Far away to the northwest this night, close under the shoulders of the Big Horn Mountains, a regiment of cavalry has gone into bivouac after a day's march through blistering sun-glare and alkali. Hour after hour, with strained, aching eyes, they have been watching the gradually-nearing dome of Cloud Peak, still glistening white though this is August. Around the blunt elbow of the mountains, two days' march away to the north, they expect to find the Gray Fox and all his men eagerly awaiting their coming. A courier from the front has brought them tidings that the Indians are in force all over the country west of the Cheetish group. Another courier has galloped after them from Fetterman, leaving there last night, and he brings strange news.
During the long, dusty, burning day Captain Webb and Mr. Gleason have joined the command and reported for duty. To the disgust of the young second lieutenant commanding Wayne's troop in his absence, the colonel directs Mr. Gleason, the senior lieutenant now for duty, to assume command of it for the campaign. Captain Truscott has no objections. He prefers not to have Mr. Gleason with his own troop, and Stannard is glad to get him out of his battalion. Very few men are glad to see Gleason, though nearly all the officers go to him for letters and news. They bring a small packet of mail, and on the way Gleason has made himself very interesting to Webb, and has easily gathered from that simple-minded gentleman that there was an awkward tableau at Truscott's when he went there to say good-by. "Confidentially," Gleason had let him understand that he had seen only one of many symptoms that had given much food for talk at Russell; that to his, Gleason's, bitter regret he feared Mrs. Truscott had not been as discreet as she should with a fellow like Ray, who was—well—had Webb heard anything of that horse board business, etc.? It was so easy,—it is so easy,—more's the pity, to say so very much in saying very little, when the good name of man or woman is at stake. Long before they got to the regiment Webb was convinced that he had seen very much more than he really did at Russell, and he had heard a volume of gossip that, after all, he could not have asserted was told him by Gleason, yet had been most deftly suggested. Gleason was deep. He knew that they brought with them the mail of the last stage reaching Fetterman for three days. Further news would not be apt to come by letter for a week, by which time the regiment would probably be hotly engaged, and he himself called back by telegraphic order as an important witness before the court. This latter probability he mentioned to no one. He meant to be grievously surprised and disgusted when the orders came recalling him, and until then his cards had to be carefully played. None of the ladies at Russell who knew him at all had intrusted him with letters. All theirs had gone by mail or by Captain Webb, but when the mail was opened at Fetterman, Gleason promptly offered to carry forward anything there might be for the officers of his regiment, and on the way this was carefully assorted. He had met Stannard and Truscott with beaming cordiality, saying, "Ah! you well knew I would not come without letters from your better halves," and fumbling in inner pockets as though they had been stored there ever since leaving Russell.
It was not until late that afternoon that Major Stannard received from Webb the message sent by his good wife, and he was pondering in his mind what it could mean, when at sunset Truscott strolled over from his troop to see him. Gleason by this time was being very sociable with the colonel and Mr. Billings.
"Have you anything from Mrs. Stannard later than the letter you spoke of this afternoon, major?" asked the captain, whose face was somewhat anxious.
"Why, yes, Truscott; Webb brought me a message that he said Mrs. Stannard gave him at the last moment, to the effect that she would have a long letter for me by next mail, and to be sure and get it. It seems a little odd."
"My last is a pencilled note from Mrs. Truscott, written but a few moments before the stage started. She says she sends it out to Fetterman by the driver, and I suppose our old 'striker' easily got him to take it; but she speaks of being far from well, nervous, etc., and that Mrs. Stannard is such a blessing to her,—so constantly with her. I wish there were something more definite. She writes three pages for the purpose of telling me not to be anxious, and the very nervousness and tremulous style give me some cause for worry."
"Why, in my letter Mrs. Stannard speaks of Mrs. Truscott as being so bright and well, and of their having such good times together, and being so charmed with Miss Sanford. It hardly seems there could have been so sudden a change in one day."
But there had been, as we know, and a change as sudden was coming to the current of events in the harmonious —th. Just after dark a courier on jaded horse came riding in from the south. He brought telegraphic despatches to the colonel and one to Major Stannard. The latter read his by the light of his camp-lantern, gave a long whistle of amaze and disgust, and sung out for Truscott as he rolled from under his blankets. The trumpets were just sounding tattoo, and Stannard and other officers had turned in early, preparatory to the start at four in the morning. While waiting for Truscott's coming, the major could see that at the colonel's tent there was also excitement and a gathering of several officers. He had not long to wait. Truscott joined him in a few moments.
"I called you here because it was where we could talk unobserved. What do you say to that?" And he handed him the despatch.
Truscott read without a word, and then stood there a moment earnestly thinking, his lips firmly set, a dark shadow settling on life forehead. The message was as follows: