Gleason himself, as we have seen, had taken prompt measures to satisfy himself as to the identity of the serenader. His next step was to institute inquiries as to just what was meant by these demonstrations on part of the sergeant. Insidious questions were propounded to Mrs. Stannard, Mrs. Truscott, and Miss Sanford, only to mystify him the more. They would say nothing to enlighten him; but he plainly saw that each one of the three was conscious that Wolf was the midnight visitor, and that two of the three were in possession of knowledge with regard to the mysterious soldier which he could not fathom. He took to studying Wolf; sent for him frequently; had long talks with him ostensibly as to his duties with recruits, but began to "draw him out" as to his past. All he could learn was that he had come to this country determined to enlist, had served a few months with Truscott at the Point, and had secured a transfer because he wanted active service. He declined to tell what had been his connections or his life before coming to our shores, but he was evidently a man of education and refinement; he was an admirable horseman, swordsman, and drill-master; he had evidently been trained for the military profession. Now, how was it that he had so readily acceded to the detail which kept him on duty at Russell, when, if he so wanted active service, he could have been sent with the regiment? Gleason's one interpretation of that was that the sergeant "loved, alas, above his station." It behooved him now to find out which of the ladies at Truscott's had inspired this romantic passion. It occurred to him that the discovery might be made very useful. He was plainly losing ground there. Invitations to tea and dinner had not been forthcoming since Truscott's squadron marched away, and his efforts to see Miss Sanford alone had been frustrated. Having secured the detail which kept him at the post while the regiment was out roughing it, he relaxed the assiduity of his attentions to Mrs. Whaling, but kept up his hand with the old colonel through the medium of pool and billiards, though he lost less frequently. He was always having confidential chats with the colonel, and when Captain Buxton came through on his way to catch the regiment, three days after Ray's departure, Gleason took him to see the colonel, and the three were closeted for some time together. It worried Mrs. Stannard, who felt sure there was mischief brewing, and she so wrote to the major, who tackled Buxton the moment he joined with questions about Ray, and Buxton was dumb as Sam Weller's drum with a hole in it. Ray was there and "chipper" as a cricket. Everybody noted how blithe, buoyant, and energetic he was, but this very trait prevented Stannard's having more than one talk with him before the separation of Wayne's command from the regiment. Ray was off on scouts from morning till night. Stannard frankly told him how worried he had been, and Ray looked amazed, declaring he had never been more temperate, and that his accounts were straight as a string. He had played billiards but had not touched a card.
When told of the allegation that he had been incessantly with Rallston, and had cut loose from Buxton and Gleason, Ray replied that it was incomprehensible to him how any man who knew Buxton and Gleason could blame him for that. He never spoke to Gleason, and as the two were always together, he had no wish to embarrass their good times. He was with Rallston, his brother-in-law, who had been most kind, hospitable, and jolly; but Ray went on to say he found that Rallston tried to be sharp in palming off some inferior horses upon them, and he had blocked it. This had caused a "split," so to speak, but nothing of consequence, as he had immediately started to rejoin. More than this there was no time to talk of. Ray went with Wayne, Stannard with the —th, and they saw nothing more of each other for many a long day. Meantime, Gleason was getting in his work. Stannard had written briefly to his wife to tell her what Ray had said, but she was a keen judge of character, and she could not but note the reticence and evident embarrassment of the young adjutant at Russell—a courteous and high-minded fellow—whenever she mentioned Ray's name.
