"He can when ould Pegleg's a-pullin', Misther Sergeant Haney, and he's not to go anywhere else or talk with any one else furst off ayther," was the significant answer,—another unpleasant item to impart to his now wretchedly uneasy captain; and verily it seemed to Haney that the halcyon days were done for good and all, when soon after dusk a little squad from Cranston's troop, with Second Lieutenant Sanders in command, rode briskly away on the Braska road, and it was speedily whispered about the garrison that they were going to find Paine, drunk or sober, dead or alive, and fetch him back to the post forthwith.
"It takes a heap of nagging to get old Pegleg fully worked up," said the fellows of the Fortieth that night, à propos of the snub given Devers, and the pursuit by members of another troop of material witnesses, "but when he locks horns in dead earnest, the other party's got to scratch gravel; it's business and no quarter."
Meantime, acting under the advice of Captain Cranston, Davies had refrained from making any complaint of the language which Devers had seen fit to use at his expense. "Leonard says that some other matters should come up first, and Leonard knows. The colonel is after Devers with a sharp stick now, and all these charges are to be sprung upon him presently. You go on getting your quarters ready for Wednesday's house-warming. By that time you'll be wanted on the witness-stand. To-morrow, Tuesday, there'll be fun at the commanding officer's office with a general court-martial looming up behind it. Meantime, hold your peace."
This was Monday evening, and when he returned, meditating, to his temporary fireside, he found Mira surrounded by a swarm of post callers, smiling and chatting, gracious and gay. He was in no mood for chatter himself, but had to sit by and strive to be interested and sociable. Most of their visitors had heard the story of Captain Devers's close call at the office that morning, and not a few sought to hear the facts of the case from the lips of an eye-witness. But Davies would not speak of the matter at all, and, finding him intractable, some one asked if Sanders had returned, and what success had attended his search for the missing. It was nearly time for tattoo. Dr. Burroughs was among the callers, and had just come over from the hospital. He had had no addition to the list of patients. "On the contrary," said he, "I have a man who might go to duty to-night were there need, and that is Miss Loomis's patient, Brannan."
"Oh, do tell us about that, Mr. Davies," appealed Mrs. Flight, who was again on hand, well knowing that next to the colonel's, where she was not entirely in the good graces of the lady of the house, garrison society would be most apt to be found in force doing homage to the bride. "We've heard all manner of conjectures already, and are so eager to know the truth. Was he an old friend of her's, and did he send and beg her to come to him?"
"No," said Davies, promptly, "she got to the hospital by merest accident. Louis Cranston's throat was sore, and he was coughing a great deal. She went for medicine, and I happened to meet her on the way."
"But they said there was such a romantic scene; he wept and clung to her hand, and——"
Here Burroughs opportunely and somewhat aggressively burst into a guffaw of derisive laughter. "Miss Loomis is just one of those admirable women," said he, "that empty-headed idiots prate about. I wish other people had half her sense." A luckless way of essaying the defence of the absent, for it reflected on many a woman present.
"Fie! Dr. Burroughs," exclaimed Mrs. Flight. "Your blushes give you away, even more than your words. Don't you be falling in love with Miss Loomis. She's aiming higher than one room and a kitchen and a thousand a year." Whereupon there was shrill laughter, and further accusation and indignant protest from the ill-starred medico. And Davies, who ought to have rejoiced in the loyalty of such admiration for his friend and whilom nurse, was conscious of a pang of annoyance and aversion. The entrance of the old chaplain and his wife, and dark, swarthy Leonard with the handsome partner of his joys and sorrows, gave instant turn to the conversation. In a very few minutes Mrs. Flight and two younger matrons took their departure, Almira following them with rustic regretfulness, and exchanging some whispered confidences at the door, which brought new flush to Davies's anxious face. Mrs. Leonard was speaking of a recent visit "up the road," as in those days the Union Pacific in its westward climb to the Rockies was referred to. She had had such a lovely visit to Fort Russell, and had so much to tell about affairs in that particularly swell regiment, the —th, and the Truscotts had entertained her at such a pretty dinner; Mrs. Truscott was charming, and Mrs. Stannard was such a noble woman, and they were all so interested in Mr. Ray's engagement. It was practically announced. He was to be married to Miss Sanford—an heiress and a great catch—early in June, and this led to the chaplain speaking of Ray, whom in days gone by he was prone to look upon with little favor, if not indeed as a ne'er-do-well. "I always feared that he would fall, and I am so rejoiced in this new phase to his character."
"Oh, I met Mr. Ray!" exclaimed Almira, delightedly. "He was ordered in to General Sheridan on some duty late in the summer, and some of the young officers, Percy's classmates, said he was such a brave fellow."