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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/18022-8.txt b/18022-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fd56a42 --- /dev/null +++ b/18022-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5402 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Betty at Fort Blizzard, by Molly Elliot +Seawell, Illustrated by Edmund Frederick + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Betty at Fort Blizzard + + +Author: Molly Elliot Seawell + + + +Release Date: March 20, 2006 [eBook #18022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BETTY AT FORT BLIZZARD*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 18022-h.htm or 18022-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/0/2/18022/18022-h/18022-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/0/2/18022/18022-h.zip) + + + + + +BETTY AT FORT BLIZZARD + +by + +MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL + +Author of "Betty's Virginia Christmas," "Papa Bouchard," "The +Jugglers," "Little Jarvis," Etc. + +With Illustrations in Color and from Pen Drawings by Edmund Frederick + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: Anita walked down the stairs and came face to face with +Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence. (missing from book)] + + + + + +Philadelphia & London +J. B. Lippincott Company +1916 +Copyright, 1916, by John Wanamaker +Book News Monthly +Under title "Colonel Fortescue's Betty" +Copyright, 1916, by J. B. Lippincott Company +Published September, 1916 +Reprinted October 20, 1916 + + + + +TO + +ELEANOR T. WOOD + +THE GENTLE LADY + + +WHOSE PATH THROUGH LIFE IS RADIANT + +WITH GOOD DEEDS + + +THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED + +BY + +THE AUTHOR + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + + I. "MISS BETTY" IN A NEW RÔLE + II. A PRETTY MAID AND A GAMECHICK + III. THE HEART OF A MAID + IV. "GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART, GOOD-BYE" + V. UNFORGETTING + VI. SOME LETTERS AND KETTLE'S ENLISTMENT + VII. THE PLEADING EYES OF WOMEN + VIII. LOVE, THE CONQUEROR + IX. THE REVEILLE + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +IN COLOR + +Anita Walked Down the Stairs and Came Face to Face + with Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence . . . . . . Frontispiece + +Broussard Lifted Gamechick by the Bridle and the Next + Moment Cleared Both Mare and Girl + +The Last Glimpse Broussard Had of Anita Was, As She + Stood, Her Arm About Gamechick's Neck + +"This Was Enclosed in a Letter to Me From Mr. Broussard," + said the Colonel + + +FROM PEN DRAWINGS + +The Black Mare Suddenly Threw Her Head Down and Her Heels Up + +"Miss Anita is in there with Mr. Broussard, an' He got + on His Courtin' Breeches, an' They's Just as Quiet as + a Couple of Sleepin' Babies" + +"Never Mind, Dear, Darling Daddy, I Love You Just the Same" + +Mrs. McGillicuddy Sat Majestically Upright in the Buggy, + While the Sergeant Bestrode the Peaceful and Amiable Dot + +"Neither You nor Your Child Shall Suffer for the Present" + +Kettle Dropped the Reins, and Grasping Corporal + Around the Neck Hung on Desperately + +"Don't Call Your Father 'the Poor old Chap,'" Said + Mrs. Fortescue Positively + + + + +BETTY AT FORT BLIZZARD + + +CHAPTER I + +"MISS BETTY" IN A NEW RÔLE + +Colonel John Hope Fortescue, commanding the fine new cavalry post of +Fort Blizzard, in the far Northwest, sat in his comfortable office and +gazed through the big window at the plaza with its tall flagstaff, from +which the splendid regimental flag floated in the crystal cold air of +December. Afar off was a broad plateau for drills, an aviation field, +and beyond all, a still, snow-bound world, walled in by jagged peaks of +ice. It seemed to Colonel Fortescue, who was an idealist and at the +same time a crack cavalry officer, that the great flag on the giant +flagstaff dominated the frozen world around it, and its stars were a +part of the firmament. When the sun rose and the flag was run up, then +indeed it was sunrise. And when the sun descended in majesty, so the +flag descended in glory. + +As the last pale gleam of splendor touched the flag, the sunset gun +cracked out suddenly. Colonel Fortescue and his right-hand man for +twenty years, Sergeant Patrick McGillicuddy, rose to their feet and +stood at "attention," as the flag fell slowly. Then it was reverently +furled, and the color sergeant, with the guard, started toward the +Colonel's quarters, all whom they passed making way for them and +saluting the furled colors. + +Colonel Fortescue continued to look out of the window, while Sergeant +McGillicuddy, getting some belated mail together, passed out of the +office entrance of the fine new commandant's quarters. Two +horsewomen--Mrs. Fortescue, she who had been Betty Beverley, and her +seventeen-year-old Anita--followed by a trooper as escort, were coming +through the main entrance. Colonel Fortescue's eyes softened as he +watched his wife and daughter, Mrs. Fortescue as slim as when she was +Betty Beverley of old in Virginia, and riding as lightly and gracefully +as a bird on the wing. + +There were two other watchers besides the Colonel. These two stood at +the drawing-room window. One was tall and black and kind-eyed, with +the unquenchable kindness of the colored race. His official name was +Solomon Ezekiel Pickup, but ever since Mrs. Fortescue, as Betty +Beverley, had taken him, a little waif, forlorn and homeless and +friendless, he had been simply Kettle, being as black as a kettle. He +had watched and adored the baby days of "Marse Beverley," the straight +young stripling now training to be a soldier at West Point, and Anita, +the violet-eyed daughter, the adored of her father's heart, but Kettle +had not come into his own until the two-year-old baby, John Hope +Fortescue II, had arrived in a world which did not expect him, but +welcomed him the more rapturously on that account. The new baby had +taken everybody by surprise, and immediately acquired the name of the +After-Clap. He coolly approved of his father and mother, and thought +Anita an entertaining person when she got down on the floor to play +with him. Naturally he was indifferent to his twenty-year-old brother, +whom he had never seen, but Kettle--his own Kettle--was the beloved of +the After-Clap's heart. Next to Kettle in his affections was Mrs. +McGillicuddy, the six-foot-two wife of Sergeant McGillicuddy, who had +eight children, of assorted sizes, and still found time to do a great +deal for the After-Clap. + +Mrs. Fortescue, riding briskly across the plaza, and seeing Kettle, so +black, holding in his arms the laughing baby, so white, smiled and +waved her hand at them. Then, catching sight of the Commanding +Officer, standing at the window of his office, she smiled at him. But +Colonel Fortescue was not smiling; on the contrary, he was frowning as +his eyes fell upon Mrs. Fortescue's mount, Birdseye, a light built +black mare, with a shifty eye and a propensity to make free with her +hind feet. More than once Colonel Fortescue had reminded Mrs. +Fortescue that it was somewhat beneath the dignity of a Commanding +Officer's wife to ride a kicking horse. But Mrs. Fortescue had a +sneaking affection for Birdseye and much preferred her to Pretty Maid, +the brown mare Anita rode, and who was considered as demure as Anita, +and Anita was very demure, and very, very pretty. At least, so thought +Lieutenant Victor Broussard, watching her out of the tail of his eye, +as he passed some distance away. It was not so far away, however, that +Anita could not see the handsome turn of his close-cropped black head, +and his eyes full of laughter and courage and impudence. As some +things go by contraries, the glimpse of Broussard made Anita dismount +quickly from Pretty Maid and flit within doors to avoid the sight of +him. Once indoors, Anita ran where she could catch a last look of +Broussard's young figure, his cavalry cape thrown back, before he +turned the corner and was gone. + +Colonel Fortescue, at the office window, returned a salute, without a +smile, to Mrs. Fortescue's greeting from afar. His teeth came together +with a snap. + +"It's the last time," he said aloud--meaning that Mrs. Fortescue would +have to submit to his judgment in horses and let Birdseye alone. + +What happened next turned the Colonel's resolution to adamant. A +trooper was leading Pretty Maid away and another trooper was about to +do the same for Birdseye when the black mare suddenly threw her head +down and her heels up. Mrs. Fortescue kept her seat, while the mare, +backing, and kicking as she backed, knocked over a couple of the +passing color guard, and only by adroitness the color sergeant saved +the flag from being dropped to the ground. Meanwhile, the two +troopers, falling backward, collided with the chaplain, a small, meek +man, as brave as a lion, who stopped to look and was ignominiously +bowled over. Sergeant McGillicuddy, just coming out of the office +entrance, made a dash forward and grabbed Birdseye by the bridle. The +mare, still unable to unseat Mrs. Fortescue or to break away from the +wiry little Sergeant, yet managed to scatter all the official mail in +the Sergeant's hand on the snow. Kettle, who could not have remained +away from "Miss Betty" under such circumstances to save his life, +dropped the baby on the drawing-room floor and rushed out. This the +After-Clap resented, shrieking wildly. + +[Illustration: The black mare suddenly threw her head down and her +heels up.] + +The combination of the kicking mare, the fallen troopers, the prostrate +chaplain, and the screaming baby at once determined Colonel Fortescue +to remain in his office; what he had to say to Mrs. Fortescue would not +sound well in public. Unlike Kettle, Colonel Fortescue had no fear +whatever for Mrs. Fortescue, and watched calmly from the window as +Sergeant McGillicuddy brought Birdseye to her four feet. Mrs. +Fortescue sprang to the ground and apologized gracefully to the +chaplain, assuring him that Birdseye was the best disposed horse in the +world, except when she was in a temper and her temper was merely +bashfulness and stage fright. + +"Whatever it is," answered Chaplain Brown, smiling while he rubbed a +bruised shin, "it hurts. It hurts pretty badly, too." + +Next, Mrs. Fortescue apologized profusely to the troopers who had been +knocked down by the bashful Birdseye. After their kind, they preferred +a kicker to a non-kicker, and accepted, with delighted grins, Mrs. +Fortescue's sweet words. But it was another thing when Mrs. Fortescue +had to face a frowning husband. + +Mrs. Fortescue tripped into the Colonel's office, and going up to +Colonel Fortescue gave him two soft kisses and a lovely smile, and this +is what she got in return, in the Colonel's parade-ground voice: + +"I supposed I had made myself perfectly clear, Elizabeth, in regard to +your riding that kicking mare." + +"But, darling," replied Mrs. Fortescue, "I thought you wouldn't mind. +And please don't call me Elizabeth. It breaks my heart." + +"I must ask--in fact, insist--that you shall not ride that mare again," +answered the Colonel sternly, without taking any notice of Mrs. +Fortescue's breaking heart. + +"And her name is Birdseye," plaintively responded Mrs. Fortescue. +"Don't you remember, the first horse you ever put me on was your first +Birdseye." + +Mrs. Fortescue accompanied this information with a little pinch of the +Colonel's ear. The Colonel remained coldly unresponsive; he had +steeled his heart; the kisses and the pinch were hard to resist, but +hardest of all the look of wide-eyed innocence in the dark eyes +uplifted to his. Mrs. Fortescue would never see forty again, and her +rich hair had a wide streak of silver running from her right temple; +but she was the same Betty Beverley of twenty years before. The Betty +Beverleys of this world are dowered with immortal youth and change but +little, even under strange stars. + +Mrs. Fortescue had never in her life been at the end of her resources +for placating men. She withdrew her arms from about her husband's +neck, and running lightly into the drawing-room took the After-Clap +from Kettle's arms, and, throwing him pick-a-back on her shoulders, +tripped with her beautiful man-child into the Colonel's office. Mrs. +Fortescue and the baby were the only persons who ever took liberties +with Colonel Fortescue. + +The baby, charmed with his father's uniform, seized a shoulder strap +with one hand and grabbed the Colonel's carefully trimmed mustache with +the other, and lifted a pair of laughing eyes, wonderfully like his +mother's, into his father's face. Mrs. Fortescue, at first as demure +as any C. O.'s wife in the world, suddenly smiled the radiant smile +that began with her eyes and ended with her lips. The woman's cunning +was too much for the man's strength. Colonel Fortescue put his arm +around his wife, as she laid the baby's rose-leaf face against his +father's bronzed cheek. Husband and wife looked into each other's eyes +and smiled. With this baby their lost youth was restored to them. +Once more the Colonel was a slim young lieutenant, and Mrs. Fortescue +was holding in her arms another dark-eyed, rose-leafed baby, now a +young soldier in the gray uniform of a military cadet. They, +themselves, could scarcely realize the flitting of the years. This new +baby was a glorious surprise in their later married life. The baby's +little hand had led them backward to the splendid sunrise of their +married happiness. + +"It is because I love you so that I can't--I won't let you ride that +black devil, Betty dear," said the Colonel. + +"How ridiculous!" replied Mrs. Fortescue. "You know I can ride as well +as you can--can't I, After-Clap?" + +"Goo-goo-goo-goo!" replied the baby, positively. + +"And I never could understand why you should take the trouble to get +angry with me," Mrs. Fortescue kept on, "when you can't stay angry with +me to save your life." + +Colonel Fortescue made a last stand. + +"But if I didn't get angry with you sometimes, Betty----" + +"'Betty' sounds cheerful," interrupted Mrs. Fortescue, and then there +was peace between them. + +Mrs. Fortescue and the Colonel went up-stairs to dress for dinner, and +Kettle, on watch in the hall, took charge of the After-Clap, who +commanded to be taken back into the office. Kettle, as always, +promptly obeyed, and putting the baby on Sergeant McGillicuddy's desk, +allowed the After-Clap to wreck everything in sight. + +It had not been originally designed that Kettle should be the +After-Clap's nurse. The colored mammy who had nursed Beverley and +Anita with tender devotions having gone to her well-earned rest, Mrs. +Fortescue had determined to be very modern with the After-Clap. A +smart young trained nurse, in a ravishing cap, was his first nurse. +But the baby showed such marked preference for Kettle, and Kettle +dogging the baby by day and night and thrusting superfluous services +and advice upon the nurse, she decided she would not stand being +"bossed by a nigger," and took a train for the East. Then, Mrs. +Fortescue determined to return to first principles and imported from +Virginia, at great cost and trouble, a colored mammy, most capable and +experienced. But the complications with Kettle grew more acute, and +the mammy, in a blaze of indignation, took even stronger ground than +the trained nurse, and declared she "warn't goin' to be bossed by no +black nigger." When she had shaken the snow of Fort Blizzard from her +feet, there was nothing left but to hand the baby over to Kettle and +Mrs. McGillicuddy, as coadjutor. After tending her own brood and +keeping a sharp eye on Anna Maria McGillicuddy, her eldest daughter, +who had reached the stage of beaux, and cooking the best meals for the +Sergeant that any sergeant could ask, Mrs. McGillicuddy still had time +to lend a helping hand with the After-Clap. + +Kettle and Mrs. McGillicuddy had been good friends ever since the time, +nineteen years before, when she had become the little Sergeant's +two-hundred-pound bride. But in the twenty years, during which Kettle +had never left "Miss Betty" and Sergeant McGillicuddy had been Colonel +Fortescue's factotum, there had been a continual guerilla warfare +between Kettle and the Sergeant. The Sergeant alluded scornfully to +Kettle as "the naygur," while with Kettle the Sergeant was always "ole +McGillicuddy." Mrs. McGillicuddy was invariably on Kettle's side, and +one blast upon her bugle horn was worth ten thousand men in what Kettle +called his "collusions," with the Sergeant. Sergeant McGillicuddy had +performed prodigies of valor in fights with Indians; he had been +mentioned in general order, along with Colonel Fortescue, and was +commonly reputed to fear neither the devil nor the doctor. But he was +under iron discipline with Mrs. McGillicuddy, and Kettle, like +everybody else, knew it. + +While the After-Clap was disporting himself with the articles on the +Sergeant's desk, under the full glare of the electric light, a shadow +passed the window. The next minute Sergeant McGillicuddy entered, the +lion in him aroused by the sight of the liberties taken with his desk. + +"I say, you naygur," snorted the Sergeant wrathfully, "you take that +baby off my desk and out of this office. The C. O's office ain't no +day nursery." + +"You go to grass," replied Kettle boldly. + +The reason for Kettle's boldness was in sight. Mrs. McGillicuddy's +majestic figure was seen approaching from the region back of the +dining-room, and she had heard the Sergeant's remark about the C. O.'s +office being a day nursery. + +"And it's you, Patrick McGillicuddy," cried Mrs. McGillicuddy, sailing +into the office, "the father of eight children, complaining of this +sweet blessed lamb." + +"D' ye mean the naygur?" asked McGillicuddy. + +Mrs. McGillicuddy, scorning to reply, seized the baby, and with Kettle +following marched out. It was not really judicious for the After-Clap +to be taken into the C. O.'s office. + +The Sergeant began meekly to straighten up his desk, and Colonel +Fortescue, coming in later to glance over the evening newspaper, found +McGillicuddy gazing meditatively at the Articles of War, lying in a +volume on the table. + +The Sergeant was not the modern educated non-com, with an eye to a +commission, but an old-timer, unlearned in books, but an expert in +handling men and horses. + +"What is it, Sergeant?" asked the C. O. + +"Just this, sir," replied the Sergeant respectfully, "I was thinkin' a +man ought to be mighty keerful when he picks out a wife." + +"Certainly," replied the Colonel, gravely, who had exercised no +forethought at all, after once falling under the spell of Betty +Beverley's laughing eyes. + +"When I got married I didn't act rash at all, sir, because I'm by +nature a timid man," continued the Sergeant, who was a valiant man, and +free. "I went to a palmist and paid him a dollar for my horrorscope. +I told him I wanted a little woman, about my size, who would follow me +around like a poodle dog. The palmist, he said, sir, he seen a little +woman in my hand as would follow me around like a poodle dog. Then I +went to a reg'lar fortune teller, and she told me the same thing, for a +dollar. And I went to a mind reader, the seventh daughter of a seventh +daughter, and she promised me the little woman, too. I bought a dream +book and there was the same little woman again, sir. Within a +fortnight after all this I met Araminta Morrarity, as is now Missis +Patrick McGillicuddy, and she is six-foot-two-and-three-quarters inches +in height, and tipped the scale then at a hundred and ninety-six +pounds--and I'm the lightest man in the regiment. Missis McGillicuddy +has been a good wife, sir--I ain't sayin' a word about that, sir." + +"I should think not," replied Colonel Fortescue, to whom the Sergeant's +married life was known intimately for nineteen years, "Mrs. +McGillicuddy keeps all the soldiers' wives satisfied and is a boon to +the regiment." + +"That's so, sir," the Sergeant agreed, "and the chaplain, he +compliments her on the way she marches them eight children and me to +the chapel every Sunday, rain or shine, me havin' the right of the +line, Missis McGillicuddy herself bein' the rear guard, the line +properly dressed, no stragglers, everything done soldier-like. But +Missis McGillicuddy don't follow me around like a poodle dog, as the +palmist, and the mind reader, and the dream book said she would. She's +hell-bent--excuse me sir--on havin' her own way all the time." + +Just then a vision flitted past the door. It was Anita, dressed for +dinner, in a filmy gown of pale blue and white, the colors of the +Blessed Damozel. A light came into Colonel Fortescue's eyes as they +rested on this darling of his heart. The Sergeant had a pretty +daughter, Anna Maria by name, who was just Anita's age and of whom the +Sergeant was extravagantly fond. The two fathers, the Colonel and the +Sergeant, exchanged intelligent glances. Often, in their twenty years +of daily association, they talked together about things of which they +never spoke to any other man. + +"Anna Maria is a fine girl," said the Colonel. + +"Yes, sir," answered the Sergeant, "if she'd just get over the fancy +she has for Briggs, the artillery