So—peacefully, slept the un-shrouded dead,
Beyond caring whether they stoned or kissed her;
Till a Ministering Angel came instead,
In the guise of a Salvation Army Sister.
Poor “Skagway Kate”
Brightly, ah, so brightly, the rays of the early morning sun flooded that sad room with their golden radiance, lighting up with a veritable halo of glory the still, peaceful face of one for whom the weary troubles and pain of this world had ceased.
The door opened softly and Musgrave, standing in its aperture, surveyed a scene that awed and shook even his cynical nature to its very depths. For some minutes he remained with bowed head, perfectly motionless, a picture of silent sympathy then, tip-toeing noiselessly forward, he shook the still sleeping Benton gently, and a haggard, drawn face was slowly upturned to his.
“Come, old man,” he said quietly. “Rouse yourself. You can do no more good here now.”
And, stiff and cold, the Sergeant arose and followed him out like a child.
Wearily he returned to the detachment and, with mechanical instinct, tidied up the place. Then, duly attending scrupulously to his personal toilet, he went down to the hotel, where he forced himself to swallow a few mouthfuls of food and a cup of coffee. Later he repaired to the room of Musgrave’s patient and, after subjecting that unfortunate individual to a somewhat lengthy examination, he formally placed him under arrest. These duties despatched, he departed with a heavy heart to the station to await the incoming west-bound train, which was over an hour late.
Gradually, under the influence of his surroundings and the fresh morning air, mind and body, from constant habit, returned, naturally, to their normal state of soldierly alertness. To all outward appearance he became once more the composed, practical guardian of the Law, resourceful and ready for any duty that claimed him. Presently he was joined by the station agent, who greeted him with a sort of miserable heartiness.
“Well, Sergeant,” he began, “and how are we this morning? Some doings last night, eh? What about that ear of yours? You look as if you’d sure come through a rough house, with that bandage on. What’s the other feller look like?”
Ellis did not answer for a moment, but a faint grin overspread his haggard face as he regarded the other’s tell-tale countenance attentively.
“We!” he echoed, with quiet derision. “I’m afraid we doesn’t feel very well this nice mornin’, Carey. Ear stings like the devil. As for the other fellow—you know what he looks like, all right. You look as if you were just doin’ a ‘walk-march’ to your own funeral. You’d better keep a flask on your hip for emergencies, as you an’ me’ll be the star witnesses when this inquest comes off. I’m expectin’ the coroner an’ one of our inspectors on this train.”