A Trooper Galahad

by Charles King

But the first glance into his haggard, hopeless face, the sight of despair such as she had never dreamed of, struck to her soul something like terror. One moment she gazed, all thought of her puny troubles vanished and forgotten, and then with one great cry—the first genuine feeling she had shown—the unhappy woman threw herself at his feet and clasped her arms about his trembling knees.

That night when the doctor called he found her humbled, contrite, concerned in earnest, and all for her husband. "It's the first time," said he, "I've ever felt any respect for you whatever, Mrs. Winn. I believe there's something in you, after all,"—"though probably not much," he later added when he told his wife. That night, too, he and Brooks and Blythe sat half an hour with Winn. The colonel asked them to do it, for it was time to help him if help was to come at all. The same day brought inquiry from Department Head-Quarters as to whether Lieutenant Winn had made good the amount of that great shortage; and the promised money package had not come.

Gently they asked him if he had reasonable right to look for it, and all the answer he could make was that it had been promised on certain conditions. He had recently accepted them, had expected to find the money on his arrival at Worth, but instead had found—— and the hands thrown hopelessly forward, palms upraised, were as expressive as any words could have been. There was silence a moment. Then he spoke again.

"And, after all, what matters it now? With this court-martial hanging over me, I've nothing but dismissal from the army to look forward to in any event."

"And what if there should be no trial, Winn?" said the major, after a reflective pause. "It is true that you have made an awful—break; but as yet you are your only accuser, and Mrs. Winn is the only witness, for Barclay is dumb."

But Winn shook his head. "I know enough of army matters to know that this thing is all over the post and will soon be all over Texas. If Captain Barclay was of—the old army,—if he had been brought up as I was, we might settle it out of court. My father used to say that there could be no other reparation for a blow. What would my apologies be worth? They would not re-establish him."

"Sometimes I think," said Brooks, after another reflective pause, "that men of Barclay's stamp need no appeal to the code to set them right. That is only a device by which physical courage is made a substitute for other virtues that may be lacking. Barclay occupies a plane above it. In view of his record in the Platte country and in this recent chase after the outlaws, it would take a bold man to sneer at him, in this garrison at least; and if he prefer no charge against you, who is to do it? This trouble can be straightened out, Winn," said the major, soothingly, "if only you could fix—that other."

But how, said they to each other, as they went gloomily away, was that other to be "fixed"? How was a poor fellow with nothing but his pay, burdened by an extravagant and helpless wife, a little child, and a number of debts, to hope to raise three thousand dollars to prevent the almost total stoppage of his stipend? That evening when Mrs. Faulkner left her invalid friend the latter asked her to say to Harry that she begged him to come and speak with her. Harry went, but there was no spring, no gladness, in the slow and halting feet that climbed the narrow stair; there was no hope in the care-worn face that came forth again in half an hour. Laura wished him to take her watch, her diamond ear-rings, a locket he had given her in bygone days, and other pretty trinkets, sell them, and pay their debts: she was amazed to hear, not that they owed so much, but that her treasures would bring so little.

The fourth day of his arrest was well-nigh gone. Collabone had reported Barclay quite himself again, and sitting up, though none too strong, and then he saw that Winn at last had been writing. "Read that," said Harry, briefly, and handed him the sheet. It was addressed to Captain Barclay.

"In the last four days I have done nothing but think of the great wrong I did you. I have tried to find words in which to tell you my distress and self-reproach, but they fail me. There was no shadow of justification for my suspicion, and therefore no excuse for my blow. Had you desired reparation you would have demanded it, and the rule used to be for a man in my plight to wait until it was asked before he tendered an apology that might be considered a stopper to a challenge. But I will not wait. At the risk of anything any man may say or think, I write this to tell you that I deplore my conduct and with all my heart to beg your pardon."