corporal. That man is bound to be +killed by a wheel runnin' over him. You know, sir, if there is +anything on earth that skeers me stiff it is a horse hitched to any +kind of a vehicle. I don't mind ridin' 'em because then the horse's +heels is behind me. But in a vehicle the horse's heels is in front of +me, and it makes me nervous. I have told Anna Mariar that she shan't +so much as look at Briggs unless he exchanges into the cavalry, so the +horse's heels will be behind him, and not in front of him." + +The entrance bell rang, and Kettle went to the front door. Colonel +Fortescue could neither hear nor see the visitor, but the step and the +sound of a military cloak thrown on a chair indicated the arrival of a +junior lieutenant. Colonel Fortescue looked annoyed. The junior +officer running after Anita bothered him even more than Briggs, the +artillery corporal, bothered Sergeant McGillicuddy. Anita was but a +child--only seventeen; the Colonel had proclaimed this when he brought +Anita to the post. Colonel Fortescue did all that a father and a +Colonel could do to keep the junior lieutenants away from Anita, but no +method has yet been found to keep junior officers away from pretty +girls. + +There were still twenty minutes before dinner, and the scoundrel, as +Colonel Fortescue classified all the juniors who, like himself, adored +Anita, seemed determined to stay until the musical gong sounded, and +later, if he were asked. This particular scoundrel, Broussard, was the +one to whom the Colonel most objected of all the slim, good-looking +scoundrels who wore shoulder straps, for Broussard had too much money +to spend, and spent it wildly, so the Colonel thought; he, himself, had +something handsome besides his pay, but he had also a sensible father +who held him down. Broussard had too many motors, too many horses, too +many dogs, too many clothes, too many fighting chickens, and, above +all, was too intimate with a certain soldier, a gentleman-ranker who +was disapproved, both of officer and man. A gentleman-ranker is a man +serving in the rank who might be an officer. This one, Lawrence by +name, was a bad lot altogether. The Colonel could add quite a +respectable number of demerits to Broussard's credit. And to make +matters worse, Broussard was a dashing fellow, the best rider in his +troop, and had a way with him that made Anita's eyes soften and her +tea-rose cheeks brighten when he came within her presence. + +Meanwhile, Broussard was walking up the long and handsome drawing-room +toward the little glass room at the end, which had been fitted up for +Anita's birds, her doves and her canaries. + +Anita, leaning backward in the cushioned window seat, held to her +breast a fluttering white dove. She did not see Broussard until he was +quite in the little room, and had closed the glass door after him. As +Anita gave Broussard her hand, a great wave of delicate color flooded +her face. This quickened the beating of Broussard's heart--Anita did +not blush like that for everybody. She had a gentle aloofness +generally toward men which was a baffling mystery to her mother. + +Broussard, being frankly in love with Anita, lost all his importance +and presumption in her sweet presence, and was as gentle and modest as +the white dove that Anita still held to her breast. As he longed to +sit near her and ask her poignant questions, Broussard sat a long way +off and talked common-places, chiefly about birds, of which he showed a +surprising knowledge, gleaned that afternoon from the encyclopaedia, in +anticipation of his visit. Also, Broussard had, very artfully, secured +a traitor in the enemy's camp because it was well understood at Fort +Blizzard that Colonel Fortescue was the enemy of every subaltern at the +post who dared to raise his sacrilegious eyes to the Colonel's daughter. + +This traitor was Kettle, into whose hand Broussard never failed to +place a quarter whenever they met, and at the same time to wink +gravely. Kettle knew the meaning both of the quarter and the wink. + +Across the hall Kettle was arranging the dinner table, it being Mrs. +McGillicuddy's duty to put the After-Clap to bed. The dining-room door +was ajar, and Kettle kept an eye open to Broussard's advantage. + +Presently, Mrs. Fortescue came down-stairs, dressed for dinner in a +gown of a jocund yellow, which Colonel Fortescue liked. As she passed +the open door of the handsome dining-room, Kettle beckoned to her +mysteriously. Mrs. Fortescue walked into the room and Kettle closed +the door after her. + +"Miss Betty," whispered Kettle earnestly, "doan' you go into that there +apiary," by which Kettle meant the aviary. "Miss Anita is in there +with Mr. Broussard, an' he got on his courtin' breeches, an' they's +jest as quiet as a couple of sleepin' babies." + +[Illustration: "Miss Anita is in there with Mr. Broussard, an' he got +on his courtin' breeches, an' they's jest as quiet as a couple of +sleepin' babies."] + +A look of annoyance came to Mrs. Fortescue's expressive eyes. The +Colonel had imbued her with disapproval of the man of too many motors +and horses and dogs and clothes and fighting chickens. + +Mrs. Fortescue waved Kettle away and marched into the hall, where she +met Colonel Fortescue coming out of his office. + +"It's Broussard," she whispered to the Colonel. + +Together they entered the long drawing-room. Broussard and Anita were +leaning forward; Anita's face was still deeply flushed. Her beloved +white dove fluttered, unnoticed, about her white-shod feet. When the +glass door opened and Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue entered the little +glass room, both Anita and Broussard started violently--a sign of +captive love. + +Mrs. Fortescue was gracious, merely because she could not help it, and +the Colonel treated Broussard with the elaborate courtesy which a +Colonel shows to a subaltern and which makes the subaltern look and +feel the size of the head of a pin. Naturally, Broussard hastened his +leave-taking and received no invitation to remain, except from Anita's +eyes, shy and long-lashed. + +When the Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue and Anita were sitting at the +softly-shaded round table in the dining-room, Anita's chair was close +to her father's--the two were never far apart when they could be close +together. Mrs. Fortescue wore around her white throat a locket with a +miniature in it of her boy soldier. He was to her what Anita was to +the Colonel, but being a stout-hearted woman she had sent her son away +to be a soldier and had worn a smile at parting. There was a strain of +the Spartan mother in this smiling daughter, wife, and mother of +soldiers. + +"Did you have a pleasant visit from Mr. Broussard?" asked Colonel +Fortescue. + +"Very pleasant, daddy dear. He knows so much about birds." + +"I think," replied the Colonel, darkly, "Mr. Broussard's knowledge +comes chiefly from the study of fighting chickens." + +"I hear he has cockfights on Sunday, in the cellar of his quarters," +said Mrs. Fortescue, willing to give Broussard a slashing cut under the +fifth rib. + +"Cocking mains, my dear," corrected the Colonel, and then kept on, +earnestly, to Anita. + +"Yon can scarcely imagine the horrors of a cockpit. The poor +gamecocks, with cruel spurs upon their feet, tearing each other to +pieces, and blood and feathers all over the place." + +"You seem wonderfully familiar with cockpits," remarked Mrs. Fortescue. +"It seems to me, when we went to our first post after we were married, +that you were sometimes missing on Sunday morning, and used to tell me +afterward about the grand time you had, and the superior fighting +qualities of the Savoys over the Bantams." + +The Colonel scowled. + +"I don't recall the circumstances, Elizabeth," he said. + +"But I do, John," tartly responded Mrs. Fortescue. + +Anita knew that when it was Jack and Betty the skies were serene, and +when it became John and Elizabeth there were clouds upon the horizon. + +At this point Kettle, who was serving dinner, felt that his duty as +Broussard's ally was to speak. + +"Miss Betty," said he with solemn emphasis, "Mr. Broussard doan' keep +them chickens in his cellar fur to fight; he keeps 'em to lay aigs fur +his breakfus'." + +"That's queer," said the Colonel, "all of Mr. Broussard's chickens are +cock chickens." + +This would have abashed a less ardent partisan, but it only stimulated +Kettle. + +"Come to think of it, Miss Betty," Kettle continued stoutly, "them +chickens is cock chickens, but Mr. Broussard, he keep 'em for fryin' +chickens and bri'lers; he eats a cock chicken ev'ry mornin' fur his +breakfus', day in and day out." + +"Oh, Kettle!" said Anita, in a tone of soft reproach. She disliked the +notion of a cockpit, but she was a lover of abstract truth, which +Kettle was not. + +"Well, Miss Anita," Kettle began argumentatively, "the truth is, Mr. +Broussard, he jes' keep them chickens to' 'commodate the chaplain. The +chaplain, he's a gre't cockfighter, an' he say, 'Mr. Broussard, the +Kun'l is mighty strict, an' kinder queer in his head, an' he ain't no +dead game sport like me an' you, so if you will oblige me, Mr. +Broussard, jes' keep my fightin' chickens in your cellar, an' if the +Kun'l say anything to you, tell him them chickens is yourn. You +wouldn't mind a little thing like that, would you, Mr. Broussard?' +That's what I hee'rd the chaplain say." + +"Kettle!" shouted the Colonel, and Mrs. Fortescue remarked candidly: + +"You are a big story-teller, Kettle, there isn't a word of truth in all +you have been telling." + +"That's so, Miss Betty," announced Kettle, brazenly. "Truth is, Mr. +Broussard ain't got no chickens at all in his cellar, he keeps ducks, +Miss Betty, 'cause the water rises in the cellar all the time." + +Kettle's active help did not end with wholesale lying as a means of +helping Broussard. Within a week every time the After-Clap caught +sight of Broussard he would shout for "Bruvver." This, Kettle +carefully explained, was the baby's way of saying Broussard, but it +brought a good many quarters from Broussard's pocket into Kettle's palm. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +A PRETTY MAID AND A GAMECHICK + +The December days sped on, and Christmas was nearing. As the great, +splendid fort was a shut-in place, the people in it made great +preparations for Christmas, if only to forget that they were shut in. +The Christmas Eve exhibition drill and music ride was to be the +principal event of the season, and, wonder of wonders, Anita was to +ride with Broussard at the music ride. This was not accomplished +without pleadings and even tears from Anita. Mrs. Fortescue took no +part in this affair between the Colonel and the adored of his heart; +Anita and the Colonel had always settled their problems between +themselves solely. Sergeant McGillicuddy had something to do with +wringing from the Colonel his consent that Anita should ride with +Broussard. + +"Accordin' to my way of thinkin', Mr. Broussard is the best rider of +all the young orficers, sir," said McGillicuddy to the Colonel, in the +seclusion of the office. "Miss Anita, she'd look mighty pretty ridin' +with him, and Pretty Maid is as quiet as a lamb, sir, under the saddle. +I wouldn't answer for her in shafts, sir. Lord! There's nothin' too +devilish for a horse to do in shafts, or hitched to a pole. Missis +McGillicuddy can't see it in this light, judgin' from the Christmas +gift she's preparin' to give me." + +"What is it, McGillicuddy?" asked the Colonel. + +"It's a buggy, sir," answered the Sergeant despondently. "When I +wanted to enlist in the aviation corps that woman, sir, forbid it; she +said to me, 'Patrick McGillicuddy, I never did believe one word about +your bein' afraid av horses in wheeled vehicles.' An' ivery time I go +up in a flyin' machine, just for the fun av it, Missis McGillicuddy, +she says to me 'Patrick, if they was to lop off the f from that flyin' +machine, it would fit you to a t, bedad!' And that's the way she talks +to me when I spent seven dollars and fifty cents in gettin' +prognostications that I was goin' to marry a woman as would follow me +around like a poodle dog!" + +"Women have a good many burrs in their convolutions," said the Colonel, +lighting a cigar and handing a handful to the Sergeant. + +"They has, sir," replied McGillicuddy, accepting the cigars with +doleful gratitude, "and Missis McGillicuddy threatens to take me out in +that buggy on Christmas day. Well, sir, I've made my will and settled +up my account at the post trader's, and the aviation orficer has +promised to tak' me on a fly Christmas Eve morning. It may be the last +fly I'll take until I get wings, for I hardly expects, sir, to escape +the dangers of that buggy." + +In talking with Mrs. Fortescue about the music ride Colonel Fortescue +dwelt upon the superiority of a quiet horse like Pretty Maid over a +constitutional kicker like Birdseye. + +"It's the quiet ones, horses and women, that need watching," replied +Mrs. Fortescue, who had never been accused of being a quiet one. + +For two weeks before Christmas the exhibition drill and music ride was +the great subject of attention at Fort Blizzard. The most interesting +part of the show was the music ride, in which the girls of the post +were to ride, each girl having her attendant cavalier. When it was +known that Anita was to ride with Broussard all the other +sublieutenants who had hoped to sit in Broussard's saddle promptly +provided themselves with other charming young ladies of the post. Next +to Anita, the best rider was Sally Harlow, the daughter of her who had +been Sally Carteret. Mrs. Harlow followed the example of Mrs. +Fortescue, whose bridesmaid she had been, and had married within a year +the dashing young officer with whom she "stood up" at Mrs. Fortescue's +wedding. Mrs. Harlow, like Mrs. Fortescue, showed a marked inability +to grow old and was as gay and drank the wine of life as joyously as +did her daughter, Sally the Second. + +For a fortnight before Christmas the practice rides took place every +afternoon in the great riding hall, in which four troops of cavalry +could manoeuvre. + +As the daughter of the C. O., Anita, with Broussard, was to lead the +girl riders and their cavaliers. Broussard called punctually at the +Colonel's quarters for Anita, on the red December afternoons, when the +air was like champagne and Broussard felt as if his veins ran wine +instead of blood. The After-Clap, under Kettle's secret instructions, +became valuable ally of Broussard's. Kettle managed that the baby's +afternoon ride in his wicker carriage should coincide with Broussard's +arrival. The dark-eyed baby, in his little white fur coat and cap and +white fur blanket, looked like a snowdrop by the side of Kettle, who, +except his shiny teeth, was so black it seemed as if he had been coated +with shoe polish. The After-Clap always hailed Broussard with a +vigorous shout of "Bruvver! Bruvver!" and Kettle invariably explained: + +"He's a-tryin' to say 'Mr. Boosard.'" + +At this Broussard would laugh and agree with Kettle that the After-Clap +was the knowingest baby in the world, and Anita would blush +beautifully. Colonel Fortescue's heart sank when he saw Broussard and +Anita walking off together; Broussard so trim and soldierly in his +riding uniform and Anita so amazingly pretty in her blue habit and cap, +cunningly imitating the cavalry uniform, a fetching dress adopted by +all the young ladies who were to take part in the music ride. + +The drill and ride were to begin at eight o'clock on Christmas Eve, and +afterward there was to be a big ball, for at Fort Blizzard the young +girls and young officers ended everything with a ball, where they could +"chase the glowing hours with flying feet." + + +A great silver moon and a mighty host of palpitating stars put the +electric lights to shame on Christmas Eve. When Broussard called for +Anita, a little before eight, she was waiting, already dressed in the +pretty imitation of an officer's uniform--a costume that would make +even a plain girl enchanting, and how much more so the violet-eyed +Anita? Mrs. Fortescue, in a beautiful ball gown, looked quite as +handsome as her daughter. The regimental tailor had been busy all day +letting out Colonel Fortescue's full dress uniform and the Colonel +fondly hoped that a couple of inches he had gained in girth were +concealed by the tailor's art. But Mrs. Fortescue's quick eye +discerned it. + +"I declare, Jack," she cried, showing off her own figure, as slim as a +girl's, "I shall have to put you on a diet of lemon juice and slate +pencils if you keep on getting stout!" + +At which the Colonel glowered darkly and Anita, putting her arms about +his neck, whispered: + +"Never mind, dear, darling daddy, I love you just the same." + +[Illustration: "Never mind, dear, darling daddy, I love you just the +same."] + +Mrs. Fortescue, who would have been affable to the Evil One himself, +smiled at Broussard. The Colonel was polite but not effusive, having +developed a rooted dislike to junior unmarried officers as soon as he +found out that Anita had to grow up, like other human beings. + +Broussard felt himself in Paradise when he was walking with Anita along +the moonlit plaza toward the riding hall. Outside, troopers were +leading the restless horses up and down. Pretty Maid did not belie her +name, and was the best behaved, as she was the handsomest, of all the +mounts of the young ladies. Broussard's Gamechick, a perfectly trained +cavalry charger, with an eye and ear of beautiful intelligence, had not +his superior among the horses. Sergeant McGillicuddy, who was the best +man with horses at Fort Blizzard, was sauntering about, looking at the +horses approvingly and saying to all who cared to hear: + +"As good a lot of nags as ever I see, and every blarsted one of 'em has +got four legs. It's mighty seldom nowadays, you see a four-legged +horse; most of 'em has only three legs and some of 'em ain't got as +much as two and a half." + +The riders, all wearing the same uniform as Broussard and Anita, +appeared by twos and fours; bright-eyed young officers and merry girls. +Their part was not to come for an hour, but they declared the night was +too lovely to go into the waiting-room, and they strolled about and +talked horses and dancing and balls and all the happy things that fall +out "when youth and pleasure meet." + +In the midst of the chatter of the riders and stamping and champing of +the blanketed horses, as they were led up and down, Kettle suddenly +appeared carrying in his arms a white bundle, which turned out to be +the After-Clap. He should have been asleep in his crib for hours, but +instead he was wide awake, laughing and crowing and evidently meant, +with Kettle's assistance, to make a night of it. + +"What do you mean, Kettle, by bringing the baby out this time of +night?" asked the surprised Anita. + +"I got him all wropped up warm," answered Kettle, apologetically, +pointing to the After-Clap's white fur coat and cap. "But that chile +knowed there wuz a hoss show on--it's mighty little he doan' know, and +after the Kun'l and Miss Betty lef', he begin' to cry for 'Horsey! +Horsey!' an I jes' had to take him up an' dress him an' bring him here. +An' that's Gord's truth, Miss Anita," a phrase Kettle habitually used +when making doubtful statements. + +The baby was so obviously happy in this breach of all nursery +discipline that Anita had not the heart to send him home. Anita was a +soft-hearted creature. Sergeant McGillicuddy, however, explained +disgustedly to the waiting troopers and horses how the After-Clap was +permitted to begin his career of dissipation. + +"I'll bet you a million of monkeys," the Sergeant proclaimed, "as +Missis McGillicuddy wasn't on hand when that there baby begun to yell +'Horsey! Horsey!' if he ever did it at all. With eight children av +her own and Anna Mariar's beau, Missis McGillicuddy must sometimes stop +at home. Lord help the naygur if Missis McGillicuddy should favor this +evint with her prisince!" + +The sympathies of the soldiers were entirely with the After-Clap, who +loved soldiers, knowing them to be his true friends, and was never +happier than with his big, kind, blue-coated playmates, the troopers, +with their rattling sabres and clanking spurs. + +Sergeant McGillicuddy, being himself under Mrs. McGillicuddy's iron +rule, did not approve of Kettle's breach of discipline and hatched a +scheme to catch him. With a countenance as inscrutable as the Sphinx, +he stepped to the telephone booth, shut the door carefully, and held a +short conversation over the wire with Mrs. McGillicuddy. When the +Sergeant came out of the telephone booth his face was not inscrutable +but expressed pure human joy and triumph. + +"It's Missis McGillicuddy as 'll do for ye," said the Sergeant with a +grin, going up to Kettle, holding the delighted After-Clap in his arms. + +"Go 'long, man," answered Kettle, "Mrs. McGillicuddy ain't my boss. +She's yourn." + +This language, uttered toward a man with chevrons and three stripes on +his sleeve, naturally incensed the Sergeant. He had learned, however, +in twenty years of warfare with Kettle, that it was very hard to get +him punished. + +"The naygur never has found out that orders is orders," remarked