"Don't give way, sergeant; don't believe it!" she cried, and at her first words a look as of horror came into the stricken old face, and the hands clasped together in piteous appeal. "Listen to what the captain says. His letter has just come, and I was sure, when I saw you, that someone had told you the rumor. Captain Charlton will not believe a word of it. He was at Laramie on court-martial or it would not have happened. He has hurried back to Red Cloud to investigate, and he declares that Fred shall have justice done him. I'll never believe it—never! Why, we would trust him with anything we owned."
"I—I thank the captain. I thank Mrs. Charlton," he brokenly replied. "It's stunned like I am." He raised his hands and pressed them against his eyes, and one of them was lowered suddenly, feebly groping for support. She seized his arm and strove to lead him to a sofa. "You must sit down, sergeant," she said.
"No, ma'am, no!" he protested, straightening himself with a violent effort. "Now, may I hear what it is they say against my boy, ma'am? I want every word. Don't be afraid, ma'am, I can bear it."
Then, with infinite sympathy and pity, she told him, softening every detail, suggesting an explanation for every circumstance that pointed to his guilt; and all the time the old man stood there, his eyes, filled with dumb anguish, fixed upon her face, his hands clasped together as though in entreaty, his fingers twitching nervously. At every new and damaging detail, condone or explain it though she would, he shuddered as though smitten with a sharp, painful spasm; but when it came to Fred's midnight disappearance—horse, arms, and all—in the heart of the Indian country, stealing away from his comrades in the shadow of disgrace and crime, the old man groaned aloud and buried his face in his hands. Some time he stood there, reeling, yet resisting her efforts to draw him to a seat. She pleaded with him hurriedly, impulsively, yet he seemed not to hear. At last with one long shivering sigh, he suddenly straightened up and faced her. His hands fell by his side. He cleared his throat and strove to speak:
"You've been good to me, ma'am—so good"—and here he choked, and for a moment could not go on—"and to my boy"—at last he finished, with impulsive rush of words. "I know how they're sometimes tempted. I know how, more than once, the little fellow would be led away by the roughs in the troop, just to worry me; but he never hid a thing from me, ma'am, never; and if he's in trouble now he would tell me the whole truth, even if it broke us both down. I'll not believe it till I see him, ma'am; but I must go—I must go until I find my boy."
Blinded with tears, Mrs. Charlton could hardly see the swaying, grief-bowed old soldier as he left the house; but Nelson was waiting close at hand, and stepped forward and took his place by the sergeant's side.
"I don't know what the trouble is," he said, "but I'm going as far as the headquarters with you, and if there is anything on earth I can do to help you, do not fail to tell me."
That night, with a week's furlough and a letter from his post commander to Major Edwards at Sidney, old Sergeant Waller was jolting eastward in the caboose of a freight train.