The very night of the very day it came he was dancing gloriously with, and had been saying things to, Evelyn Darrah that she one day earlier had listened to with bated breath. Now his mustache swept her pretty ear as he lowered his head in the midst of the loveliest "glide," and murmured something more, whereat she had suddenly swung herself out of the circle of his arm, swept him a stately courtesy and fairly startled—stunned him by the question: "Isn't that just a little high—for a gentleman's game, Mr. Willett?"
The very words were enough to amaze him! "What on earth do you mean?" he demanded, as soon as he recovered self-control.
"I mean," said she, straightening to her full height again, and looking him fairly in the eyes, "that for an engaged man you have exceeded, or, as you would say, 'raised the limit.'"
There were dozens dancing, chatting, laughing about them, and some few watching, for his attentions, first to pretty Mrs. Dennis, and then the devotions by means of which he had swept aside all other suitors of Evelyn Darrah, had set all tongues to wagging. "The old Willett over again," said Bright, who had known him at the Point. Only that day had the mail come up from Almy and McDowell, and he ought to have known what it would betray. There must have been other letters—men's letters—for at mess there had been sly allusions to the fluctuations of fortune, the comparative values of "straights" and "pats," and this girl had turned and taunted him with the very words of that infernal, and he had hoped, forgotten game. Moreover, she, a brilliant, beautiful, practised woman of society, by no means the delicate and sensitive little desert flower whose worship he had won so readily, had dared to fence with him, had interested, piqued, fascinated, and now wellnigh bewitched him. He was not yet well of his wounds by any manner of means. He was still weak—far too weak to ride or climb or do much in the way of walking, but he could look, and be most interesting lolling in an invalid chair. Women had come and ministered to him in his convalescence, and pretty Mrs. Dennis had made quite a fool of herself, said certain elders, but when it came to cutting in for Evelyn Darrah, Willett had had to be up and doing, even finally, for her and her alone, as he murmured, daring to dance. There was nothing else he did so supremely well, and men and women watched them enviously, perhaps, yet delightedly, and men and women were watching now as he followed her to her seat, dropped to the one beside her, and bent absorbedly over her again, pale, agitated, and they saw her speaking, saw him vehemently pleading, saw him prevailing, for his pallor and emotion lent force to his impassioned words. Practised belle, coquette, flirt she might have been, but the woman is rare indeed who can utterly disbelieve, in face of such a combination, that she at least is loved. Stella's impassioned letters once lay in unbroken packages upon his mantel. Another star had risen and set, and sent its missives only to the ashes of his grate, and now this very night, hidden in his desk, lay long, close-written, criss-crossed, exquisite pages, the outpourings of a young and guileless and glorious nature, and they, too, lay, as did that early Stella's, unread, unheeded, almost undesired, for the man was inflamed by this dauntless woman's defiance of him, and the devil in him was urging: woo her, win her, conquer her, crush her, come what may!
That night was but one of several in quick succession. On every hand he had to smile, and say conventional words of thanks for the pointed and repeated congratulations showered upon him. Men and women went out of their way at every turn to remind him, as it were, that he was a mortgaged man; and yet, so strangely was he constituted, life for him at the moment seemed to have but one object worth attaining—Evelyn Darrah. Day and night he sought her, pursued her, and men began to shun him, and he never heeded. Women began to shrink from her, and she saw, yet, for to some there is the gambler's madness in the game, she let them shrink. What were their slights in comparison with the thrilling joy of this conquest? This man was at her feet, abject, pleading, praying. It was hers to spurn or sway him as she would. Never doubting her own power to turn him any instant adrift, she found delight in the passion of so virile, graceful, glorious a lover, the man of whom she had heard other women speak for three long years, and now he was hers—hers to do with as she dared—to break or make as was her caprice. What—what if men looked stern and women shrank? This was a game well worth the candle, let them sneer who would.
What had promised to be a fortnight of jollification had become charged with matters of grave moment. Strong had arrived, bringing the shackled Sanchez, and, when hospitably bidden to stay a week and have some fun, he said he reckoned he ought to get back as quick as possible—"the Old Man had much to bother him," this in confidence to Bright. "The Old Man's coming up here," said Bright, "quick as the general can coax him, and he's just going to have a welcome that will warm the cockles of his heart," and then, like the loyal aide he was, Bright essayed to make Archer's adjutant see that while the general commanding had been constrained to differ with the commander at Camp, Almy, he personally held him in affection and esteem. "I'm afraid," said he, "General Archer thinks he is misunderstood about this 'Tonio business, and—and—Harris. Here's Willett, now, perfectly willing to drop the whole case against 'Tonio and say no more about it."
"What?" said Strong, in amaze. "Why, at Almy he damned him time and again—swore he had twice tried to kill him. If he acquits 'Tonio, whom in God's name does he suspect?" asked Strong, a queer thought occurring to him as he recalled the furious words of the deserter Dooley, alias Quigley, another prisoner to be tried.
Bright dodged. "The queer thing about it," said he, "is that Brown there, at McDowell, is demanding investigation, and says he believes there was collusion in camp—men who insist that 'Tonio's a trump. And now we have news from Harris, and he demands investigation, in 'Tonio's name—says there's a side to the story only 'Tonio can tell, and will tell only to the Big Chief."
Strong pondered a moment. "There's more than one queer thing we can't fathom at Almy," said he. "Harris and 'Tonio never had anything to do with that Sanchez crowd. 'Tother Sanchez, and Muñoz, helped the chase of 'Tonio—did their best to catch him, and yet over at McDowell they're thick as thieves."
"Not a bit of it! They never saw each other until—well, somebody made Brown believe the general would censure his showing favors to 'Tonio, so what does he do but order him in with Sanchez. That night both get away. Then 'Patchie's own people brought him back for cash. There isn't money or blood enough in all Arizona to tempt them to lay hands on 'Tonio. Sanchez wants to talk with the general, says he can tell things the chief would like to know. Can he?"