the +Sergeant to the lookers on. "But Missis McGillicuddy can wallop him +with one hand tied behind her back, and she'll do it, too, when she +finds out about the kiddie bein' out this time of night." + +This was no idle threat. Fifteen minutes later, when Kettle and the +After-Clap were at the height of their enjoyment, Mrs. McGillicuddy, +with only a shawl over her head, in the keen December night, was seen +stalking across the plaza and toward the group of men and horses +outside the drill ball; the riders had trooped into the waiting-room +for coffee and sandwiches before the ride began. The troopers, who +knew and admired Mrs. McGillicuddy, made way for her respectfully as +she swooped down on Kettle, to his complete surprise. + +"Solomon!" shouted Mrs. McGillicuddy. + +Whenever Mrs. McGillicuddy used Kettle's baptismal name it meant the +same thing as when Colonel Fortescue called Mrs. Fortescue +"Elizabeth,"--there was trouble brewing. + +"And it's you," continued Mrs. McGillicuddy, in a voice like a bassoon +in a rage, "as the Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue trusted their innocent +lamb, and when they are peacefully watchin' the show you take this pore +baby out of his warm bed and brings him out here to catch his death of +cold, and Patrick McGillicuddy, you'll laugh on the wrong side of your +face when I get you home, and the Colonel shall know this, if my name +is Araminta McGillicuddy." + +With that Mrs. McGillicuddy tore the After-Clap from Kettle's arms. +Like Kettle and McGillicuddy and the admiring crowd of troopers, the +baby knew enough to maintain silence when Mrs. McGillicuddy had the +floor. + +"Right 'bout face and march," screamed Mrs. McGillicuddy to Kettle, who +meekly obeyed her, "and McGillicuddy 'll hear from me when he comes +home to-night!" + +Mrs. McGillicuddy then, with Kettle walking in advance, his head +hanging down, followed with the After-Clap and took the way to the C. +O.'s quarters, where the baby, much to his disappointment, was again +laid in his crib and Kettle was promised terrors to come like those of +the Day of Judgment. + +McGillicuddy, standing in the moonlight among the riderless horses and +grinning troopers, forestalled criticism by handing out a card on which +a legend was inscribed in large letters. + +"Boys," said the Sergeant, solemnly, "there's my rule for all married +men in the service and out av it. It's the Golden Rule of married +life, boys, and it ought to be added to the Articles of War and the +Regulations. Here it is, boys, 'Doant munkey with the buzz saw.'" + + +Meanwhile, within the vast riding hall the splendid pageant was taking +place. The lofty roof was hung with flags of all nations entwined with +ropes and wreaths of Christmas greens and crimson and gold electric +lights. In the middle of the roof, dark and high, hung a great silken +flag of the United States, with the electric lights so arranged as to +throw a halo of glory upon it. The galleries were full of officers and +ladies in brilliant ball costumes for the ball that was to follow. +Under the galleries the soldiers and their families were massed. Over +the wide entrance door was the musicians' gallery, where the regimental +band, and Neroda, their leader, a handsome Italian, with their gleaming +instruments, made a great splash of vivid color against the sombre +wall. Opposite the entrance was the Commanding Officer's box, +beautifully draped with flags and wreaths of holly. In the box sat the +Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue, both looking wonderfully young and +handsome. The Colonel caught sight of the chaplain peering in at a +window below; the chaplain knew a horse from an automobile, and loved +horses too much for the good of his soul, so he thought. In a moment a +messenger came with the Colonel's compliments and the request for the +chaplain's company, and the chaplain obeyed with alacrity and a joy +almost unholy. + +Above the murmur of conversation and laughter the band dominated, +playing soft Italian music. Suddenly and silently, as if in a dream, +the great entrance doors drew apart, the band changed into a great +military fanfare, and a splendid troop of cavalry charged in, the lithe +young troopers and the sleek horses with muscles of steel under their +satin skins, horse and man moving as one. After a dash around the +hall, they proceeded to show what troopers and horses could do. The +soldiers rode bareback and upside down, got on and off the horses in +ways incredible, made pyramids of troopers, the horses galloping at +full speed, stopped like machines, dismounted, the horses lay down and +the troopers, at full length, pounded out deadly imaginary volleys into +unseen enemies. + +When this was over and the troopers had trotted out amid thunders of +applause, the great doors again slid open as if by magic and a battery +of light artillery rushed in, the band thundering out "For He Is a Son +of a Gun." The drivers, with four horses to each gun, sat like +statues, as did the three artillerymen, erect, with folded arms, as +straight and still as men of steel, and their backs to the horses, as +the guns sped around the hall and turned and twisted marvellously, +never a wheel touching, but always within three inches of disaster. +Loud applause greeted the wonderful spectacle of gunners, horses and +gun carriages inspired by an almost superhuman intelligence. + +When the battery had passed out and the doors were closed there was a +short pause. The next and last event was the music ride by the +officers and girls, the prettiest sight in the world. Middle-aged +matrons and gray-mustached officers smiled in anticipation of seeing +their rosebud daughters, on beautiful horses, admired and applauded of +all. + +In the C. O.'s box, Mrs. Fortescue, opening her fan, leaned over and +smiled into the Colonel's face. + +"She'll do it," whispered the Colonel confidently, meaning that Anita +would do her act more gracefully and brilliantly than any girl who ever +rode a horse. + +The band once more struck up, the great doors drew wide apart, this +time with a clang, and the procession of youth and beauty and valor +dashed upon the tanbark. The officers were resplendent, while the +girls, in their daring imitation of the uniform and with cavalry caps +upon their pretty heads, looked like young Amazons riding to war. +Broussard and Anita, who led the cavalcade, were the best riders where +all were good. Pretty Maid and Gamechick seemed on the best of terms +and their stride fitted perfectly. + +The procession circled around the hall at a canter, and as Anita and +Broussard, leading the procession, reached a point in front of the C. +O.'s box, they both saluted, Anita raising her little gauntleted hand +to her cavalry cap. Colonel Fortescue stood up and returned the salute +as the riders passed, two by two. Next began the scene of beautiful +horsemanship, pure and simple, winding up with the Virginia reel, done +by the riders on horseback, as the band played the old reel, "Billy in +the Low Grounds." + +Then came the last feature of all; the ride formed again, and, suddenly +quickening their pace to a full gallop, started upon the circuit of the +hall. They swept around the circle at a sharp gallop, the clanking +spurs and rattling sabres keeping time to the roar of the music. Anita +was riding like a bird on the wing and Pretty Maid, who had behaved +with her usual grace and decorum, opening and shutting her stride like +a machine. Just as she got in front of the C. O.'s box the mare +suddenly lost her head. She hesitated, bringing her four feet together +in a way that would have thrown over her head a rider less expert than +Anita. Behind her the line of riders was thrown into slight confusion +with the unexpected halt. + +The movements of animals are so much quicker than those of men that the +eye can scarcely follow them. One instant Anita was in her saddle; the +next Pretty Maid stopped, crouched, gave a wild spring, fell prone on +her knees, and rolled over, struggling violently. Anita, half thrown +and half slipped from her saddle, was on the tanbark, directly in front +of Gamechick. + +She straightened out her slim figure full length, and closed her eyes. +Broussard's horse was then not six feet away from her and coming on as +if the trumpeters were sounding the charge. + +A great groan rose from the floor and the galleries; the band played on +wildly, losing its perfect tempo and each musician playing for himself, +but still playing as a band should play on in terrible crises. The +line of riders was sharply checked, the perfectly trained horses coming +to a dead stop within ten seconds. In the C. O.'s box the chaplain was +on his feet, his hands clasped in silent supplication; Mrs. Fortescue, +braver than a brave soldier, put her arm about her husband's neck, as +Colonel Fortescue swayed about in his seat like a drunken man. Amid +the blare of the band and the riders and chargers almost upon the +struggling horse and motionless girl, lying on the tanbark, Broussard, +coolly, as if he were on the parade ground, lifted Gamechick by the +bridle, gave him a touch of the spur, and the next moment cleared both +mare and girl, with twenty inches between Gamechick's iron-shod hind +hoofs and Anita's beautiful blonde head. + +[Illustration: Broussard, lifted Gamechick by the bridle and the next +moment cleared both mare and girl.] + +It had all passed in twenty seconds by the clock, but to those who +watched it seemed a long hour of agony. The moment the leap was made, +Anita sprang to her feet and Broussard was on the tanbark. Wild +cheering almost drowned the crash of the band; some of the women were +weeping and others laughing hysterically, the men cheering like madmen. +Broussard smilingly picked up Anita's cavalry cap, which had fallen on +the tanbark, brushed it and put it on Anita's pretty head; some words, +unheard by others, passed between them. The mare then lay perfectly +quiet. Broussard, amid the roar of cheers and shouts and furious +handclapping and music, got the mare on her feet. She stood trembling, +frightened and ashamed; Anita patted her neck gently and rubbed her +nose reassuringly. Then Broussard, taking the girl's slender waist +between his hands, swung her into her saddle, himself mounted, and, the +riders falling in behind, it was as if Tragedy had not showed her awful +visage for one fearful moment. + +All the cheering and clapping and weeping and laughing and shouting +that had gone before were nothing to what followed after, while the +band played "For He Is a Jolly Good Fellow," and everybody who could +sing, or thought he could sing, joined in the refrain. Colonel +Fortescue, whiter than death, sat straight up in his place. Mrs. +Fortescue whispered in his ear: + +"Be brave,--brave as you were in battle." + +Colonel Fortescue had been in battle, but the screaming shells and +crash of machine guns brought with them no such wild and shivering +terror as when he saw Gamechick's forefeet in the air over Anita, lying +on the tanbark. + +The procession passed once more around the hall, Anita's face flushed +and smiling, Broussard outwardly calm, but the red blood showing under +his dark skin. When they reached the entrance doors and were about to +ride out Sergeant McGillicuddy stopped Broussard with a word. The +audience, watching and smiling, knew what would happen and all eyes +were fixed on the C. O.'s. box. In a minute Broussard, with his +cavalry cap in his hand, was seen mounting the stairs; Colonel +Fortescue rose and clasped Broussard's hand, while Mrs. Fortescue +frankly kissed him on both cheeks. The band broke loose again and so +did the people. Although Fort Blizzard was a great fort it was so far +away in the frozen northwest that those within its walls constituted +one vast family. Anita was known to all of them, officers and ladies, +troopers and troopers' wives and children, and the company washerwomen, +and the regimental blacksmiths; they felt as if Broussard had saved the +life of a child of their own. + +Colonel Fortescue was a soldier and recovered himself and walked +bravely with Mrs. Fortescue in the moonlight to their quarters, +Broussard and Anita riding ahead as if nothing had happened, when +everything had happened. At the door Broussard left Anita; both had to +dress for the ball. + +In the office, his City of Refuge, Colonel Fortescue sat in his chair +and trembled like a leaf. Mrs. Fortescue, with tender words and soft +caresses, comforted him. + +"Stay with me, dear wife," he said, "I tell you as truly as if I were +this moment facing a firing squad that I never knew what fear was until +this night, and yet I thought I knew it and could feel my heart +quivering as I cheered my men to the charge. Betty, I love our child +too much, too much!" + +"No," said Mrs. Fortescue, kissing his cheek, "you don't love her half +as much as you love me. Suppose I had been there in our child's place." + +The Colonel put his arm over his face. + +"Don't, Betty--I can't bear it," he cried. + +"But you must bear it; you must go to the ball in twenty minutes." + +The Colonel, with bewildered eyes, looked at her as if to ask what were +balls, and where? + +Mrs. Fortescue said no more. Presently they heard Anita's light step +on the stairs. She flitted into the office and looked, in her ball +gown of shimmering white, as pure and sweet as one of her white doves. + +"I'm ready for the ball, dad," she said, smiling and kissing the +Colonel and her mother, "I am a soldier's daughter, and I can't let a +little thing keep me from my duty--which is, to go to the ball." + +Colonel Fortescue caught her in his arms. + +"What a spirit!" he cried brokenly, "You have the making of ten +soldiers in you, my daughter, my little daughter!" + +Mrs. Fortescue rose and drew her beautiful evening cloak around her. +Colonel Fortescue noticed for the first time how pale she was, but +there was a smile on her lips and the fine light of courage in her eye; +it was partly from her that Anita inherited her brave spirit. + +Colonel Fortescue rose, too; he could not be less brave than his wife +and daughter. Anita kissed him tenderly; a soft-hearted deserter +always takes an affectionate leave of his comrades when he is about to +desert. + +At the ball Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue were composed, smiling, +graceful; Anita was less shy, more laughing than usual. When Broussard +entered the ball-room he was greeted with a great roar of applause, and +when he danced the first dance with Anita once more there was applause +and something in the eyes of the smiling, handclapping crowd that +brought the ever-ready color into Anita's delicately lovely face. It +was a beautiful ball, as all military balls are, and lasted late. When +the C. O. and Mrs. Fortescue and Anita got home it was Christmas +morning, and the stars that led the Magi to the crib at Bethlehem were +shining gloriously in the blue-black sky. + + +At daybreak began the hullabaloo which attends Christmas morning in a +house where there is an adored child, and only one. The After-Clap, +with the preternatural knowledge claimed for him by Kettle, knew that +it was Christmas morning and a day of riot and license for him. + +At an early hour he began to storm the earth and stun the air. There +was a Christmas tree for him and for the eight McGillicuddies, and the +day was so full that Mrs. Fortescue found it hard to get time in which +to give Kettle the necessary wigging for taking the baby from his bed +and carrying him out of doors at eight o'clock in the evening because +he waked up and said "Horsey." In vain Kettle pleaded "fo' Gord--" +always a forerunner of a tarradiddle--that he "didn't have no notion on +the blessed yearth as Miss Betty would mind," and also wept copiously +when Mrs. Fortescue frankly told him that he was a tarradiddler, and +made, for the hundredth time, a very awful threat to Kettle. + +"But I can tell you this much," she said, with great severity, "that if +you keep on doing everything the baby tells you to do, I will buy you a +ticket back to Virginia and send you home. Do you understand me?" + +At this, a smile rivalling a rainbow suddenly overspread Kettle's face +and his mouth came open like an alligator's. + +"Lord, yes, I understand you, Miss Betty," Kettle replied, with a +chuckle. "I knows when you is bullyraggin' me an' say you is goin' to +sen' me back to Virginia, you is jes' jokin'. You done tole me that +too oftin, Miss Betty, an' you ain't never give me no ticket yet, an' +'tain't nothin' but a sign you is comin' roun', Miss Betty." + +Kettle's grin was so seductive and his reasoning so correct that Mrs. +Fortescue suddenly laughed, too; there was no way short of putting +Kettle in handcuffs and leg-irons to keep him from obeying the +After-Clap, whose orders were _orders_ to Kettle. + +In the afternoon Colonel Fortescue, sitting in his office, from which +not even Christmas Day exempted him, saw, a long way off, down by the +non-coms' quarters, a pitiful sight. Mrs. McGillicuddy had carried out +her menace to put a buggy in the Sergeant's Christmas stocking. The +buggy was at the Sergeant's door, and in it sat Mrs. McGillicuddy, +elaborately dressed, a picture hat and feathers on her carefully +frizzed hair and her voluminous draperies nearly swamping the little +Sergeant cowering in the corner of the buggy. To it was hitched the +milkman's mare, which was about as big as a large rabbit and owned up +to twenty-three years of age and the name of Dot. The equipage passed +out of sight but in an hour was seen returning. Mrs. McGillicuddy sat +majestically upright in the buggy, while the Sergeant bestrode the +peaceful and amiable Dot. + +[Illustration: Mrs. McGillicuddy sat majestically upright in the buggy +while the Sergeant bestrode the peaceful and amiable Dot.] + +Presently the Sergeant, looking much wilted and depressed, entered the +Colonel's office. + +"Did you enjoy your drive in the new buggy, Sergeant?" asked the +Colonel. + +"No, sir," replied the Sergeant, earnestly, "this has been a awful +Christmas day to me. I didn't think as Missis McGillicuddy would play +me such a low trick as to give me the buggy and then make me ride in +it. She said as the milkman told her he had owned the mare fir +thirteen years, and she wasn't young when he bought her; but I reminded +her as thirteen was a unlucky number. But Missis McGillicuddy acted +heartless and give orders as I was to mount that buggy. I pleadid with +her, sir, not to risk my life, for the sake of the eight children, even +if she didn't have no love or affection for me. I reminded her as +she'd stand a divil of a chanst of gettin' married again, havin' all +them eight children. I told her the aviation orficer had promised to +take me flyin' with him to-morrow mornin', and if I lost my life in a +wheeled vehicle there'd be no more flyin' fir me because I don't look +to be a angel immediate I get into the next world. All she says to me +was, like she was a Sergeant Major and I was a recruity, 'You get into +this buggy, Patrick McGillicuddy.' So, as orders is orders, sir, I got +in, and I stayed in until my fears of that horse's hind feet right +under nay nose got the better of my duty to Missis McGillicuddy, as my +superior orficer. I begun to feel hollow inside, like a man feels when +he's ordered into action and the artillery is ploughing up the ground +with shells. Then, sir, I mutinied. I jumped out of that damned +buggy--excuse me, sir--and I got on the back of the mare and felt jist +as safe as if I was riding old Corporal, the horse we gives the +recruits to ride. I've escaped the dangers of that buggy and there +won't be no vacancy in my grade yet awhile from ridin' in wheeled +vehicles. An I'm goin' flyin' tomorrow in a nice safe aeroplane that's +got a man hitched to it and not a horse. This ain't been no merry +Christmas to me, sir. And if Missis McGillicuddy holds a reg'lar court +of inquiry on me, as she does seven nights in the week, I'm a' goin' to +stand on my rights and swear by the Jumpin' Moses I'll never set foot +again in that damned, infernal, hellish buggy, sir,--excuse me, sir." