wise as she was, to keep to herself. Mrs. Blake, with her husband's full consent, had summoned Mrs. Ray, soon after his departure on the trail of Webb, and told her of the strange discovery. They promptly decided there was only one thing to do with the letter;—hand or send it, unopened, to Miss Flower. Then, as Blake had had no time to examine further, they decided to search the pouch. There might be more letters in the same superscription.
But there were not. They found tobacco, beeswax, an empty flask that had contained whiskey, vaseline, Pond's Extract, salve, pigments, a few sheets of note paper, envelopes and pencil—odd things to find in the possession of a Sioux—a burning glass, matches, some quinine pills, cigars, odds and ends of little consequence, and those letters addressed to R. Moreau. The first one they had already decided should go to Miss Flower. The others, they thought, should be handed unopened to the commanding officer. They might contain important information, now that the Sioux were at war and that Ralph Moreau had turned out probably to be a real personage. But first they would consult Mrs. Dade. They had done so the very evening of Blake's departure, even as he, long miles away, was telling Kennedy his Irish heart was safe from the designs of one blood-thirsty Sioux; and Mrs. Dade had agreed with them that Nanette's letter should be sent to her forthwith, and that, as Captain Blake had brought it in, the duty of returning the letter devolved upon his wife.
And so, after much thought and consultation, a little note was written, saying nothing about the other contents or about the pouch itself. "Dear Miss Flower:" it read. "The enclosed was found by Captain Blake some time this morning. He had no time to deliver it in person. Yours sincerely. N. B. Blake."
She would enter into no explanation and would say nothing of the consultation. She could not bring herself to sign her name as usually she signed it, Nannie Bryan Blake. She had, as any man or woman would have had, a consuming desire to know what Miss Flower could be writing to a Mr. Moreau, whose correspondence turned up in this remarkable way, in the pouch of a painted Sioux. But she and they deemed it entirely needless to assure Miss Flower no alien eye had peered into the mysterious pages. (It might have resulted in marvellous developments if Miss Flower thought they had.) Note and enclosure were sent first thing next morning by the trusty hand of Master Sanford Ray, himself, and by him delivered in person to Miss Flower, who met him at the trader's gate. She took it, he said; and smiled, and thanked him charmingly before she opened it. She was coming out for her customary walk at the hour of guard mounting, but the next thing he knew she had "scooted" indoors again.
And from that moment Miss Flower had not been seen.
All this was Mrs. Dade revolving in mind as she walked pityingly by the side of the troubled woman, only vaguely listening to her flow of words. They had thought to be admitted to the little room in which the wounded officer lay, but as they tiptoed into the wide, airy hall and looked over the long vista of pink-striped coverlets in the big ward beyond, the doctor himself appeared at the entrance and barred the way.