CHAPTER XIII.
One of the first inquiries made by Mr. Davies was for Trooper Brannan. "He is with the detachment up at the reservation," said Mr. Hastings. "That's our Botany Bay. That's where Differs ships his bad eggs. Not that Brannan was a bad egg, but that Differs so regarded him."
"Had he been drinking or in any trouble?"
"Well, not exactly trouble," said Hastings. "He didn't get along with one or two of the sergeants. They made frequent complaint of his 'lip,' and the old man seemed suspicious of him." Only one new hand or recruit had been selected to go to the agency with Boynton's detachment, and that was Brannan. He was sent to replace Fogarty, who broke his leg, just about the time the other troops came. When Davies reported to his troop and battalion commander for duty, Captain Differs received him with much grave dignity,—with a certain air in which majestic courtesy was mingled with that of forgiveness for injuries received, as though he would say, "Let by-gones be by-gones. We'll make a fresh start, and in consideration of your ills, inexperience, and the like, I'll try to overlook your shortcomings in the field." Davies had never set eyes on him from the moment of their parting at dusk that gloomy Dakota evening to the northwest of the Springs,—from that evening to that of his return. Totally ignorant of much that had taken place during his illness, he was ready to serve his captain faithfully, even though he felt that he could not like or trust him. They had but brief converse. "Take all the time you need to get your quarters ready, Mr. Davies. You and Hastings can divide the detail work of stables and roll-call between you," said Devers. "Just remember we've got an infantry adjutant here who's only too anxious to find fault and stir up trouble between us and the post commander."
Going into the troop office the day after his return, Davies was surprised to see a dark-eyed, dark-haired, rather handsome young soldier at the clerk's desk. He recognized him as one of the recruits whom he had brought out in July, but of whom he had seen very little during the campaign.
"That's our new company clerk," said Hastings. "One of Differs's latest pets. There are better clerks and better men in the troop. He relieved a better man when he sent Moran up to the agency. But what Devers is driving at is past finding out. There's been a total shaking up since that—well, since the campaign."
And that this was true Davies could see for himself. Never having known the troop, except in the field on the worst of campaigns, it took him a few days to become accustomed to the change. Some of the most prominent of the troop sergeants were still on duty with it, but in their spick-and-span uniforms and clean-shaven cheeks and chins he found them greatly altered. The first sergeant was the same, and the relationship between him and the captain seemed closer than ever. Haney recognized no middleman in his dealings with the troop commander, and had long been allowed to consider himself as of far more importance than a junior lieutenant, a theory in which, perhaps, there was much to sustain him. The manner of this magnate to the two subalterns, therefore, was just a trifle independent. Two veteran corporals had stepped up to an additional stripe vice Daly killed and McGrath missing in September. Some new corporals had been "made." None of those whom Davies best knew and most noticed during the summer were among them. He missed two or three of the old hands and asked for them. Sergeant Lutz had gone to the agency. Corporal O'Brien had been reduced for a spree on the home-coming and was serving as private in Boynton's detachment, and Privates Sercomb and Riley were up there, too. The resultant vacancies in the troop had been filled by raw recruits who were being energetically licked into shape.
When Cranston was asked why he supposed it had pleased Captain Devers to send a recruit like Brannan up to the bleak and unwholesome life at the agency, Cranston replied by saying, "Differs said it was to keep him out of harm's way. Up there he couldn't get liquor, down here he could." When Davies asked if Brannan had shown a disposition to drink since getting back from the campaign, Cranston again used Devers's authority. "Differs said he had,—two or three times." But when Cranston wrote to Boynton, Boynton replied that young Brannan declared that he had been totally abstemious since the day after they reached the post. The day of their coming in, he arrived half frozen and all tired out, as he had been kept back on wagon guard, and he was offered liquor by Sergeant Haney himself, and drank several times, and was wretchedly ill all the next day as a consequence,—so ill that it frightened him, and he swore off more solemnly than before. Hastings said, in fact, that there was a set in "A" troop, a clique that "stood in" with the first sergeant and some of his favorites, and that no man outside of it could hope for recognition and no one in it fear punishment. Brannan was not in it.
It was a Wednesday night, as has been said, that Davies arrived, and not until the following Wednesday could they be installed in their quarters, which were being simply but prettily furnished. Private Barnickel had assumed the duties of striker, and Mrs. Maloney's strapping daughter Katty was now presiding in Boynton's kitchen as cook and maid-of-all-work. A tenant had been found for the old house at home, who was to pay a certain rental to Squire Quimby, which sum was to be supplemented by a monthly payment from his son-in-law's scanty purse. "We must live very simply and economically, my wife," said Davies. "At the very least it will take me two whole years to pay principal and interest and set us foot free; but we have few other debts. We can be warm and comfortable. You have all the clothing you will be apt to need for a good while, and I will get along with what I have." And Mira had received the suggestion with all wifely grace. They went to chapel together that first crisp, sunshiny, wintry Sunday, and all Fort Scott—at least all that happened to be there assembled—remarked on Almira's rich color—and furs—and on Davies's reverent manner. He was the only man in the little congregation who actually knelt. The old chaplain rejoiced that afternoon when the tall lieutenant came in at Sunday-school, and, taking immediate charge of the most turbulent of his classes,—the big boys,—held them both interested and respectful until the close of the session. Almira came too, and made an impression on the juvenile minds of some of the laundresses' children, who studied her pretty face and new hat and garments with close attention; but it gave her a headache and she would rather not go to the evening service, she said,—a service held more especially for the benefit of the soldiers and their families, and but sparsely attended otherwise. Davies went, however, and when he came home to their temporary quarters, found Almira, all animation, chatting with Mrs. Flight and Mrs. Darling, to whom she had been showing the contents of her big trunk. They were called for presently by Mr. Sanders and his classmate Jervis, both of whom had known the "Parson" in his cadet days, but from the somewhat immeasurable altitude of a two years' start, yet they were the younger looking now, gay, debonair bachelors, pillars of the social gatherings at the post and most delightful partners, and, having completed their duties with tattoo roll-call, they were now in search of these reigning belles and an opportunity to talk over the hop projected for the coming Wednesday night. Of course Mrs. Davies would come, said Jervis, but Sanders's warning kick brought him to consciousness. "At least I hope—we all hope you'll very soon be able to attend our parties, Mrs. Davies. I suppose you've reformed the Parson and taught him to waltz." Mira looked at her husband, and she knew not just what to say.