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE HEART OF A MAID + +When the wild and throbbing excitement of the evening was over, the +fear, the horror, the joy, the triumph, the exulting exhilaration, +Broussard, smoking his last cigar at one o'clock in the morning, felt a +little ashamed of himself. After all, Anita was little more than a +child, being but seventeen, and it was hardly fair to her that he +should try to chain her young feet and blindfold her young eyes before +she had seen the great moving picture of the world. Broussard did not +in the least remember what he said to Anita when he was putting her cap +on her head, nor even the words in which she had replied; he only knew +that they were burning words that came from the heart and spoke through +the eyes as well as the tongue. But a man was not always master of +himself. Broussard had a good many plausible excuses to urge for +himself, and was always a good barker for Victor Broussard, and Anita +was so charming, she had so much more sense than the average +seventeen-year-old fledgling, she was so obviously more developed +mentally and emotionally for her age, she had grown up in an atmosphere +of tenderness and happiness, for everybody knew that the Colonel and +Mrs. Fortescue were still like lovers, after twenty years of married +life. Broussard fell into a delicious reverie that lasted until he +heard the clang of the changing sentries at two o'clock in the morning. + +The Christmas gaieties went on for a fortnight, including another big +ball given by the officers. Colonel Fortescue brought upon himself +many maledictions from the junior officers by the way in which he +regulated these balls. The Colonel was neither bashful nor backward +with his young officers, and he liked them to dance, bearing in mind +the saying of a great commander that a part of every soldier's +equipment is gaiety of heart; but he was grimly particular about the +kind of dancing that took place at Fort Blizzard. Before every ball, +Colonel Fortescue's aide, Conway, a serious young lieutenant, delivered +the Colonel's orders that there was to be no tangoing or +turkey-trotting or chicken-reeling or "Here Comes My Daddy" business in +that ball-room. Moreover, Neroda, the bandmaster, had orders if any of +these dances, abhorred of the Colonel's heart, were started the music +was to stop immediately. Colonel Fortescue himself, by way of setting +an example, would do a sedate waltz with some matron of the post, or +select a rosebud girl for a solemn set of lancers quadrilles. Mrs. +Fortescue still held the palm as the prettiest waltzer at the post, +none the less gay for being dignified. However, the young people, +except Anita, revenged themselves on the C. O. by doing, in their own +drawing-rooms, all the prohibited dances. With Anita, nothing could +have induced her to do anything forbidden by the beloved of her +heart--a trait not without its dangers. + +Broussard was treated as a hero by everybody at the post and enjoyed it +extremely, in spite of his deprecation of all praise and declaring that +Gamechick was the real hero. + +Among the festivities was a big dinner given at the C. O.'s fine +quarters to the officers of high rank at the fort, and as a special +compliment Broussard was invited, the only bachelor officer except the +serious Conway, Colonel Fortescue's aide, who classified Anita with the +After-Clap in point of age. + +Broussard had met Anita and danced with her many times that fortnight +but, with native good taste, he avoided thrusting himself upon her. +She was so calm, so well poised, that Broussard concluded she had +forgotten all about the words spoken under the influence of the near +presence of love and death. In truth, Anita had forgotten nothing, but +had suddenly become a woman in those few days. Always Broussard had +wakened her girlish admiration by his charm of manner, his sly +impudence, his way of singing love songs; and her eyes followed him, +while she turned away from him. But she knew exactly what Broussard +had said to her while they stood on the tanbark and she blushed to +herself at the answer that came involuntarily to her lips. She knew no +more of actual love-making than the After-Clap, but she was an +inveterate reader of poetry and romance, and had not studied the poets +and romancists for nothing. Perhaps Broussard would say more to +her--at that thought a lovely light came into Anita's innocent eyes. +Perhaps he had forgotten everything. Then Anita's eyes were troubled. +The pride of maidenhood was born, as it should be, with love, and Anita +no longer ran to the window to see Broussard, but when he was present +he filled the room; when he spoke she heard no other voice than his. + +Colonel Fortescue had a theory which came amazingly true in his own +daughter. It was, that in high altitudes, with mountain ranges and +vast frozen rivers shutting out the rest of the world, the emotions +become preternaturally acute; that human beings grew more tragic or +more comic, according to their bent, and were closer to primeval men +and women than they knew. So it was at Fort Blizzard, standing grimly +watchful over the world of snow and ice and holding within its limits +all the struggle and striving and love, and laughter and dancing, and +the weeping and working and resting, and the hazards and the triumphs +of human life. On the aviation plain men daily played a fearful game +with destiny, the stakes being human lives, while the young officers, +when not flying toward the sun, were dancing every evening with the +dainty girls, in little muslin frocks that made them look like white +butterflies. + +Broussard, owing to a slight defect of vision, was not in the aviation +corps, but, like Sergeant McGillicuddy, he would fly whenever he had an +invitation from Lawrence, the gentleman-ranker with whom Broussard was +seen too often to please Colonel Fortescue. Lawrence had a pale, +fragile, handsome wife, like himself, of another class than the honest +soldiers and their buxom wives, and there was a little boy, Ronald, who +looked like a young prince--a beautiful boy, much noticed by all who +knew him. The soldiers forgot their grudge against Lawrence for what +they called his "uppish airs," and the soldiers' wives forewent their +objections to Mrs. Lawrence and her aloofness from them, when the boy, +Ronald, appeared. The officers, and their wives, too, had a kind word +for the little fellow, so handsome and well-mannered, and especially +was he a favorite with Broussard. It was, indeed, more than friendly +favor toward the child; Broussard was conscious of a strong affection +for the boy, about whom there was something mysteriously appealing to +Broussard, an expression in the frank young eyes, a soft beauty in the +boy's smile, that reminded Broussard of something loved and lost, but +he knew not what it was nor whence it came. Anita, although knowing +nothing of the gentleman-ranker and his wife and the handsome boy +except that, obviously, they were unlike their neighbors and fellows in +the married men's quarters, yet always observed them with curiosity. +Their unlikeness to their station in life was of itself a mystery, and +consequently of interest. Mrs. Fortescue, the soul of kindness to the +soldiers' wives and children, could make nothing of Mrs. Lawrence, who +withdrew into herself at Mrs. Fortescue's approach, and Mrs. Fortescue, +seeing that Mrs. Lawrence wished to hold aloof, respected her wishes, +and from sheer pity left her alone. Mrs. McGillicuddy was not so +considerate, and told thrilling tales of rebuffs administered by Mrs. +Lawrence to corporals' wives, and even sergeants' wives who were +willing to notice her and get snubbed for their good intentions. + +"Mr. Broussard is the only man Mrs. Lawrence gives a decent word to," +said Mrs. McGillicuddy in Anita's hearing, "When she meets him +anywhere, walkin' about, she stops and smiles and talks to him as if +she was the Colonel's lady--that she does, the minx! And she +pretending to be so meek and mild and not looking at any man, except +that good-for-nothing, handsome husband of hers! Just watch her, +stoppin' in the post trader's to talk with Mr. Broussard, she so +haughty-like, and carryin' her own bundles home, like she was doin' +herself a favor!" + +This sank deep into Anita's mind, as did every word referring to +Broussard. But she could make nothing of it; and Mrs. Lawrence, the +soldier's wife, became at once an object of interest, of mystery, +almost of jealousy, to Anita. The little boy she noticed, as did all +who saw him, and like everybody else, she was won by him. + +The morning of the great dinner at the Fortescues', Neroda, the Italian +band-master, came to give Anita her violin lesson. Mrs. Fortescue, +listening and delighted with Anita's progress, came in to the +drawing-room as Neroda was shouting bravos in rapture over the way his +best pupil caught the soul of music in her delicate hands and made it +prisoner. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Neroda," said Mrs. Fortescue in her pretty and +affable manner--Mrs. Fortescue would have been affable with an ogre--"I +must ask you to come this evening and play my daughter's +accompaniments. We are having a large dinner and I should like Anita +to play for us after dinner." + +"Certainly, madam," answered Neroda, who, like everybody else, was +anxious to do Mrs. Fortescue's smiling bidding, "I am proud of the +signorina's playing." + +"Mr. Broussard is coming to the dinner," continued Mrs. Fortescue after +a moment. "He sings so charmingly. It would be delightful to have him +sing and Anita to play a violin obligato." + +"Admirable! Admirable!" cried Neroda, "Mr. Broussard has a superb +voice--much too good for an amateur." + +Mrs. Fortescue laughed; Broussard's beautiful voice was one of the +Colonel's grave objections to him. Anita remained silent, but Mrs. +Fortescue noticed the happy smile on her lips, as she picked a little +air upon the strings; she longed to show off her accomplishments before +Broussard and to accompany his singing seemed a little incursion into +Paradise. + +It was arranged that Neroda should come at half-past nine and have the +violin tuned. Anita, dropping the violin, found a book of songs, some +of which she had heard Broussard sing. + +"Come," she cried eagerly, "I must play these obligatos over. You will +sing the songs." + +Neroda sat down once more to the piano and played and sang in a queer, +cracked voice, the songs, while Anita, her soul in her eyes and all her +heart and strength in her bow arm, played the violin part. She did it +beautifully, and Mrs. Fortescue kissed the girl's glowing cheek when +the music was through. Kettle, who was himself a fiddler, at that +moment poked his head in at the door. He had a fellow artist's +jealousy of Neroda but he was forced by his artistic conscience to say: + +"Lord, Miss 'Nita, you cert'ny kin make a fiddle talk!" + +It was noon before the lesson was over and Neroda left. Anita, +exultant in the thought of playing to Broussard's singing, could not +remain indoors, but putting on her long, dark fur coat and her pretty +fur cap, which accentuated her delicate beauty, went out for a walk +alone. + +Beyond the limits of the great post, was a long, straight promenade, +bordered with stately young fir trees, and as it led to nowhere, was in +general a solitary place. It was here that Anita loved to walk alone. +The only objection to the place was that it gave upon the aviation +field--a place abhorred by all the women at the fort, from the +Colonel's lady down to the company laundresses. Anita always turned +her face away from the aviation field when she was walking under the +pine trees. + +The short way to the walk led by the big red brick barracks of the +married soldiers. Anita knew many of these soldiers' wives, honest and +hard-working women, doing their duty as if they were themselves +soldiers. As Anita passed along many of them, standing in their +doorways or carrying laundry baskets along the street, gave her a +kindly greeting. In one doorway stood Mrs. Lawrence, tall, young, +darkly beautiful, and looking as if she might have been a C. O.'s +daughter instead of being a private soldier's wife. Mrs. Lawrence was +so at odds with her surroundings that Anita, unconsciously, looked +questioningly at her. She stood, shading her eyes from the glare of +the snow and the sun, gazing anxiously toward the aviation field. It +was a flying day, and the hearts of the women at Fort Blizzard had no +rest or peace on those days. Anita could not but see that Mrs. +Lawrence's hands, browned and hardened with work, were small and +delicately formed, and, that the poise of the head, the fine contours, +were not those of a woman bred to toil. + +It was not quite time for the ascent and the officers were not yet on +the field, although there were a dozen or two soldiers and civilian +employes standing about the sheds in the middle of the plain, and +working with the huge machines, dragged from their shelter. Afar off, +the voices of the soldiers, singing a service song, were borne upon the +crystal clear air. + +They were trolling out the song as if there were no more risks in +aviation than in tennis. + + We don't know what we're here for, + We don't know why we're sent, + But we've brought a few unlimbered guns + By way of com-pli-ment. + +Anita walked quickly out of the entrance, keeping her eyes well away +from the flying field. It was a good half mile along the fir tree +walk, and Anita made it twice. The music was throbbing still in her +veins and the thought of playing to Broussard's singing had in it an +intoxication for her innocent heart. She heard the whirring and +clapping of the great aircraft above her head as they flitted across +the face of the sun, but Anita would not look; she hated aircraft and +wished they had never been invented. But she was forced to look when +she heard cries and shouts, as one of the great machines began to reel +about wildly in the air, when it was only twenty feet from the earth, +and then came down, with a crash, upon the snow. She saw Broussard +standing on the ground, he was in uniform, with his heavy cavalry +overcoat around him, and he was working with the men to drag the +aviator from the machine. They got him out, and putting him on a +stretcher, began to run with their burden toward the hospital. Anita +turned her eyes away. She did not see Mrs. Lawrence run out of the +entrance toward the field, her head bare in the icy cold, and no cloak +around her delicate shoulders. Broussard turned to meet her, and +taking off his cavalry overcoat, put it around the shivering woman, and +half led and half carried her as they followed the stretcher. Then +Anita knew it was Lawrence who was hurt. + +Within the entrance there was an excited group of soldiers' wives. +Some said that Lawrence was only slightly hurt; others that every bone +in his body was broken. The chaplain, passing along, reassured them. + +"Nothing but a few bruises and scratches," he said. "I asked the +surgeon if I was needed and he told me there was nothing doing in my +line; I am going to the hospital though, to see the man's wife--it is +Mrs. Lawrence. Good afternoon, Anita. Now don't let this trifling +accident break your little heart. It's nothing, I tell you." + +Anita passed on, her face pale in spite of the chaplain's words. The +picture of Broussard folding his cape around Mrs. Lawrence's shoulders +was strangely photographed upon her mind. She wished she had not seen +it. + +Whenever there was an accident, however small, on the aviation field +the whole post was anxious and quivering. Colonel Fortescue and Anita +were both silent and preoccupied at luncheon, and Mrs. Fortescue, who +never lost her brave cheerfulness, tried to interest them in the dinner +that was to be given that evening, and Anita's music, but without much +success. + +"I declare, Jack," cried Mrs. Fortescue, "if I only knew the aviation +days in advance I would never arrange a dinner on one of those days. +You are as solemn as a mute at a funeral, and Anita always looks like a +ghost when she has been out to the aviation field. For my part, I do +not allow myself to see the aviation field nor even to think about it." + +"But you say a great many prayers on aviation days," replied Colonel +Fortescue, smiling. + +Mrs. Fortescue admitted this, but reminded her husband that she +believed in keeping a stiff spirit. + +"The man Lawrence is not much hurt," said Colonel Fortescue. "He +wanted to be taken to his quarters where his wife could nurse him, and +the surgeon allowed it, after dressing his cuts and bruises." + +Anita still looked so grave that Colonel Fortescue said to her: + +"How about a ride this afternoon, Anita? We can get back in time for +you to dress for the dinner." + +"Do go, Anita," urged Mrs. Fortescue plaintively, "it is such a relief +to have your father out of the house when I am arranging for a dinner +of twenty-four." + +It was one of the great treats of Anita's simple life to ride with her +father and the proposition brought a smile, at last, into her serious +face. + +"At four, then," said the Colonel, rising to return to the headquarters +building, while Anita ran to get his cap, and Mrs. Fortescue fastened +his military cape around him, and his gloves were brought by the +After-Clap, who had been drilled in this duty. The Colonel was well +coddled, and liked it. + +Anita practised on her violin nearly the whole afternoon, and, not +satisfied with that, sent a message to Neroda asking him to come at six +o'clock, when she would have returned from her ride, and rehearse with +her once more the obligatos she was to play to Broussard's singing. + +Anita's spirits rose as she rode by her father's side in the biting +cold of the wintry afternoon. They both loved these rides together and +the long talks they had then. The time was, when Colonel Fortescue +felt that he knew every thought in Anita's mind, but not so any longer. +He began to speak of Broussard, to try and search Anita's mind on that +subject, but Anita remained absolutely silent. The Colonel's heart +sank; Anita was certainly growing up, and had secrets of her own. + +It was quite dark when the Colonel and Anita cantered through the lower +entrance, the short way to the C. O.'s house. One door alone was open +in the long row of red brick barracks. The electric light in the +passageway fell full upon the figures of Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence as +the woman impulsively put her hand on Broussard's shoulder; he gently +removed it and walked quickly out of the door. Under the glare of a +street lamp he came face to face with Colonel Fortescue. + +An officer visiting the wife of a private soldier is not a thing to be +excused by a strict Colonel, and Colonel Fortescue was very strict, and +had Argus eyes in the bargain. + +Broussard saluted the Colonel and bowed to Anita and passed on. The +Colonel returned the salute but Anita was too startled to acknowledge +the bow. When they reached the Commandant's house and Colonel +Fortescue swung Anita from her saddle she walked into the house slowly, +her eyes fixed on the ground. At the door the After-Clap met her with +a shout, but instead of a romp with his grown-up playmate, he received +only an absent-minded kiss. Almost at the same moment Neroda walked +into the hall. + +"Here I am, Signorina," he said, "ready for the practice. Mr. +Broussard sings too well for you to do less than play divinely." + +Anita, taking off her gloves and veil, went, unsmilingly, into the +drawing-room, Neroda following her, and putting up the top of the grand +piano. + +It was Neroda's rule that Anita should tune her own violin. Usually +she did it with beautiful accuracy, but on this evening it was utterly +inharmonious. As she drew her bow across the strings Neroda jumped as +if he were shot. + +"Great God! Signorina," he shouted, "every string is swearing at the +G-string! The spirit of music will not come to you to-night unless you +tune your violin better." + +Anita stopped and laid down her bow, and once more holding the violin +to her ear, began tuning it. That time the tuning was so bad that she +handed the violin to Neroda. + +"You must tune it for me, Maestro," she said, with a wan smile. "The +spirit of music seems far away to-night." + +Neroda, in a minute, handed her back the instrument in perfect tune. +Anita, testing the strings, her bow wandered into the soft heart-moving +music of Mascagni's Intermezzo. Neroda said nothing, but watched his +favorite pupil. Usually she took up her violin with a calm confidence, +like a young Amazon taking up her well-strung bow for battle, because +the violin must be subdued; it must be made to obey; it must feel the +master hand before it will speak. But to-night the master hand failed +Anita, and she played fitfully and sadly and could do nothing as Neroda +directed her. + +"Shall we give up the rehearsal?" asked Neroda presently, seeing that +Anita was not concentrated and that her bow arm showed strange weakness. + +"No," replied Anita, with a new courage in her violet eyes, "Let us +rehearse for the whole hour." + +If Neroda had been puzzled at Anita's inability he was now surprised at +her strength. She stood up to her full height and the bow was firm in +her grasp. Neroda was a hard master, but Anita succeeded in pleasing +him. Even Kettle, who had an artistic rivalry with Neroda, passing the +drawing-room door, cried: + +"Lord, Miss 'Nita, you kin play the fiddle mos' as well as I kin." + +As Mrs. Fortescue was putting the last touches to her toilette before +the long mirror in her own room, Colonel Fortescue came in, dressed to +go down-stairs. The Colonel's mind had been working on the problems of +Broussard's visit to Mrs. Lawrence, and the look he had noticed for +some time past in Anita's eyes when Broussard was present, or even when +his name was mentioned. + +"I am afraid, Betty," said the Colonel, "that Anita thinks too much and +too often of Broussard. And in spite of that trick of horsemanship +there are some things a trifle unsatisfactory about him." + +"Really, Jack," answered Mrs. Fortescue, "you take Anita's moods far +too seriously. The girl will have her little affairs as other girls +have theirs. It's like measles and chicken-pox and other infantile +diseases." + +"Not