Another moment and the two officers were borne away, and Mrs. Turner went down to the Truscotts' determined to find out what was the trouble, but came away dissatisfied. There was some mystery, and she could not solve it. What did it portend that Mrs. Stannard should have cut Mr. Gleason dead?
Later that afternoon, just before sunset, there was a pretty picture in front of Truscott's quarters. It had been a lovely day, at the very end of July, but the air was cool and bracing, and many of the ladies, seated on the long row of piazzas, or strolling up and down the gravelled walk, had found it necessary to wear their shawls or wraps. The band was playing sweetly in the circular stand on the parade, and a dozen little children were romping about the few patches of green turf or splashing the water in the narrow acequias. The newly-planted sprigs of trees looked like so many tent-poles stuck up on the edge of the diamond so far as verdure was concerned, and the dingy brown of the barracks on the southern side had little that could attract the eye. But far beyond, across the creek valley, lay the rolling expanse of open prairie; far beyond that, those glistening, gleaming battlements of eternal snow standing against the Colorado skies. Only three or four officers could be seen along the row—only half a dozen soldiers in all the great garrison. The recruits were all in at supper. The officers and trained men were all far away to the north. To the delight of the children Mr. Ray's orderly came up the road leading Dandy, and after they had crowded around and petted and lauded him while a new halter was being put on, and his glistening coat touched up for the third time since his supper of oats, Dandy was slowly led on up the row, stopping every few rods to be patted and admired by the ladies, and at last reached Truscott's house, where Ray went and knocked softly, and Miss Sanford appeared. Together they walked to the gate, and there they stood. Ray expatiating on the many good points of his pet and comrade, Miss Sanford stroking the sorrel's arching neck and velvet nozzle, and looking volumes of adulation into his intelligent eyes. Dandy pawed and pricked up his ears, and seemed proud and conscious as any human, and would have purred like a kitten had he only known how, so soft was the touch of her caressing hand, so sweet was the praise of her gentle voice. Ray stood and watched her with delight in his eyes.
"Oh, you beauty! Oh, you dear, dear fellow! how I would prize you if you were mine! Do you dream what a hero you are, I wonder?"
Both her white hands were holding his glossy head now, and Dandy stood there looking into her animated face as though he loved every feature in it,—or was it Ray? Both of them could hardly keep their eyes off her an instant. She was a puzzle to Dandy. She was an angel to his master.
"He was hit twice, was he not?" she asked; and when he showed her the scars, she mourned over them like a mother over a baby's bumped forehead.
"I declare, Mr. Ray is growing positively handsome!" said Mrs. Stannard, looking out of the window at the pretty group. "How delighted he is that Miss Sanford should make so much of Dandy!" she added, turning to Mrs. Truscott, who lay there very white and weary looking.
Grace smiled. "I must creep up to the window and see," she said; and for a moment they gazed in silence. He was bending down over her, so bright and brave and gallant, that the next thing the two ladies looked suddenly into each other's face, smiling suggestively.
"Just what I was thinking!" said Mrs. Stannard, laughing; and there seemed no need to ask what the simultaneous thought could be. Then they looked out again. "Oh!" said Mrs. Truscott, impatiently, "I wish she would keep away!" for down came Mrs. Turner, all smiles and white muslin, to join them. That woman could never understand that she could be de trop, was Mrs. Stannard's reflection, but it was characteristic of her that she gave the (possibly) disproportioned thought no utterance. Ray lifted his cap with his customary grace and courtesy, but looked only moderately rejoiced at the coming of even so bewitching an addition to Dandy's circle of admirers. Possibly some years of experience at poker had given him such admirable control of all facial expression as to enable him to disguise the annoyance he really felt. Ray couldn't bear "humbug" in any form, and when horses were the subjects of discussion he was fiercely intolerant of the wise looks and book-inspired remarks of the would-be authorities in the regiment. To his cavalry nature the horse had an affiliation that was simply strong as a friendship. Nothing could shake Ray's conviction in the reasoning powers, the love, loyalty, gratitude, and devotion of the animal that from his babyhood he had looked upon as a companion,—almost as a confidant. He had little faith in Mrs. Turner's voluble admiration of Dandy. To use his Blue Grass vernacular, he "didn't take any stock (he called it stawk) in that sort of gush." He knew that there was only one four-legged domestic animal of which Mrs. Turner was more desperately afraid, and that was a cow. She made a ninny of herself when she went out to drive, and the mere pricking up of the horses' ears was to her mind premonitory symptom of a runaway, and excuse for immediate demand to be set down on the open prairie and allowed to walk home. As for riding, she couldn't be induced to try. To her a horse was a thing that kicked or bit or showed the whites of his eyes and set his ears back and switched his tail and gave other evidences of depraved moral nature, and she would no more touch or approach one than she would a wild-cat, except when in so doing, with an admiring audience, she could become the central figure in an effective tableau. Ray wished her in Jericho, as she stood at arm's length and touched Dandy with the tips of her dainty fingers and began to speak of him as "it." Equine sex was a matter beyond Mrs. Turner's consideration, and with eminent discretion she compromised on "it" as a safe descriptive.
Then old Whaling came along with his better half, and the lady stopped to see the now celebrated sorrel, and when Ray cordially addressed his post commander with the natural question, "What do you think of him, colonel?" he was genuinely surprised at the embarrassed, lifeless response. The colonel looked away as he replied,—
"Very pretty, very pretty, Mr. Ray," and then walked on as though he desired to keep aloof, and Mrs. Whaling, announcing that she was going to see poor Mrs. Muldoon, who was living outside the gate, moved on after her husband with hardly a glance for Ray.