Failing in his effort to extract information from Sergeant Wolf, Gleason changed his methods. He began worrying him, restricting his movements in various ways, and hampering him with corrections and suggestions. One day a bandsman, who was excellent as a clarionet- and violin-player, took his discharge-papers on expiration of term of service, and the bandmaster appeared at the adjutant's office with Sergeant Wolf to announce that the sergeant was even a better musician than the discharged man, and was desirous of giving up his "lance" rank and entering the band. Colonel Whaling and his adjutant were delighted to make a temporary transfer to meet the case and to write to Mr. Billings for regimental sanction. All too late, Gleason heard of and tried to stop it. It took Wolf out of his control and compelled him to resort to watching him. He had so palpably given it to be understood that he was the sweet singer who had entranced the garrison in his midnight serenades that Gleason now felt he could not go to the adjutant and tell him that Wolf was the man, and that he must pen him up at night. Indeed, he rather wanted to have more of the serenading. He sniffed a scandal, and in his resentment at Mrs. Truscott's evident avoidance of him and Miss Sanford's serene indifference, he was beginning to feel that he could welcome anything that would besmirch their names or cloud their domestic peace. From his soldier servant he learned that Wolf spent hours in writing letters, most of which he burned or tore up; that he held himself aloof from the bandsmen, and was trying to get a little room to himself. Every night when he was officer of the day, and occasionally when he was not, Gleason patrolled that back fence in search of Wolf, and one night he was rewarded. He sprang suddenly from his hiding-place, and the soldier turned and ran like a deer, distancing Gleason in no time; but in his flight he had dropped a letter. Gleason could hardly believe his eyes when he saw it lying there upon the ground. It bore no superscription, but in three minutes the lieutenant had rushed to his quarters, locked the doors, and shut himself up with his prize. The family next door was startled by the shout of triumph and delight with which he read the last lines. He almost kissed the letter in his ecstasy. He hardly slept that night from excitement, and it was the very next morning that Russell was electrified by the telegraphic news that the —th had had sharp fighting; that the main body of the regiment, early in the morning three days previous, had met and driven back to the reservation a large force of Cheyennes seeking to join Sitting Bull; that Captain Wayne's squadron had been surrounded and cut off by others of the same tribe, and rescued by Truscott's squadron at the same instant that the fight was going on at the War Bonnet; that Wayne's people would undoubtedly have been massacred to a man—as their ammunition was spent—but for the heroism of Ray, who had run the gauntlet through the Cheyennes all alone in the darkness, found Truscott's squadron going rapidly away in another direction, turned him to the rescue just in the nick of time, and now, weak and wounded, was being sent in to Russell; that there had been several men killed, quite a number wounded, and that among these latter were Blake, Wayne, and Dana; and that Blake, too, would be sent to Russell. Further particulars came every hour or two. Every report had something additional to say of Ray's valor, and though he ground his teeth in rage at the thought of Ray's temporary exaltation, Gleason was philosopher enough to know that no man was long a hero in garrison life, and so took advantage of the excitement to go and besiege the ladies with congratulations. How could they exclude him at such a time? Grace was in an ecstasy of pride and joy over her Jack's splendid charge, and Marion Sanford, who gloried in deeds of valor, sat wondering if it were really true that she knew the man whose name was on every lip, gallant, daring Ray,—that—that even then, as Truscott wired them, he never forgot he was riding for her colors.
But it was delicious to hear Gleason: "I cannot rejoice too much, ladies, that it was the troop I so long commanded that made the decisive charge. They have fulfilled my highest expectations," was an oft repeated remark. And when Mrs. Whaling came the second time to dispense tearful felicitations, she found him ready to say amen to her pious suggestions that they should unite in praise and prayer to the Throne of Mercy.
The man was indeed
"A rogue in grain,
Veneered with sanctimonious theory."
They—Grace and Marion—had early fled to their rooms and knelt in overwhelming gratitude to thank the God they worshipped for the mercy vouchsafed to those so near to them. He—the two-faced villain—held in his pocket at that moment the letter with which he meant to crush the woman who had dared to hold him aloof.
As yet, however, he had no intention of immediately using it. For the time being, the general rejoicing among the ladies made it possible for even a shirk like Gleason to be among them a good deal. They could talk of nothing but how splendid it was to be with the regiment, and how admirably this or that officer had behaved, and one would suppose that such conversation would have been galling to an able-bodied listener; but that pachydermatous quality, to which allusion has been made, stood Gleason in good stead. He smiled serenely at all their shafts, and spoke of the deeds of the regiment quite as though he had been an active participant. He hung around Truscott's quarters a good deal, bringing all manner of trivial items of news from time to time, and even manufacturing them that he might have an excuse to see the ladies. He was so constantly there on pretext after pretext that he overdid the matter,—annoyed both the ladies by his persistency and his covert allusions to Wolf and occasional flings at Ray. They begged Mrs. Stannard to devise means to rid them of him at last; and one afternoon when he appeared at the door and walked past the servant into the hall, as was his custom, the maid had twice to repeat,—
"The ladies beg to be excused," before he would hear it.
"Say to Mrs. Truscott, with my compliments, that I have some further news of the regiment," he said, in a voice he knew would penetrate the rooms on the second floor, and it did; but Mrs. Stannard was there. He had already called and spent an hour that very morning, and the ladies had determined to check it.