for Anita," said Colonel Fortescue, "that child has in her tragic +possibilities. Her heart is brittle, depend upon it." + +"So are all hearts," replied Mrs. Fortescue, "but you are so +ridiculously sentimental and lackadaisical about Anita!" + +"She is my one ewe lamb," said the Colonel. + +Then they went down-stairs together, and the next minute Anita +appeared, wearing a gown of white and silver, with a delicious little +train, which she managed as well as a seventeen-year-old could manage a +train. + +In a minute or two the guests began arriving. They were handsome, +middle-aged officers and dignified matrons. Broussard was the only +young man present, which was understood as a special compliment to him, +and Anita was the only young girl in the company. + +Broussard greeted the Colonel as coolly as if that unlucky meeting just +outside of Lawrence's quarters had not occurred two hours before. And +Broussard was a captivating, fellow--this the Colonel admitted to +himself, with an inward groan, watching Broussard's graceful figure, +his dashing manner, all these externals that dazzle women. The Colonel +also saw the color that flooded Anita's face when she took Broussard's +arm to lead her in to dinner. At the table, though, Broussard found +Anita strangely unlike the Anita he had been steadily falling in love +with since he first saw her, three months before, when Colonel +Fortescue took command at Fort Blizzard. She was no longer the dreamy, +mysterious child, who knew all the stories of the poets, whose +affections were all passions, but a self-possessed young lady, who read +things in the newspapers about the European war and knew something +about aviation records, although she hated aviation. + +Broussard, with rage and chagrin in his heart, remembered that Anita +had probably seen him standing in the passage-way of Lawrence's +quarters, with Mrs. Lawrence's shapely hand on his shoulder. He +remained calm and smiling, nevertheless, and exerted to the utmost his +power to please. But Anita remained calm and smiling, and maddeningly +aloof. Broussard, inwardly cursing himself, made up his mind to have +it out with the Colonel the next day about the Lawrence affair. + +When dinner was over and the men had come in from the smoking-room, +Mrs. Fortescue asked Broussard if he would sing; Neroda was already +there to play his accompaniments and Anita, would play the violin +obligato. + +Broussard was not loth to show his accomplishments and he had a very +good will to try the magic of his voice upon Anita, gracious, and +obstinate and smiling. + +The guests, in a circle in the drawing-room, watched and listened to +the group at the piano--Neroda, short and swarthy, with a rancorous +voice; Anita, in her blonde beauty, looking like another St. Cecilia, +and Broussard, dark and handsome, like Faust, the tempter. + +With deep intent Broussard selected the most passionate of all his +passionate songs. It asked the old, old question, "I love thee; dost +thou love me?" Neroda struck into the accompaniment and Broussard's +voice, a tenor, with the strength and feeling of a baritone, took up +the song, while the music of Anita's violin delicately threaded the +harmonies, ever following and responding to Broussard's voice. All of +Anita's coldness vanished at the first strain of the music; Broussard's +voice penetrated her heart and inspired her hand. When the song was +over and she laid her violin down on the piano she was once more the +palpitating, shy enthusiast, the half-child, half-woman who had +captivated Broussard at the first glance. + +During the interludes between the songs it was plain they forgot all +except each other. They turned over songs and read the titles to each +other, Broussard sometimes singing, under his breath, the words. Then, +when he sang them in full voice he infused all the verve, the passion, +the feeling he knew so well how to command, and played upon Anita's +heart-strings with the hand of a master, as Anita played upon the +strings of her violin. The men and women, listening and charmed, +smiled at each other; evidently a love affair was on foot such as +everybody had expected since the night of the music ride. Colonel +Fortescue alone was grave, leaning back in his chair with sombre eyes +fixed on Broussard. He saw in Broussard a wild young officer who +needed a stern warning about a soldier's handsome wife; and, while +watching him, Colonel Fortescue was phrasing the very words in which he +meant to call Broussard to account the next day, for the Colonel was +not a man to postpone a disagreeable duty. It would be a very +disagreeable duty; the poignant memory of Anita lying on the tanbark +and Broussard having the skill to save her, still haunted Colonel +Fortescue's thoughts and came to him in troubled dreams. And +Anita--undoubtedly Broussard had impressed her imagination, and she was +a creature of such strong fibre that she must love and suffer more than +most human beings the Colonel knew, well enough. + +At last, the singing was over and the listeners came out of a waking +dream and complimented Anita and Broussard, and the pleasant chatter of +a drawing-room once more began. Presently there were leave-takings. +Broussard gave Anita's hand a sharp pressure, but she looked at him +calmly, all her coldness resumed. Out in the winter night Broussard +cursed himself for falling in love with a child, who was an embodied +caprice and did not know her own mind--one hour thrilling him with her +gladness and her low voice and her violin, and the next, looking at him +as if he were a stock or a stone. But she was so precociously +charming! And that unlucky meeting with her and with the Colonel in +front of Lawrence's door, with Mrs. Lawrence putting her hand on his +shoulder. Broussard meant to go to the Colonel the very next day and +explain the whole business. The resolve enabled Broussard to sleep in +peace that night. + +It was noon the next day before Broussard had a chance to ask for an +interview with Colonel Fortescue. Meanwhile, the Colonel had been +finding out things. He looked up the records of Broussard and Lawrence +and found that they were both natives of the same little town in +Louisiana. That might account for their intimacy, although Lawrence +was fifteen years Broussard's senior. + +Just as the Colonel's orderly was crossing the hall of the headquarters +building he came face to face with Broussard, headed straight for +Colonel Fortescue's office. The orderly had a message from the Colonel +for Mr. Broussard; the Colonel desired to see Mr. Broussard for a few +minutes. + +Broussard, like the Colonel, was not the man to shirk an unpleasant +five minutes, so he made straight for the Colonel's private office. In +spite of his courageous advance, Broussard felt very much as Sergeant +McGillicuddy described himself when in the abhorred buggy which Mrs. +McGillicuddy had given him as a Christmas gift, "Hollow inside." There +is something appalling to a subaltern in the kind of an interview which +Broussard felt was ahead of him. He knew in advance the very tone in +which Colonel Fortescue and all other Colonels prepare a wigging for a +junior. "It is my painful duty." The extreme politeness with which +this was accompanied was not reassuring. Then the Colonel, taking the +advice of old Horace, plunged into the middle of things. + +"I was very much surprised," said Colonel Fortescue, fixing his clear +gaze on Broussard, "when, yesterday evening, after dark, I saw you +standing in the passage-way to the home of an enlisted man, and +evidently upon familiar terms with the man's wife." + +"I was on my way to you, sir, just now, to explain that occurrence when +I received your order," replied Broussard promptly. + +"I shall be glad to have it satisfactorily explained," said the C. O. + +Colonel Fortescue had the eye of command, that secure power in his +glance which is possessed by all the masters of men; the look that can +wring the truth out of a man's mouth even if that man be a liar, and +can see through the eyes of a man into his soul. This look of command +suddenly flashed into Colonel Fortescue's face, and gazing into the +clear eyes of Broussard saw honor and truth and candor there as +Broussard spoke. + +"The man, Lawrence, as you may know, sir, is a gentleman in origin and +socially above most of the good fellows in the ranks." + +"And these men sometimes make trouble," interrupted the Colonel. + +"He came from the same place that I do and tells me he knew my +mother--God bless her--and that she was very kind to him in his +boyhood. That was before I was born. He knows a surprising deal about +my parents, both of whom died when I was a boy. Sometimes I have +doubted whether all he told me was true, but invariably it tallies with +my own childish recollections and what I have been told of my mother. +Lawrence has a passionate attachment to my mother's memory. He knows +her birthday, and the day of her death, and more even than I do about +her. The first word I had with him was on the anniversary of my +mother's death. He came to my quarters and asked to see me, told me of +my mother's goodness to him, and burst into tears before he got +through. Of course, that melted me--my mother was one of God's angels +on this earth. He is always in money troubles, and I helped him. That +brought me into contact with his wife--a woman of his own class, who +has stood by Lawrence, and is worthy, I think, to be classified with my +mother. If you could see the way that woman works for Lawrence and +their child--there's a little boy five years old,--and how she +struggles to keep him straight and sober. I had just done her a little +favor at the post trader's place, and went to her to explain it +privately. She was very grateful; you saw her put her hand on my +shoulder. The truth is, Mrs. Lawrence does not yet fully understand +her position as a private soldier's wife. What I have told you, sir, +is all, upon my honor." + +"I believe you," said Colonel Fortescue, after a moment, and holding +out his hand, which Broussard grasped with a feeling of vast relief. + +"The man seems to be doing pretty well, except about his money +troubles, of which I know nothing but what you tell me," went on the +Colonel. "He is one of the best aviators in the corps. Of course, his +name isn't Lawrence." + +"So he admitted to me," replied Broussard, "I am all abroad concerning +his knowledge of my family. I only know that he loves my mother's +memory, that he evidently knew her well, and that his wife is an heroic +woman. I have promised her that when the little boy is old enough I +will do a good part by him. I have something besides my pay." + +This "something" was of a size that made the Colonel think it was +rather a drawback to Broussard. + +"I only advise you to be prudent in your intercourse with Lawrence and +his wife," said the Colonel, rising. And the interview was over. + +Broussard went back with a light heart to his day's duties. The +Colonel knew the truth, and so, some day, would Anita, the little witch. + +It was growing dusk when Broussard again passed the headquarters +building. The last mail had come in and the published orders were +fastened on the bulletin board. Broussard stopped to read them. The +first name mentioned was that of Lieutenant Victor Broussard, who was +detached from his present duty at Fort Blizzard and ordered on special +duty to the Philippines. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +"GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART, GOOD-BYE" + +Broussard, after reading his orders, walked quickly to his quarters. +On the desk in his luxuriously furnished sitting-room was a letter from +the C. O. giving the order in detail from the War Department; Broussard +was to make the next steamer sailing from San Francisco. He went +through with a rapid mental calculation. To do that, he would be +obliged to leave Fort Blizzard not later than the next afternoon. + +Broussard took his orders with a soldier's coolness. He particularly +disliked them; he did not want to leave Fort Blizzard for any other +spot on the habitable globe, and least of all did he want to go to the +island possessions. But he said no word of complaint, took, with +perfect good humor, the condolences and chaff of his brother officers +at the mess dinner that night, and plunged into his preparations to +leave. + +The disposal of the expensive impedimenta which Broussard had +accumulated gave him much trouble. He did not value them greatly, and +without much thought determined to give his costly rugs and lamps and +glass and china to the Lawrences--they were originally used to that +sort of thing and Broussard was in no fear of the Colonel's +misunderstanding it, or any one else, for that matter, as it had been +well known that there was some tie or association between Broussard and +Lawrence in their childhood. + +The scattering of costly gifts by a very free-handed person is usually +most indiscreet, and Broussard was no exception to the rule. He +presented his finest motor to a brother officer, who had to support a +wife and children on a captain's pay and could not afford to support +the motor besides. The game chickens, the beloved of Broussard's +heart, he presented to another officer, whose wife objected seriously +to cock-fighting. The chaplain, seeing the grand piano was about to be +thrown away on anybody who could take it, managed to secure it for the +men's reading-room. The thing which perplexed Broussard most was, what +to do with Gamechick. He longed to give the horse to Anita but dared +not. However, fate befriended him in this matter and Anita got +Gamechick by other means. When Colonel Fortescue came home for the cup +of tea that Mrs. Fortescue was always waiting to give him at five +o'clock, with the sweet looks and tender words that made the hour so +happy, he mentioned, in an off-hand way, Broussard's orders and that he +was leaving the next day. Neither the father nor the mother looked +toward Anita, sitting a little in the shadow of the dim drawing-room. +Mrs. Fortescue, by way of making conversation, said: + +"I wonder what he will do with his motors and horses and game chickens, +and all those beautiful things he has in his quarters?" + +"Oh, that's easy enough to tell," answered Colonel Fortescue. "All +these young officers who load themselves up with that kind of thing act +just alike. As soon as they are ordered somewhere else they throw away +these things. They call it giving, but it is merely largesse." + +"I wish," said Anita, in a soft, composed voice, "that I could have +Gamechick. I can't help loving the horse that might have killed me and +did not. Daddy, if I give up half my allowance for every month until I +pay for him, would you buy him for me?" + +Colonel Fortescue was quite as well able as Broussard to own Gamechick, +but Anita had been brought up with a wholesome economy. + +"I think so, my dear," replied the Colonel, gravely. + +It would, in reality, have taken Anita's modest allowance for a couple +of years to buy Gamechick. Mrs. Fortescue said as much. + +"It would take all your allowance for a long time, Anita, to buy +Gamechick. The horse has a pedigree longer than mine, and I have often +noticed that ancestors are worth a great deal more to horses than to +human beings." + +"Oh, the price can be managed," said the Colonel, good naturedly. +"Broussard's horses will probably be sold for a song." + +Gamechick was not sold for a song, however, but for an excellent price. +Colonel Fortescue was not the man to buy a good horse for a song of any +man, least of all one of his own subalterns. When Broussard got the +Colonel's note containing an offer for Gamechick, he laughed with +pleasure, although he was not in a laughing mood. + +"I should like to own the horse," the Colonel's note ran, "which, +together with your fine horsemanship, saved my daughter's life, and he +is well worth my offer." + +Broussard would have given all of his other possessions at Fort +Blizzard if he could have made Anita a gift of the horse, but the next +best thing to do was, to sell him to her father. Broussard felt sure +that Anita would ride Gamechick and there was much solid comfort in +that, for an officer's charger, which carries him in life and is led +behind his coffin in death, is near and dear to him. So, Broussard +lost not a moment in accepting the Colonel's offer for Gamechick. + +It was quite midnight before Broussard, with the assistance of his +soldier attendant, had got those of his belongings which he intended to +take with him sorted out and packed up. He dismissed the man and in +the midst of his disordered sitting-room settled himself for his last +cigar before turning in for the night. At that moment he heard a tap +at the door, and opening it, Lawrence was standing on the threshold. +He entered, taking off his cap and loosening his heavy uniform +greatcoat. Once he had been a handsome fellow, but he had danced too +long to the devil's fiddling, and that always spoils a man's looks. + +For the first time, Lawrence seemed to forget the distance between the +private soldier and the officer. He sat down heavily, without waiting +for an invitation, and turned a haggard face on Broussard. + +"So you are going," said Lawrence. + +"Yes," replied Broussard. + +Broussard saw that Lawrence was oppressed at the thought, there would +be no more Broussard to help him pay the post trader's bills and to +give him a good word when he got into trouble with the non-coms. + +Broussard handed him a box of cigars and Lawrence absently took one. +It was a very expensive cigar, as Broussard's things were all +expensive. Lawrence, after rolling it in his fingers for a moment, +laid it down. + +"It's a shame not to be able to smoke such a brand as that," he said, +"but the truth is, I can't stand tobacco to-night. It makes me nervous +instead of soothing me." + +Broussard, lighting a cigar for himself, looked closely at Lawrence, +whose face was pallid and his eye sombre and uneasy. + +"What's the trouble? More bills at the post trader's?" asked Broussard. + +"Worse," replied Lawrence, becoming more agitated as he spoke. "My +wife--the best wife that ever lived--has been traced here by her +people. Of course, my name isn't Lawrence, and there was some trouble +in finding her. They want her to leave me, and offer to provide for +her and the boy. The work is killing her--you see how pale and thin +she is--and the boy hasn't the chance he ought to have. They are worth +more than a broken and beaten man like I am. But ever since I married +her I've led a fairly decent life--she is the one creature who can keep +me a little on this side of the jail. If she leaves me, I'm lost. +What shall I do?" + +Lawrence rose to his feet, and stood, trembling like a leaf. Broussard +rose, too. By some strange, psychic foreknowledge, Broussard knew that +some disclosure, poignant and even vital to himself, was then to be +made by Lawrence. It came in Lawrence's next words, dragged out of +him, as it were, by a force like that which drags the soul from the +body. + +"I ask you this," cried Lawrence, "in the name of our mother, for you +and I, Victor Broussard, are brothers of the half blood." + +By that time, Lawrence was weeping convulsively. Broussard's lighted +cigar dropped to the floor, and lay there smoldering. + +"But--but--" stammered Broussard, "my half-brother, my mother's son by +her first marriage, died when I was a boy. My mother wore mourning for +him." + +"Yes," answered Lawrence, recovering himself a little, "she thought I +was dead when I was in double irons for mutiny on a merchant ship. It +was one of God's mercies that she thought me dead when I was living a +life that would have been worse than death to her. Look you, I have +disobeyed and defied and disgraced the God that made me, but I have +never ceased to believe in Him. And, blackguard that I was and am, I +had the best mother, and I have the best wife----" + +There was a tense silence for a minute. Through all the bewildering +and overwhelming thoughts that were crashing through Broussard's brain, +but one thing was clear and unshakable, the deathless loyalty that a +son owes to his mother. + +"Of course," said Broussard, in a cool and resolute voice, "I'll stand +by my mother's son, for my mother's sake. I was always puzzled at your +knowledge of my parents, but I want some actual proof of what you say. +Not for myself, you understand, but for others." + +"Here it is," said Lawrence, taking a small, thin gold ring from his +little finger. "When my mother married your father, I was fourteen +years old. She gave me the wedding ring my father had given her; she +put it on my finger and it has never been removed since--but I will +take it off to show to you." + +Lawrence pulled the ring off and Broussard, under the glare of the +electric lamp, read the initials and the date he had seen in the family +record. Then, handing the ring back, Broussard studied Lawrence's +haggard face. Lawrence, answering the unspoken words, said: + +"I was always thought like my mother, and the boy is the image of her." + +A sudden illumination flooded Broussard's mind with light. He recalled +the child's face, frank and handsome--a face that had always appealed +to him