“Nothing. She didn’t promise me pay, because she knew I wouldn’t have done it for pay. She only looked at me, and she seemed sad, I don’t know why. I couldn’t help but promise her. I gave her my word of honor, because she said her letters might be of use to you, but that no one else must know that she had written them.”
“When was all this?”
“At St. Louis, just before we started. I reckon she picked me out because she thought I was especially close to you. You know I have been so.”
“Yes, I know, Shannon.”
“I thought I was doing something for you. You see, she told me that her name must not be mentioned, that no one must know about this, because it would hurt a woman’s reputation. She thought the men might talk, and that would be bad for you. I could not refuse her. Do you blame me now?”
“No, Shannon. No! In all this there is but one to blame, and that is your officer, myself!”
“I did not think there was any harm in my getting the letters to you, Captain. I knew that lady was your friend. I know who she is. She was more beautiful than any woman in St. Louis when we were there—more a lady, somehow. Of course, I’m not an officer or a gentleman—I’m only a boy from the backwoods, and only a private soldier. I couldn’t break my promise to her, and I couldn’t very well obey your orders unless I did. If I’ve broken any of the regulations you can punish me. You see, I held back this letter—I gave it to you now because I had the feeling that I ought to—that she would want me to. It is the fever, sir!”
“Aye, the fever!”
Silence fell as they stood there in the night. The boy went on, half tremblingly:
“Please, please, Captain Lewis, don’t call me a coward! I don’t believe I am. I was trying to do something for you—for both of you. It was always on my mind about these letters. I did my best and now——”