But the Parson did not resign. He was away from the regiment again a long month after Mira's flight, and again after her death, returning suddenly on each occasion because of the imminence of Indian hostilities which for a time seemed breaking out in new spots with every spring. Between Cranston and himself there was ever the same firm and steadfast friendship. He sought no intimacies anywhere, but in the same calm, grave, consistent way he went about his duties in garrison, waking up to something like enthusiasm or excitement only when "on the trail." For three years after his brief absence in the summer of '79 he never left his troop a day. A wonderfully good drill officer was the Parson, with a powerful, ringing voice. "Make a splendid exhorter," said some of the boys. He was an accurate tactician, too, and a man who had the faculty of getting admirable results out of his command "without ever a cuss word," said Truman, a thing which that old-time troop leader could not understand. Davies lived hours in the open air, but read and studied much. Popular he was not, and never cared to be; but, honored and respected by one and all and loved by little children, he went his earnest way, and little by little Margaret Cranston found herself leaning more and more upon his opinions as to the pursuits and studies of her boys, and would sit with her needle-work listening to the long discussions between him and her husband, who read not much outside the papers, and presently it got to be the established thing for the Parson to read aloud to them when he came, and though Wilbur scandalized her by going to sleep and snoring on two occasions, he soon began to wake up and talk and discuss, and others, dropping in, either stayed to take part in Cranston's impromptu lyceum or took their chatter elsewhere. The second and third winters at old Laramie were some of the loveliest, said Margaret afterwards, she ever knew, and Mr. Davies had become one of themselves. His promotion to "I" Troop and transfer to a different post was nothing short of a domestic calamity.
But not until that promotion and transfer occurred—though who shall say there was significance in the fact?—was Mrs. Cranston able to induce Miss Loomis to visit the frontier again. They were together all the summer of '81, at the sea-shore with the boys, while Captain Cranston and Davies and others were scorching on the plains, and Miss Loomis evidently needed rest and salt air and water. The next winter she gave up her duties at the seminary and joined the Cranstons on a trip down the Mississippi, eventually returning with her cousin to Wyoming, for her health seemed to have suffered from the long confinement at the school. Bob Gray, with "I" Troop, was away up at Fort McKinney then, but an important court met at the old station down on the Platte, and, as luck would have it, Lieutenant Davies was sent in as judge-advocate.
Just why Mrs. Cranston should have made no mention to Miss Loomis of his coming is a matter only a woman can explain, but she kept the matter to herself until the evening of his arrival. It was their first meeting in four years. The court was in session a month, and three evenings out of four Davies spent as of old at Cranston's fireside. Sanders suggested that the Parson seemed to be "taking notice" again. But Davies went back to his station and Miss Loomis went on about her daily avocations, reading aloud while Margaret's busy needle flew, or playing sweet old melodies at the piano. The young officers were rather afraid of her. She was "a somewhat superior old maid," said a youngster whom she had found it expedient to repress. Some women declared her a trifle unapproachable, unsympathetic perhaps, but even that did not seem to disconcert her. Something happened ere long that did, however, for a few months after adjournment of the court Davies reappeared at Laramie. He had actually taken a leave of absence, and now he was at Cranston's six evenings out of seven, and garrison gossip began in good earnest. Was the Parson seeking solace where poor Mira always said he would? If so, he had little to build on by way of encouragement. The Cranstons missed him sorely when he went back to Gray, and Miss Loomis frankly referred to him as "most instructive" and much broadened and improved. She missed him as any one must miss so well-informed a companion. Four years before she used to exasperate Margaret by standing up for him no matter what he did; now she vexed her by refusing to see anything remarkable in him whatever. Davies wrote with increasing frequency from Fort McKinney to Mrs. Cranston, and Margaret always wanted to read the letters aloud, which was bad generalship in a would-be match-maker.
Then one day came the tidings that head-quarters and six troops were to be stationed together, "C" and "I" among them, and Miss Loomis returned to Chicago. "I'll never forgive you as long as I live," said Margaret. "I know just why you won't stay, and you needn't have worried yourself,—he's far too proud to importune a woman who won't listen to—to reason."
But Mrs. Cranston meant love, not reason, and the two are miles or oceans apart. Mr. Davies might be too proud to worry a woman who couldn't appreciate reason, but a woman worth the winning was worth the wooing, and not a little of it. Business called him to Urbana several days the following winter, and something kept him several weeks. He resumed duty in the spring, steadfast as ever, but even less disposed to take part in garrison affairs. Mrs. Cranston wrote fiercely and frequently to Agatha, and, for aught I know, called her opprobrious things. For another year she refused to return to them. Then came a winter indeed of discontent, and the Eleventh was ordered to far away, burning, blistering Arizona, all but Cranston's troop, excepted at the last moment and detailed for service at the School of Application. Agatha again came to stay with them, and here at last Margaret Cranston learned the momentous fact that, after all these years, something had happened: they were actually corresponding.
She learned more within the fortnight that followed. One exquisite May evening just as the sunset gun had fired and all the bordering walks and piazzas were thronged with gayly-dressed groups, women and children mainly, watching the scene on the parade, there was some stir among the clerks and orderlies and a gentle movement over on the porch of the colonel commanding. The long line of officers dispersed as usual at dismissal of parade, and Cranston came strolling over homeward chatting with his friend and next-door neighbor, Captain Blake, of the —th. Blake's lovely wife was even then on Cranston's veranda, for she and Miss Loomis seemed to have taken a fancy to each other from the moment of their meeting. Margaret, as usual, met her hero at the steps, just as a young officer came excitedly and hurriedly down the brick walk from the colonel's. It was Blake who heard him calling some tidings to other households and who hailed him as he neared them and was bustling by.
"What's the row, Tommy?"
"Big fight in Arizona," was the startling answer. "Captain Hastings and Parson Davies killed."
And Nannie Blake saw in amaze the light go out of her companion's eyes and every vestige of color from her face. Her arms were about her in an instant, and none too soon. Oh, the blessing of those clinging, clustering vines! No one else saw how they had to fairly carry her within doors, but Agatha's secret was revealed.
There was little exaggeration in the first story of that savage battle in the cañon. Many a gallant fellow lay stripped and bloated when the relief party reached the scene a few days later, but Davies, though pierced through and through, still lived, and was moved and borne away weeks later to bracing mountain air, and found many a reason for wanting to live for many a year. Two men had gone to him fast as trains could speed, Cranston and our old friend the chaplain. It was the former who within the week that followed that engagement announced another. It was the latter who within the fortnight joined her hand in his, white, feeble as it was, and poured out his very heart and soul in the fervent prayer for blessing on this man and this woman now at last made one.