so strongly, and so strangely. Yes, it was the call of the +blood, and instantly the mysterious attraction the boy had for him +developed into the affection of a kinsman. + +"If you could see my wife and talk with her," continued Lawrence, +recovering himself a little. "I can't urge her to leave me, but I +think in common justice to her somebody ought to put the thing before +her." + +"Certainly," replied Broussard. + +He was turning things rapidly in his mind. It would never do, after +the Colonel's warning, to go to Lawrence's quarters, and he said so. + +"It would look as if I had called for a farewell visit to your wife, +when I haven't time to pay any calls except to the C. O.," said +Broussard, after a moment. "But I will see the Colonel in the morning +and try to arrange, through him, an interview with your wife." + +"But don't, for God's sake, tell who I am," cried Lawrence. "Don't +tell it, for the sake of our mother's memory. It isn't necessary." + +"No, it is not necessary," replied Broussard. He was full of brotherly +pity for Lawrence, his respect and sympathy for Mrs. Lawrence suddenly +changed into the love of a brother for a sister, and the little boy +became dear to him in the twinkling of an eye. + +A silence fell between the two men, which was broken by Broussard. + +"Couldn't you get a discharge from the army?" + +"No," answered Lawrence, "there are too many black marks against +me--not enough to turn me out, but enough to keep me in. However, I've +kept soberer and acted straighter since I've been an enlisted man than +for a long time past; the non-coms. know how to handle men like me. +And I'm a good aviator, and they want to keep me." + +"At all events," said Broussard, taking Lawrence's hand, "I'll look out +for your wife and child. The boy shall have his chance--he shall have +his chance, the jolly little chap!" + +Then, standing up, the two men embraced as brothers do, and felt their +mother's tender spirit hovering over them. + +The next morning, while Colonel Fortescue was at breakfast, a note was +handed to him by Broussard's soldier attendant. It read: + +"Last night I had a visit from Lawrence. He has a great affection for +his wife and child, and wanted me to talk with his wife about a family +matter in which he feels he can not advise her. Can you kindly suggest +some way by which I may have a private talk of a few minutes with Mrs. +Lawrence?" + +Colonel Fortescue scribbled on the back of the note: + +"Come to my office in my house at ten o'clock and I will have Mrs. +Lawrence here." + +Broussard felt a little chagrined when he received this note. Suppose +Anita should see him? She had already seen Mrs. Lawrence put her hand +on his shoulder. There was, however, no gainsaying the C. O., and at +ten o'clock Broussard rang the bell at the Commandant's house. +Sergeant McGillicuddy opened the door for him and showed him into the +little office across the hall, saying: + +"Them's the Colonel's orders, sir." + +At the same moment Mrs. Lawrence, pale, beautiful and stately, walked +in from the back entrance. As she and Broussard met in the sunny hall, +brimming with the morning light, Anita walked down the stairs and came +face to face with Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence. + +Broussard's dark skin turned dull red; Mrs. Lawrence, calmly +unconscious, bowed to Anita, who, in her turn, bowed and passed on; her +head, usually with a graceful droop, was erect; she radiated silent +displeasure. Then Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence entered the office and +Broussard closed the door. He was full of discomfort and chagrin, but +it did not make him forgetful of the pale woman before him. + +Mrs. Lawrence sat down in a chair; it was plain that she was not +strong. Broussard, taking her hand, said to her affectionately: + +"Last night Lawrence told me all. Remember, after this, that you and +he have a brother, and the boy will be to me as a son." + +The slow tears gathered in Mrs. Lawrence's eyes and fell upon her thin +cheeks. + +"My husband told me when he came home last night. I can't express what +I feel--but the boy shall remember you in his innocent prayer." + +"It's the boy I want to speak about," said Broussard, "Lawrence tells +me that you have a chance of going back to your own people and that you +are breaking down under the hard work of a soldier's wife. You can +never get used to it." + +"Perhaps not," replied Mrs. Lawrence, calmly, "especially as I was +brought up to have a French maid. But I don't intend to leave my +husband. I love him too well. Don't ask me why I love him so. I +couldn't explain it to you to save my life, but I will say that since +the day we were married--I ran away to marry him--he has never spoken +an unkind word to me. He had nothing to give me except his love, but +he has given me that. Whatever his faults may be as a soldier, he has +been a good husband to me." + +"A good husband!" + +Broussard involuntarily repeated the words, marvelling and admiring the +constancy, the self-delusion, the blind devotion of the woman before +him. + +"A loving husband, I should have said," said Mrs. Lawrence, a faint +color coming into her face, "But my resolution is made. What you said +about helping the boy only fixes it firmer, because it did seem as if +his only chance would be thrown away." + +The conversation had not lasted five minutes but Broussard saw that +five decades of persuasion would not move Mrs. Lawrence. Besides, he +had spoken to her from a profound sense of justice; in his heart, the +tie of blood between him and Lawrence made him wish that the wife +should continue to stand by the husband. + +They both rose, feeling that the matter was settled inevitably. +Broussard took from his breast pocket a roll of notes. + +"It is better for you than bank checks," he said; "when this is gone, +write to me and there will be more. Lawrence feels, as I do, that for +the sake of our mother's memory it would be better that his identity +should not be revealed." + +A vivid blush flooded Mrs. Lawrence's face. Her woman's pride was cut +to the quick and Broussard, seeing it, said quickly: + +"It was his suggestion, not mine." + +Then, taking Mrs. Lawrence's hand, Broussard gave her a brother's kiss, +which she returned as a sister might, and they passed out of the +office. In the hall Broussard left cards for Colonel and Mrs. +Fortescue and Anita. Kettle, having heard that Broussard was leaving, +came out of the dining-room, where he had been washing dishes, and +wiping his hands on his long checked gingham apron, offered a friendly +grasp to Broussard. + +"I ain' goin' ter let Miss 'Nita furgit you, suh," Kettle whispered, +"doan' you be skeered of Mr. Conway--he treat Miss 'Nita same like he +did when she wear her hair down her back." + +Broussard inwardly thought that perhaps Conway's plan was best. But he +gave Kettle a confidential wink and a bank note. + +"Some day I'll come back, Kettle, and then----" + +Broussard did not finish the sentence in his own mind. Anita had seen +just enough to prejudice a young, innocent girl against him. + +Outside the door, a trooper was holding Gamechick by the bridle, +delivering the horse to his new master. + +"Good-bye, good horse," said Broussard, patting Gamechick's neck. "You +did me the best turn any creature, man or beast, ever did me, and I +promise never to forget my obligations to you." + +Horses are sentimental creatures. Gamechick knew that Broussard's +words were a farewell. He turned his large, intelligent eyes on +Broussard, saying as plainly as a horse can speak: + +"Good-bye, good master. Never will I, your faithful horse, forget you." + +Broussard, walking rapidly off, in the bright January morning, turned +around for one last glimpse at the house that held Anita. At that +moment the great doors of the Commandant's house opened, and Anita, +with a long crimson cloak around her and a hood over her head, ran down +the broad stone steps to where Gamechick was standing like a bronze +horse, the best-trained and best-mannered and best-bred cavalry charger +at Fort Blizzard. Anita put her arm about his neck and rubbed her +cheek against his satin coat, Gamechick receiving her caresses with +dignity, as a cavalry charger should, and not with the tender bondings +and nosings for lumps of sugar, like Pretty Maid. The last glimpse +Broussard had of Anita was, as she stood, her arm about Gamechick's +neck, her crimson mantle falling away from her graceful shoulder. + +[Illustration: The last glimpse Broussard had of Anita was, as she +stood, her arm about Gamechick's neck.] + +"How much simpler," thought Broussard, as he buttoned his heavy fur +coat, for the ride to the station, "is love for a horse, for a child, +for anything created, than love for a woman! No man gets out of that +business without complications, and when the woman is half a child, an +idealist, precocious, an angel with a devil lurking somewhere about +her, it's the most complicated thing on this planet!" + +Broussard carried these thoughts with him through the frozen Northwest, +across the sapphire seas, and into the jungles of the tropics, to which +he was destined. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +UNFORGETTING + +"As the passing of leaves, so is the passing of men." Thus it was with +Broussard. Another man came to take his place; his once luxurious +quarters, now plainly furnished, were occupied by another officer, his +fighting cocks had disappeared, and Gamechick became a lady's mount. +Anita quite gave over riding Pretty Maid, and rode Gamechick every day. +She had some of the superstitions of the Arabs about horses, and when +she dismounted, she always whispered something in the horse's ear. The +words were: + +"We won't forget him, Gamechick, although he has forgotten us." + +At this, Gamechick would turn his steady, intelligent eyes on her, and +nod, as if he understood every word. Colonel Fortescue and Mrs. +Fortescue noticed this little trick of Anita's and looked at each other +in silent pity for the girl. She suddenly developed amazing energy, +working hard at her violin lessons and delighting Neroda by her +progress, reading and studying until Mrs. Fortescue took the books away +from her, going to all the dances, doing everything that her young +companions did, and many things which they did not. She became the +chaplain's right hand for work among the soldiers' children, and from +daybreak until she went to bed at night Anita was ever employed at +something and throwing into that something wonderful force and +perseverance. One thing became immediately noticeable to Colonel and +Mrs. Fortescue; this was that Anita never spoke Broussard's name from +the hour he left Fort Blizzard. + +"It is only a girl's fancy; she will get over it," said Mrs. Fortescue +to the Colonel. + +"She would if she were like most girls, but I tell you, Betty, this +child of ours, this devoted, obedient little thing, has more mind, more +introspection, than any young creature I ever knew. There is the +making of a dozen tragedies in her." + +"It is you who are too introspective and too tragic about her," +answered Mrs. Fortescue, and the Colonel, recognizing the germ of truth +in his wife's words, remained silent for a moment. Then he said: + +"It's the sky and the snow and this altitude, and being shut in from +all the world that make everything so tense. On these far-off, +ice-bound plains, life is abnormally vivid. We are all keyed up too +high here." + +Mrs. Fortescue, seeing Anita reading often, and getting many books from +the post library, glanced at the literature that crowded the table in +Anita's sunny bed room. They were of two sorts--books of passionate +poetry and books about the Philippines, their geography, their history, +the story of the natives, "the silent, sullen peoples, half savage and +half child," tales of the creeping, crawling, stinging things that make +life hideous in the jungles, all these was Anita studying. Mrs. +Fortescue said nothing of this to the Colonel, but recalled that +Broussard was in the Philippines, and Anita's soul was there, although +her body was at Fort Blizzard. In a book of her own, Anita had written +her name, in the firm, clear hand that belonged to thirty rather than +to seventeen, and these words: + +"This I, who walk and talk and sleep and eat here, is not I. It is but +my body; my soul is with the Beloved." + +Mrs. Fortescue said nothing of this to the Colonel, but the trend of +Anita's reading was unexpectedly revealed at one of the stately and +handsome dinners that were given weekly at the Commandant's house +during the season. When the officers were in the smoking-room a +question of the geography of the Philippines came up, and was not +settled. Colonel Fortescue called for a book on the subject, which was +in Anita's room. Anita herself brought it, and hovered for a moment +behind her father's chair; the subject of the Philippines had a magic +power to hold her. + +Not even the book gave the desired information and Anita leaned over +and whispered into her father's ear: + +"Daddy, I can tell you about it." + +"Do," answered the Colonel, smiling, and turning to his guests, "This +young lady will interest us." + +Anita, whose air was shy and her violet eyes usually downcast, was the +least shy and the most courageous creature imaginable. She got a map, +and, spreading it out on the table, pointed out the true solution, and +produced books to explain it. The officers, all mature men, listened +with interest and amusement, complimenting Anita, and telling her she +ought to have an officer's commission. Colonel Fortescue beamed with +pride; no other girl at the post had as much solid information as Anita. + +When the guests were gone and Anita was lying wide awake in her little +white bed, thinking of Broussard, Colonel Fortescue, in the pride of +his heart, was telling Mrs. Fortescue about it, as he smoked his last +cigar in his office. + +"It was great!" said the Colonel. "The child knew her subject +wonderfully. She sat there, talking with men who had served in the +Philippines, and they said she knew as much as they did." + +"Broussard is in the Philippines," replied Mrs. Fortescue quietly. + +Colonel Fortescue dashed his cigar into the fireplace and remained +silent for five minutes. + +"At any rate," he said presently, "The child's love affair hasn't made +a fool of her. She is actually learning something from it. That's +where she is so far ahead of most young things of her age." + +"She will be eighteen next spring," said Mrs. Fortescue. + +The mention of Anita's age always made the Colonel cross; so nothing +more was said between the father and mother about Anita that night. +But the Colonel yearned over the beloved of his heart, nor did he +classify Anita's silent and passionate remembrance of Broussard with +the idle fancies of a young girl; it was like Anita herself, of strong +fibre. + +The winter wore on, and the whirlpool of life surged in the far-distant +post, as in the greater centres of life. The chaplain, an earnest man, +found men and women more willing to listen to him, than in any spot in +which he had ever spoken the message entrusted to him. Perhaps the +aviation field had something to do with it; the people in the fort were +always near to life and to death. The chaplain disliked to find +himself watching particular faces in the chapel when he preached the +simple, soldierly sermons on Sundays, and was annoyed with himself that +he always saw, above all others, Anita Fortescue's gaze, and that of +Mrs. Lawrence, as she sat far back in the chapel. Anita's eyes were +full of questionings, and dark with sadness; but Mrs. Lawrence, in her +plain black gown and hat, sometimes with Lawrence by her side, always +with the beautiful boy, sitting among the soldiers and their wives, +embodied tragedy. The chaplain sometimes went to see Mrs. Lawrence; +she was a delicate woman, and often ill, and the chaplain was forced to +admire Lawrence's kindness to his wife, although in other respects +Lawrence was not a model of conduct. As with Mrs. McGillicuddy, and +everybody else at the fort, Mrs. Lawrence maintained a still, +unconquerable reserve. One day, the chaplain said to Anita: + +"I hear that Lawrence's wife is ill. Could you go to see her? You +know she isn't like the wives of the other enlisted men, and that makes +it hard to help her." + +Anita blushed all over her delicate face. She felt a deep hostility to +Mrs. Lawrence; she had seen Broussard with her twice, and each time +there was an unaccountable familiarity between them. But women seek +their antagonists among other women, and Anita felt a secret longing to +know more about this mysterious woman. + +"Certainly I will go," answered Anita. "My father is very strict about +letting me intrude into the soldier's houses--he says it's impertinent +to force one's self in, but I know if you ask me to go to see Mrs. +Lawrence my father will think it quite right." + +The Colonel stood firmly by his chaplain, who was a man after his own +heart, and that very afternoon Anita went to Mrs. Lawrence's quarters. +The door was opened by the little boy, Ronald, whom Anita knew, as +everybody else did. The girl's heart beat as she entered the narrow +passage-way in which she had seen Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence standing +together, and it beat more as she walked into the little sitting-room, +where Mrs. Lawrence sat in an arm chair at the window. She was +evidently ill, and the knitting she was trying to do had fallen from +her listless hand. + +The Colonel's daughter was much embarrassed, but the private soldier's +wife was all coolness and composure. + +"The chaplain asked me to come to see you," said Anita, standing +irresolute, not knowing whether to stay or to go. + +"Thank you and thank the chaplain also," replied Mrs. Lawrence. Then +she courteously offered Anita a seat. + +Anita had meant to ask if Mrs. Lawrence needed anything, but she found +herself as unable to say this to Mrs. Lawrence as to any officer's +wife. All she could do was to pick up the knitting and say: + +"Perhaps you will let me finish this for you. I can knit very well." + +It was a warm jacket for the little boy, who needed it. Mrs. +Lawrence's coldness melted a little. + +"Thank you," she said, "there is not much to be done on it now." + +With that oblique persuasion, Anita took up the jacket, and her quick +fingers made the needles fly. Her glance was keen, and although +apparently concentrated on her work, she saw the strange mixture of +plainness and luxury in the little room. The floor was covered with a +fine rug, and a little glass cupboard shone with cut glass and silver. + +The two women talked a little together but Mrs. Lawrence showed her +weariness by falling off to sleep in the chair. The little boy went +quietly out, and Anita sat knitting steadily in the silent room. The +setting sun shone upon Mrs. Lawrence's pale face, revealing a beauty +that neither time nor grief nor hardship could wholly destroy. + +Involuntarily, Anita's eye travelled around the strange-looking room. +On the mantel was a large photograph; Anita's heart leaped as she +recognized it to be Broussard. It was evidently a fresh photograph, +and a very fine one. Broussard stood in a graceful attitude, his hand +on his sword, looking every inch the _beau sabreur_. Anita became so +absorbed that her hand stopped knitting; it was as if Broussard himself +had walked into the room. + +Presently she felt, rather than saw, a glance fixed upon her. Mrs. +Lawrence was wide awake, lying back in her chair, her dark eyes bent on +Anita, whose hands lay idle in her lap. + +The gaze of the two women met, for Anita was a woman grown in matters +of the heart. She imagined she saw pity in Mrs. Lawrence's expression. +Instantly, she began to knit rapidly. She wished to talk +unconcernedly, but the words would not come. Broussard's association +with the pallid woman before her was a painful mystery to Anita. +Jealousy is a plant that springs from nothing, and grows like Jonah's +gourd in the minds of women. + +Anita was too innocent, too rashly confident in the honor of all the +other women in the world to think any wrong of the woman before her. +But it was enough that Mrs. Lawrence knew Broussard well, and was in +communication with him--a strange thing between an officer and the wife +of a private soldier, even if the soldier be of a station unusual in +the ranks. Ever in Anita's heart smouldered the joy of the words +Broussard had spoken to her under thousands of eyes on that memorable +night of the music ride, and the sharp pain that came from Broussard's +saying no more. + +In a few minutes the jacket was done, and Anita rose. It required all +her generosity as well as justice to say to Mrs. Lawrence: + +"If I can do anything for you, please let me know." + +"I thank you," replied Mrs. Lawrence. "You have already done much for +me and for Ronald." + +Then Anita went out into the dusk, and in her soul was rebellion. +Youth was made for joy and she was robbed of her share. Anita was +scarcely eighteen and deep-hearted. + +In Mrs. Fortescue's room, Anita found Mrs. McGillicuddy, engaged in one +of the comfortable chats that always took place between the Colonel's +lady and the Sergeant's wife at the After-Clap's bed-time. As Sergeant +McGillicuddy kept the Colonel informed of the happenings at the fort, +so Mrs. McGillicuddy, who had great qualifications, and would have made +a good scout, kept Mrs. Fortescue informed of all the news at the fort, +from Major Harlow, the second in command, down to the smallest drummer +boy in the regiment. Mrs. Fortescue being nothing if not feminine, she +and Mrs. McGillicuddy were "sisters under their skins." + +Anita's face was so grave that Mrs. Fortescue said to her tenderly--one +is very tender with an only daughter: + +"Is anything troubling you, dear?" + +"Nothing at all," replied Anita, "I went to see Mrs. Lawrence, as the +chaplain asked me, and finished a little jacket she was knitting for +her boy. She doesn't seem very strong." + +"And I dessay," said Mrs. McGillicuddy, who had held Anita in her arms +when the girl was but a day old, "you saw all that cut glass and the +rugs, as Mr. Broussard give to Lawrence. Them rugs! They're fit for a +general's house. It seems to me it oughter be against the regulations +for privates to have such rugs when sergeants' wives has to buy rugs +off the bargain counter." + +Mrs. McGillicuddy stood stiffly upon her rank as a sergeant's wife and +believed in keeping the soldiers' wives where they belonged. + +"I don't fancy Mr. Broussard is living in luxury himself just now," +said Mrs. Fortescue. And Mrs. McGillicuddy's kind heart, being touched +with remorse for having given Broussard a pin prick, hastened to say: + +"No, indeed, mum, for McGillicuddy heard Major Harlow readin' a letter +from Mr. Broussard, and he says as how he lives on bananas and has got +only two shirts, and his striker has to wash one of 'em out every day +for Mr. Broussard to wear the next day. McGillicuddy says that Major +Harlow says that Mr. Broussard says that he don't mind it a bit, and +he's glad to see real service and proud to command the men that is with +him, and they behaves splendid." + +Anita fixed her eyes on Mrs. McGillicuddy's honest, rubicund face, and +listened breathlessly as Mrs. McGillicuddy continued: + +"And Mr. Broussard says the Philippines is one big hell full of little +hells, and nobody can get warm there in winter, or cool in summer, but +there's lots of life to be seen there, and he's a-seein' it. And +Blizzard is so far away, he can't sometimes believe there ever was such +a place." + +Suddenly, without the least warning, a quick warm gush of tears fell on +Anita's cheeks. They were so far apart, the jungles and the icy peaks, +the palm tree on the burning sands, and the pine tree in the frozen +mountains! Anita walked quickly out of the room. Mrs. McGillicuddy, +soft-hearted as she was hard-handed, looked at Mrs. Fortescue. The +mother's eyes were moist; Anita was very unlike her, but Mrs. Fortescue +remembered a period in her own young life when she, too, felt that the +world was empty because of the absence of the Beloved. And suppose he +had never come back? Mrs. Fortescue, remembering the brimming cup of +happiness that had been hers merely because the man she loved came +back, felt a little frightened for Anita. The girl was so precocious, +so passionate--and how difficult and baffling are those women whose +loves are all passion! + +Anita baffled her mother still more, by appearing an hour later in a +gay little gown, and taking the After-Clap from his crib and dancing +with him until he absolutely refused to go to sleep. Then, Anita was +in such high spirits at dinner that the Colonel told Mrs. Fortescue in +their nightly talk while the Colonel smoked, he believed Anita had +completely forgotten Broussard. At this, Mrs. Fortescue smiled and +remained as silent as the Sphinx. + +The winter was slipping by, and work and study and play went on in the +snow-bound fort, and Colonel Fortescue was congratulating himself upon +the wonderfully good report he could make of his command. There had +not been a man missing in the whole month of February. But one day +Lawrence, the gentleman-ranker, was reported missing. + +The Colonel had no illusions concerning broken men and said so to Mrs. +Fortescue. + +"The fellow has deserted--that's the way most of the broken men end. +He was in the aviation field yesterday and his going away was not +premeditated, as he did not ask for leave. But something came in the +way of temptation, and he couldn't stand it, and ran away." + +The "something" was revealed by Sergeant McGillicuddy, with a pale +face, while he was shut up with the Colonel in his office. + +"It's partly my fault, sir," said the Sergeant. "The fellow has been +doing his duty pretty well, and yesterday, on the aviation field, the +aviation orficer was praisin' him for his work. You know, sir, how I +likes the machines and studies 'em at odd times. The flyin' was over +and there wasn't anybody around the sheds but Lawrence and me. I was +lookup at his machine, and, no doubt, botherin' him, an he says +sharp-like: + +"'You can't understand these machines. It takes an educated man like +me to understand 'em. They're more complicated than buggies.' That +made me mad, sir, and I says, 'That's no way to speak to your +Sergeant.' 'You go to the devil,' says Lawrence. 'You'll get ten days +in the guard house for that,' I says. Then Lawrence seemed to grow +crazy, all at once. 'Yes,' he shouts, like a lunatic, 'that's a fit +punishment for a gentleman. You'll see to it, Sergeant, that I get ten +days in the guard house, and my wife breakin' her heart with shame, and +the other children tauntin' my boy!' With that, sir, he hit me on the +side of the head with his fist. I was so unprepared that it knocked me +down, but I saw Lawrence runnin' toward the station. I picked myself +up and went and sat down on the bench outside the sheds to think what I +ought to do. I knew, as well as I know now, that Lawrence was runnin' +away, and I had drove him to it. But I swear, sir, before my Colonel +and my God, that I didn't mean to make Lawrence mad, or misuse him in +any way. You know my record, sir." + +"Yes," answered Colonel Fortescue, his pity divided among Lawrence and +his wife, and the honest, well-meaning McGillicuddy, who had brought +about a catastrophe. + +"For God's sake, sir," said McGillicuddy, "wiping his forehead, be as +easy on Lawrence as you can, and give me a day--two days--leave to hunt +him up." + +This the Colonel did, warning McGillicuddy not to repeat what had +occurred on the aviation plain. + +The Sergeant got his leave, and another two days, all spent in hunting +for Lawrence. There was nowhere for him to go except to the little +collection of houses at the railway station. No one had seen Lawrence +board the train that passed once a day, but a man, even in uniform, can +sometimes slip aboard a train without being seen. The Sergeant came +back, looking woe-begone, and Lawrence was published on the bulletin +board as "absent without leave." + +The shock of Lawrence's departure quite overcame his unhappy wife. She +took to her bed and had not strength to leave it. + +Sergeant McGillicuddy begged that he might be allowed to tell to the +chaplain the provocation he had given Lawrence, who might tell Mrs. +Lawrence. The blow struck by Lawrence was the act of a mad impulse, +and having struck an officer, Lawrence might well fear to face the +punishment. This the Colonel permitted, and the chaplain, sitting by +Mrs. Lawrence's bed, told her of it, and of Sergeant McGillicuddy's +remorse. Until then, Mrs. Lawrence, lying in her bed, had remained +strangely tearless, although a faint moan sometimes escaped her lips. +At the chaplain's words she suddenly burst into a rain of tears. + +"My husband never meant to desert," she cried between her sobs. "He +was doing his duty well--his own Sergeant said so. He must have been +crazy when he struck the blow!" + +"Poor McGillicuddy," said the chaplain quietly. "The Colonel has +forbidden him to speak of it to any one, and he is breaking his heart +over it." + +No word of forgiveness came from Mrs. Lawrence's lips. + +"It is the way with all of them, officers and men, they were all down +on my husband because they thought he had done something wrong," said +Mrs. Lawrence, with the divine, unreasoning love of a devoted woman. + +"Mr. Broussard was not down on your husband," said the chaplain. + +"True," replied Mrs. Lawrence, and then shut her lips close. If any +one wished to know the secret bond between Broussard and Lawrence, one +could never find it out from Mrs. Lawrence. + +Sergeant McGillicuddy could keep from Mrs. McGillicuddy the details of +what had occurred on the aviation field, but he could not conceal from +her the fact that he was unhappy and conscience-stricken. All he would +say to his wife was: + +"I've done a man a wrong. I never meant it, as both God and the +Colonel know." McGillicuddy had a way of bracketing the Deity with +commanding officers, and did it with much simplicity and meant no +irreverence. + +"And I know it too, Patrick," replied Mrs. McGillicuddy, with the faith +of a true wife in her husband. + +"I'd tell you all about it, Araminta," said the poor Sergeant, "but the +Colonel forbid me, and orders is orders." + +"I know it," answered Mrs. McGillicuddy, "and I'll trust you, Patrick, +I won't ever ask you the name because I can guess it easy. It's +Lawrence." + +The Sergeant groaned. + +"If you can do anything for Mrs. Lawrence," he said, "or the boy----" + +"I'll do it," valiantly replied Mrs. McGillicuddy, and straightway put +her good words into effect. + +Lawrence had then been missing five days. It was seven o'clock in the +evening, and Mrs. McGillicuddy had already put the After-Clap to bed +when she started for Mrs. Lawrence's quarters. There was no one to +open the door, and Mrs. McGillicuddy walked unceremoniously into the +little sitting-room, where the boy sat, silent and lonely and +frightened, by the window. Mrs. McGillicuddy spoke a cheery word to +him, and then passed into the bedroom beyond. The light was dim but +she could see Mrs. Lawrence lying, fully dressed, on the bed. At the +sight of Mrs. McGillicuddy she turned her face away. + +"Come now," said Mrs. McGillicuddy undauntedly, "I think I know why you +don't want to see me. Well, Patrick McGillicuddy is as good a man as +wears shoe-leather, but every Sergeant that ever lived has made some +sort of a mistake in his life. So Patrick wants me to do all I can for +you until something turns up, and I hope that something will be your +husband--and my husband will be mighty easy on him at the +court-martial." + +Mrs. Lawrence made no reply. Then Mrs. McGillicuddy went into the +little kitchen, and stirring up the fire soon had a comfortable meal +ready, and calling to the little boy, gave him his first good supper in +the five days that had passed since his father came no more. + +"You'd feel sorry for McGillicuddy if you could see him," Mrs. +McGillicuddy kept on, ignoring Mrs. Lawrence's cold silence. "And +recollect, if you feel sorry for your husband, I feel sorry for mine. +'Taint right to keep the little feller here while you can't lift a hand +to do for him, so I'm goin' to take him to my house, with my eight +children, because there's luck in odd numbers, and I'll feed him up, +pore little soul, and wash him and mend him, and start him to playin' +with Ignatius and Aloysius, for children ought to play, and Patrick 'll +come every morning and start your fire, although he is a Sergeant, and +we want to help you, and you must help us." + +Mrs. Lawrence was not made of stone, and could not forever resist Mrs. +McGillicuddy's kindness, and so it came about that the McGillicuddys +took care of Lawrence's boy, whose face grew round and rosy with the +generous McGillicuddy fare. A part of Mrs. McGillicuddy's good will to +him was that she instructed Ignatius and Aloysius McGillicuddy, both +excellent fist fighters for their age, that they were to lick any boy, +no matter what his age or size, who dared to taunt little Ronald about +his father or anything else. These orders were extremely agreeable to +the McGillicuddy boys, who loved fighting for fighting's sake, and who +sought occasions to practise the manly art. + +Colonel Fortescue sent word to Mrs. Lawrence that she could occupy her +quarters until she was able to make some plan for the future. It +seemed, however, utterly indefinite when Mrs. Lawrence would be able to +plan anything. She lay in her bed or sat in her chair, silent, pale, +and as weak as a child. The blow of her husband's desertion seemed to +have stopped all the springs of action. Neither the chaplain, the +post-surgeon, nor Mrs. McGillicuddy, singly or united, could rouse Mrs. +Lawrence from the deadly lassitude of a broken heart. Both the +chaplain and the surgeon had seen such cases, and nothing in the +pharmacopoeia could cure them. + +Mrs. Fortescue, whose heart was not less tender from long dwelling on +the airy heights of happiness and perfect love, was full of sympathy +for Lawrence's unfortunate wife, and would have gone to see her, but +Mrs. McGillicuddy, who delivered the message, brought back a +discouraging reply. + +"She says, mum, as she don't need nothin' at all, and I think, mum, she +kinder shrinks from the orficers' wives more than from the soldiers' +wives." + +Anita, who was sitting by, went to her mother and, putting her arms +around Mrs. Fortescue's neck, whispered: + +"Mother, let me go to see Mrs. Lawrence. I don't think she will mind +seeing me. You and daddy are always telling me that I am only a child." + +Mrs. Fortescue took Anita in her lap, as if the girl were indeed the +age of the After-Clap. + +"Do what you like, dear child," she said. "Girls like you can do some +things that women can't, because you have the enormous advantage of not +knowing anything." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +SOME LETTERS AND KETTLE'S ENLISTMENT + +Anita, who could plan things quite as well as if she were forty instead +of eighteen, bided her time until the hour when Mrs. McGillicuddy was +putting the After-Clap to bed. Then the girl slipped away and took the +road to the long street of the married men's quarters. An icy fog +swept from the Arctic Circle, enveloped the world, hiding both moon and +stars, and made the great arc lamps look like little points of light in +the great ocean of white mist. Every step of the way Anita's heart and +will battled fiercely together. Broussard knew Mrs. Lawrence in some +mysterious way. Perhaps he had loved her once; Anita was all a woman, +and at seventeen was learned in the affairs of the heart. + +This woman, however, between whom and Broussard some strong link was +forged, Anita knew not when, nor how, nor where, was ill and poor and +suffering, and Anita's natural inclinations were merciful. Besides, +she had been taught by her father and mother the great lessons of life +in kindness and tenderness. She had seen her father give up a party of +pleasure to walk behind the pine coffin of a private soldier, and her +mother had robbed her greenhouse of its choicest blossoms to lay a +wreath on a soldier's grave. + +By instinct, rather than sight, Anita stopped in front of the right +door and met the chaplain coming out. + +"Glad to see you, Anita," said the chaplain, who was muffled up to his +eyes. "Go in and talk to that poor lady. We all want to help her, but +we find it hard, for she will tell nothing of herself, of her family, +or anything, except that she knows Lawrence didn't mean to desert, and +will yet report himself." + +In the plain little bedroom Mrs. Lawrence lay on her bed, the shaded +electric light by her bedside showing her thin face, made more pallid +by the great braids of lustrous black hair that fell about her. A look +of faint surprise came into her languid eyes as Anita drew a chair to +her bed and took her hand. + +"My mother sent me," Anita said, gently, "to ask if I could do anything +for you." + +Mrs. Lawrence murmured her thanks, and then hesitated for a moment, the +words trembling upon her lips. + +"Yes," she said, "you can do something for me. Something I haven't +asked anybody to do. I tried to ask the chaplain just now--he is a +kind man, and tries to help me but for some reason my courage failed; I +don't know why, but I didn't ask him. It is, to write a letter for me." + +"Certainly I will write a letter for you," said Anita. + +"It is to Mr. Broussard," answered Mrs. Lawrence. + +The thought of writing to Broussard startled and overwhelmed Anita. +She glanced about her nervously, fearing Mrs. Lawrence's words had been +overheard, and stammered and blushed. But the woman, lying wan and +weak in the bed, did not notice this. + +"I am not strong enough to dictate it exactly as I want," said Mrs. +Lawrence, "and you will have to write it at your own home. But I am +very anxious for you to write to Mr. Broussard for me and tell him that +my husband is missing and will soon be posted as a deserter; that I +don't know where he is, but I am sure he will return. Don't tell Mr. +Broussard how ill I am, but just say that the Colonel has let me stay +on here, and the boy is well. Mr. Broussard is my husband's best +friend; they were playmates in boyhood." + +A dead silence fell between the woman and the girl and lasted for some +minutes. Anita was already composing the letter in her mind. + +"Perhaps before I go I can do something else for you," she said +presently. + +"No, everything has been done for me, and Mrs. McGillicuddy brings the +boy over every night to tell me good-night. What you can do for me is +to write the letter, as I asked you, and post it to-night. It can't +reach Mr. Broussard in less than a month, perhaps two months. The last +letter I received from him he was in some wild place a long distance +from Guam, but he will get the letter eventually, if he lives." + +Anita rose and walked back home through the icy mist. Mrs. Fortescue +was in the shaded drawing-room seated at her harp, playing soft chords +and arpeggios, with Colonel Fortescue leaning over her chair. If was a +picture Anita had often seen, and at those times, from her childhood +and from Beverley's, they were made to feel that they were secondary, +and even the After-Clap was superfluous. Nevertheless, Anita walked +into the room. The Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue started apart like young +lovers. + +"I have been to see Mrs. Lawrence," said Anita, "and she asked me if I +would write a letter for her. She didn't, of course, tell me not to +say anything about it to you, mother and daddy, but I would rather not +tell you to whom the letter is to be written. You must trust me, my +own dear daddy. It is a very simple letter, just to say that Lawrence +has disappeared and Mrs. Lawrence and the little boy are in kind hands." + +"Of course we trust you," answered Colonel Fortescue, smiling. "You +are a very trusty person, Anita." + +"Like my father and mother," answered Anita, and ran out of the room. +As they heard her light step tripping up the stairs, the father and +mother looked at each other with troubled eyes. + +"It is to Broussard," said the Colonel, remembering his last interview +with him. "I think Broussard steadily befriended Lawrence and his +wife." + +Mrs. Fortescue's candid eyes grew clouded. + +"It is a strange intimacy," she said. + +"It's all right," unhesitatingly replied the Colonel. + +"Oh, well," said Mrs. Fortescue, touching the harpstrings, "If you are +fomenting a love affair between Anita at Fort Blizzard and Broussard in +the tropics, it is your affair." + +"Elizabeth," said the Colonel, "I am not a person to foment love +affairs, or any other private and personal affairs." + +"I said _if_ you were fomenting a love affair, John," replied Mrs. +Fortescue; and then there was no more music from the harp, the Colonel +going into his office and Mrs. Fortescue to the After-Clap's nursery. + +In her own little room Anita was already hard at work on her letter to +Broussard. It was a very short and simple letter, telling exactly, and +only, what Mrs. Lawrence had asked, and it was signed "Sincerely +Yours." But when it was to be sealed Anita's insurgent heart cried out +to be heard, and she added a little postscript, which read: + +"Gamechick is very well and sends his love. I ride him nearly every +day." + +Anita would not trust her precious letter to the mail orderly, or even +Sergeant McGillicuddy or Kettle, but throwing her crimson mantle around +her, she slipped out, in the cold mist, to the letter box. For one +moment she held the letter poised in her hand before it took its flight +toward the tropics; Anita's tender heart went with the letter. + +A fortnight later, the March sun having come in place of the February +snows, Mrs. McGillicuddy succeeded in dragging Mrs. Lawrence out of +doors, one day about noon, and after placing her on a bench in the glow +of the light, went off to look after the eight McGillicuddys, the +little Lawrence boy, and the After-Clap, none of whom could have got on +without her. Colonel Fortescue, coming out of the headquarters +building, and going to his own house, passed Mrs. Lawrence, sitting on +the bench. The Colonel, who knew her well enough by sight, raised his +cap and, stopping a moment, asked courteously after her health. + +"I am better," replied Mrs. Lawrence, "and I want to thank you for your +kindness in letting me stay in the quarters. I will not trespass any +longer than I can help." + +"May I ask," said the Colonel, kindly, "if you have any friends with +whom I could help you to communicate?" + +Mrs. Lawrence smiled as she answered: + +"I have relatives, if that is what you mean. But I do not care to +communicate with them. Please understand me that I do not, for a +moment, admit that my husband is a deserter." + +"I wish I could think he was not," said Colonel Fortescue, "but +unfortunately, his misconduct----" + +Colonel Fortescue caught himself; he had done what he seldom did--used +the wrong word. Mrs. Lawrence struggled feebly to her feet, the divine +obstinacy of a loving woman shining in her melancholy eyes. + +"Stop!" she cried, "I can't allow any one, even the Colonel of the +regiment, to disparage my husband before my face." + +"I beg your pardon," said Colonel Fortescue, "I regret the word I used." + +Mrs. Lawrence, inclining her head, sank, rather than sat, upon the +bench. + +"Perhaps I should not have spoken so," she said, in a composed voice, +"as my husband was only a private, and you are the Colonel; but I think +you understand that I was neither born nor reared to this position." + +"I do understand," replied Colonel Fortescue, "and some one has done +you a very great wrong in bringing you to this post; but you may depend +upon it that neither you nor your child shall suffer for the present, +and I hope you will soon be well." + +[Illustration: "Neither you nor your child shall suffer for the +present."] + +"It is my heart that is more ill than my body," replied Mrs. Lawrence, +and the Colonel passed on. + +The tragedy of a desertion is very great, and as Colonel Fortescue +said, tragedies grow more intense in the fierce cold of winter, and +Mrs. Lawrence and the beautiful little boy were, in themselves, living +tragedies. Sergeant McGillicuddy, too, had a tragic aspect. In spite +of all the Colonel could say, the Sergeant still accused himself of +being the cause of Lawrence's desertion. McGillicuddy's bronzed face, +like a hickory nut, grew so haggard, his self-reproaches so piteous, +that Colonel Fortescue thought it well to give him a positive order to +say nothing of the circumstances that led up to Lawrence's striking +him. The Sergeant begged to be allowed to tell the chaplain about it; +to this Colonel Fortescue consented, and McGillicuddy had a long +conversation with the chaplain. + +"The Colonel says, sir," McGillicuddy declared mournfully to the +chaplain, "as it is the damned climate,--excuse me, sir,--that makes +everybody queer." + +"I'll excuse you," replied the chaplain, who had the same opinion of +the Arctic cold as Colonel Fortescue. "I think the cold gets on men's +nerves and makes them queer." + +However, the chaplain had the power to console, and McGillicuddy became +a trifle more resigned, and even had a faint hope of Lawrence's return, +caught from Mrs. McGillicuddy's report of Mrs. Lawrence's fixed belief +that Lawrence would come back and give himself up. One great +consolation to the Sergeant was, to spend a large part of his pay in +comforts for Mrs. Lawrence and clothes and books and toys for the +little Ronald. Mrs. McGillicuddy, who had reasoned out a very good +solution of McGillicuddy's troubles, encouraged him in his kindness to +Mrs. Lawrence and the boy, so that the old rule of God making the devil +work for Him was again illustrated; much good came to those whom +Lawrence had deserted. + +The chaplain thought it a good time to preach a sermon on loyalty, and +on the very Sunday after Colonel Fortescue had talked with Mrs. +Lawrence, the congregation that crowded the chapel heard an exposition +of what loyalty meant, especially loyalty to one's country. Among the +most attentive listeners was Kettle, whose honest black face glowed +when the chaplain proclaimed that every man owed it to his country to +defend it, if required. When the congregation streamed out of the +chapel, Mrs. Fortescue stopped a moment to congratulate the chaplain on +his sermon. Behind her stood Kettle, who was never very far away from +Miss Betty. + +"I listen to that sermon, suh," said Kettle, earnestly, to the +chaplain, "and it cert'ny wuz a corker, suh." + +"That is high praise," answered the chaplain, "I would rather an +enlisted man should tell me that a sermon of mine was a corker, than +for the archbishop of the archdiocese to write me a personal letter of +praise." + +Just then the chaplain, who was accused of having eyes in the back of +his head, saw something directly behind him. No less than four of the +seven McGillicuddy boys were altar boys, wearing little red cassocks +and white surplices in church. They were supposed to leave the +cassocks and surplices in the sacristy, but Ignatius McGillicuddy, aged +ten, had sneaked out of the sacristy, still wearing his red cassock, +and, seeing the chaplain passing out of the gate, thought it safe to +begin an elaborate skirt dance, in his cassock, and making many fancy +steps, with much high kicking, while the skirt of his cassock waved in +the air. In the midst of his final pirouette, he caught the chaplain's +stern glance fixed on him. Instantly Ignatius appeared to turn to +stone, and the vision of a switch, wielded by Mrs. McGillicuddy's +robust arm, passed before his eyes. He was immensely relieved when the +chaplain said, grimly: + +"Ten pages of catechism next Sunday." + +Kettle went home and was very solemn all day. Not even the +After-Clap's pranks could make him smile, nor were the After-Clap's +orders always orders to him that day. In the late afternoon Mrs. +Fortescue, seeing Kettle seated in a corner of the back hall, and +evidently in an introspective mood, asked him: + +"What's been the matter with you all day, Kettle?" + +"I'm a-seekin', Miss Betty," Kettle replied solemnly. + +"What are you seeking?" Mrs. Fortescue inquired. + +"Seekin' light, Miss Betty," answered Kettle. "I'm seekin' light on my +duty to my country, arter the chaplain done preached to-day." + +"Glad to hear it," responded Mrs. Fortescue. "Your duty at present is +to look after the baby and me." + +"Gord knows I does the bes' I kin," replied Kettle, raising his eyes, +full of faith and love and simplicity, to Mrs. Fortescue's. "But the +chaplain, he say we orter fight for our country; maybe at this heah +very minute I orter be a-settin' on a hoss, a-shootin' down the enemies +of my country." + +"Well, Kettle," said Mrs. Fortescue, laughing, "as you can't ride and +you can't shoot, I don't think you will ever do much damage to the +enemies of your country." + +Mrs. Fortescue passed on, laughing. But some one else had heard +Kettle. This was Sergeant Halligan, a chum of Sergeant McGillicuddy, +who had stopped at the Commandant's house on an errand. Sergeant +Halligan, seeing no one around in that part of the house, winked to +himself, and went up to "the naygur," as he, like Sergeant McGillicuddy +called Kettle. + +"I say," said the sergeant, in a whisper, "you're right about the +chaplain's sermon. It's the duty of every man who can carry a gun to +fight for his country. I saw the chaplain looking straight at you, and +he was as mad as fire. A white-livered coward stands a mighty poor +chanst of salvation, is what the chaplain thinks." + +"Does you mean that?" anxiously asked Kettle. + +"Don't I?" responded Sergeant Halligan, confidently. "Maybe you think +it's hard lines to have to drill all day and walk post all night, but +it's a merry jest compared with burning in hell fire. I'd ruther drill +and walk post all my life than find myself in the lake of brimstone and +sulphur that's a-waitin' for cowards." + +"Tain't the drill and the walkin' post as skeers me," said Kettle, "but +I ain't noways fond of guns. If it wasn't for them devilish guns I'd +enlist, pertickler if they'd let me stay with Miss Betty and the baby." + +"Sure they would," replied the artful Halligan with a wink. "The +Colonel wouldn't disoblige his lady. You'd be detailed to work around +the house here, and you'd look grand in uniform." + +"You think so?" said Kettle, with a delighted grin, "I always did have +a kinder honin' after them yaller stripes down my legs." + +"And a sabre and a sabretache," continued the Sergeant. Times were +sometimes dull at Fort Blizzard, and the men in the barracks could get +a good many laughs out of Kettle as a soldier. + +The yellow stripes down his legs and the sabre and sabretache were +dazzling to Kettle, But an objection rose on the horizon. + +"How 'bout them hosses?" he asked, "I ain't never been on no hoss sence +the time when I wuz a little shaver, and the Kun'l--he wasn't nothin' +but a lieutenant then--wuz courtin' Miss Betty, and he pick me up and +put me on a hoss he call Birdseye. Lord! It makes me feel creepy now, +to tink 'bout that hoss!" + +"Oh, you needn't bother about horses," answered the Sergeant, +cheerfully. "The Colonel could manage that, and you can wear your +uniform just the same." + +"I reckon I could ride a gentle hoss," ventured Kettle. + +"'Course," replied the Sergeant confidently, "I think I can manage it +with the orficer in charge of mounts. I could get the milkman's hoss +for you. She is twenty-three years old and as quiet as an old maid of +seventy-five; she wouldn't run away or kick, not even if you was to +build a fire under her." + +This seemed to dispose of the great difficulty in Kettle's mind, when +the Sergeant suggested that he would see the milkman that very evening, +and at nine o'clock the next morning, he would go to the officer in +charge of mounts, and by ten o'clock Kettle, as soon as he had finished +washing up the breakfast things and had taken the After-Clap for his +airing in the baby carriage, could step down to the recruiting office +and enlist. + +Everything looked rosy to Kettle. That night, at dinner, Kettle was +radiant and informed Mrs. Fortescue, between the fish and the roast, +that he had "done found his duty and was a-goin' to do it." + +Mrs. Fortescue had some curiosity to know what this new duty of +Kettle's was, but Kettle maintained a mysterious silence, only +admitting that it would not take him away from "Miss Betty and the +baby." + +Next morning, however, in the cold light of day, the proposition had +lost something of its charms for Kettle. The yellow stripes down his +legs did not appear quite so overwhelmingly fascinating. He remembered +that Sergeant McGillicuddy was afraid to ride in the buggy behind the +milkman's horse. Sergeant Halligan did not give Kettle any time to +repent of his decision, and promptly appeared at ten o'clock and +escorted Kettle to the recruiting office. The recruiting sergeant was +on hand and Sergeant Halligan explained Kettle's martial enthusiasm. +Something like a wink passed between Sergeant Halligan and Gully, the +recruiting sergeant, who agreed to enlist Kettle, under the name of +Solomon Ezekiel Pickup, as a unit in the army of the United States. + +A sudden illumination came to Kettle. "Yon c'yarn' enlist me in no +white regiment," cried Kettle to Sergeant Halligan, "I'm a nigger and +you have to put me in a nigger regiment." + +"Oh, that's all right," responded Sergeant Halligan, airily, "we can +get you in all right, and we'll be proud to have you. Won't we, Gully?" + +"Certainly," replied Sergeant Gully, "we can fix that up. It's fixed +up already." + +The rapidity of the proceedings rather startled Kettle. + +"But doan' the doctor have to thump me, and pound me, and count my +teeth?" he asked. Kettle had not spent twenty years at army posts +without finding out something. + +"No, indeed," answered Sergeant Gully, who was a chum of Sergeant +Halligan, "not with such a husky feller as you. I can thump and pound +and count your teeth." + +With that Gully made a physical examination of Kettle, and declared +that no surgeon who ever lived would turn down such a magnificent +specimen of robust manhood as Kettle. + +All this was very disheartening to Kettle but seemed of great interest +to Sergeant Halligan and his side partner, Sergeant Gully, and also to +the orderly, who grinned sympathetically with the two sergeants. + +"I say," said Sergeant Gully, "there's nothing doing here this morning +and I'll just leave the orderly in charge and step in with you and +introduce Private Pickup to the drill sergeant. The sergeant is a +honey, but the bees don't know it." + +Then, with Sergeant Halligan on one side of him and Sergeant Gully on +the other, Kettle started across the plaza in the clear morning light +for the great riding hall. By this time Kettle was thoroughly alarmed. + +The sight of the class in riding, smart young privates, marching gaily +into the drill hall, made Kettle feel very uneasy about the riding. + +"How 'bout the milkman's hoss?" asked Kettle anxiously. + +"The milkman's horse? The milkman's horse?" sniffed Sergeant Halligan, +"D'ye think I'm an infernal fool to put such a proposition up to the +orficer in charge of mounts? He'd kick me full of holes if I did." + +"But I say," replied Kettle, spurred by fear, "you is a deceiver, +suh--a deceiver, and I'm a'goin to tell the Kun'l on you and he'll do +for you--that he will." + +"Look-a-here, Solomon Ezekiel Pickup," shouted Sergeant Halligan +savagely, "it's against the regulations to talk to your superior +orficers so damned impudent, and I'm a going to prefer charges against +you, and you can face three months in the military prison for it. And +I'm a-thinkin' that Briggs, the drill sergeant, will put you on the +kickingest horse in the regimental stables. Sergeant Gully here says +the drill sergeant is a honey, but he's awful mistaken. I've known +Briggs ever since we was rookies together, and he's a cruel man, and +has caused the death of several rookies by his murderin' ways." + +Just then the three came face to face with Sergeant McGillicuddy. In +those days McGillicuddy's honest face was gloomy and he had not much +spirit for jokes, but he laughed when Sergeant Halligan explained to +him that Sergeant Gully had enlisted Kettle and had passed him both +mentally and physically, and that he was then on his way to take his +first lesson in riding. + +Sergeant McGillicuddy went his way, laughing, for once in a blue moon, +and Kettle, marching between the two sergeants, felt like a prisoner on +his way to execution. + +Arrived at the great drill hall, now dim and silent except for a batch +of recruits, and Briggs, the drill sergeant, a trooper brought in +Corporal, a handsome sorrel, and the model of a trained cavalry +charger. The trooper at the same time handed the Sergeant a long whip. +Corporal, the charger, understood as well as any trooper in the +regiment what the crack of the whip meant, from walk, trot, to gallop. +As Kettle appeared, almost dragged in by the two sergeants, a grin went +around among the young recruits, ruddy-skinned and clear-eyed +youngsters, well set up and worthy to wear the uniform of their country. + +A whispered conversation followed among the three sergeants and +although Kettle was not in uniform as the other recruits were, Sergeant +Briggs, for a reason imparted to him by Sergeant Halligan, called out +to Kettle: + +"Here, Pickup, you get up, and you stay up, and if you don't you'll get +a whack up!" + +This passed for a witticism to the recruits, who made it a point to +laugh at all the drill sergeant's jokes. Kettle, with much difficulty, +managed to climb on Corporal's back and crouched there in a heap. +Corporal turned his mild intelligent eyes toward Sergeant Briggs, as +much as to say: + +"What kind of a fool have I got on my back now?" + +"Take the reins and let her go, Gallagher!" said the sergeant with a +crack of his whip. + +Corporal, seeing his duty, did it. He started off in a brisk walk +around the tanbark, and in twenty seconds he heard another crack, and +still another, which sent him into a hard gallop. As the horse +quickened his pace, Kettle dropped the reins, and grasping Corporal +around the neck, hung on desperately as the horse sped around the great +ellipse. At a word from Sergeant Briggs, the horse stopped and walked +sedately to the middle of the hall. Kettle slipped off and staggered +to his feet. + +[Illustration: Kettle dropped the reins, and grasping Corporal around +the neck, hung on desperately.] + +"Good Gord A'mighty," he groaned, to Sergeant Briggs, "I k'yarn' ride +that air hoss, Mr. Briggs, and I ain't a goin' to, neither. Miss +Betty, she tole me the way to surve my country wuz to look after the +baby and her, so I'm jes' goin' to resign from the army and go home, +'cause it's scrub day." + +"You go to the orficer of the day, and report yourself under arrest," +promptly replied Briggs. "His office is in the headquarters building +and he'll straighten you out, I'm thinkin'." + +Kettle started off cheerfully enough, but instead of going to the +headquarters building he made a bee line for the C. O.'s house, where +he at once took off his coat and went down on his knees to scrub the +pantry. Two hours afterward, when the drill sergeant's work was done +in the riding hall and he discovered that Kettle had not reported +himself to the officer of the day, the sergeant walked over to the C. +O.'s house and sent in a respectful request to see the commanding +officer. + +"Come in, Sergeant," called out Colonel Fortescue, sitting at his desk. + +"Beg your pardon, sir," said the Sergeant, once inside, "but I have +come to you privately, to tell you about your man, known as Kettle. He +came into the riding hall this morning, and Sergeant Gully and Sergeant +Halligan said he enlisted. Of course, I know, sir, they couldn't +enlist him, but I'm afraid I helped 'em on with the joke. Anyhow, I +made him get on a horse, and it would have broke your heart, sir, to +see such riding! Then he got sassy, and I told him, just to get rid of +him, to report himself under arrest, but nobody hasn't seen him since." + +At that moment, the new recruit was seen passing the window, and +wearing blue over-alls, in which he did scrubbing. The Colonel tapped +on the window and Kettle came in by the office entrance. + +"What's this, Solomon, about your being saucy to Sergeant Briggs?" +asked Colonel Fortescue, sternly. + +"Well, suh, I enlisted," answered Kettle, promptly, "an' I done +resigned. I tole that there Briggs man so, and lef' the drill hall and +come home, 'cause it was scrub day." + +"Three days in the guardhouse," thundered the Colonel, in a voice +terrible to Kettle. + +Sergeant Briggs, touching his cap, walked out, Kettle following him. +At the door stood Mrs. McGillicuddy holding in her arms the After-Clap, +in all his morning freshness, his little white fur cap and coat showing +off his eyes and hair, so dark, like his mother's. The After-Clap gave +a spring which he meant to land him in Kettle's arms, but Kettle, +bursting into tears, would not take him. + +"I k'yarn' take you now, honey," cried Kettle, wiping his eyes, "I'm a +goin' to the guardhouse, my lamb, for three days and maybe I never see +you no mo'." + +The baby seemed to think this might be true, and set up a series of +loud shrieks. + +"Do you mean to say as you've tried to enlist?" cried Mrs. +McGillicuddy, struggling with the baby and her astonishment and +indignation all at once. "The idea of you being a soldier! It beats +the band, it does!" + +Sergeant Briggs, without giving Kettle time to explain further, marched +him off, and Mrs. McGillicuddy went to report to Mrs. Fortescue, while +Sergeant McGillicuddy appeared to report to Colonel Fortescue. + +"I believe, sir," said the Sergeant confidentially, "as it's a crooked +business about the naygur's wantin' to enlist. Gully and Sergeant +Halligan was jokin', but it's mighty risky jokin' with the regulations." + +So thought Sergeant Halligan and Sergeant Gully, when confronted with +the Colonel. As they were two of the best sergeants in the regiment, +the Colonel satisfied himself with a stern reprimand, which was not +entered against them. But having sentenced Kettle to three days in the +guardhouse for insolence to Sergeant Briggs, Colonel Fortescue thought +it well to let the sentence stand. + +Colonel Fortescue, in spite of being the commanding officer at one of +the finest cavalry posts in the world, and whose word was law, could +yet be made to feel domestic displeasure. The family at once divided +itself into two camps, one on the Colonel's side and one on Kettle's. +Anita, of course, sided with her father, and declared he had done +perfectly right about Kettle, as he did about everything. Sergeant +McGillicuddy was also a faithful adherent of the Colonel's in the +wordless warfare that prevailed in the commanding officer's house for +the three days in which Kettle enjoyed the hospitality of the +guardhouse. + +"Served the naygur right for sassing a sergeant," was Sergeant +McGillicuddy's view. On the other side was arrayed, of course, Mrs. +Fortescue, who outwardly observed an armed neutrality, but who called +the Colonel "John" during the entire three days of Kettle's +imprisonment. Colonel Fortescue retaliated by calling Mrs. Fortescue +"Elizabeth." + +There were frequent references, in the Colonel's hearing, to "Poor +Kettle," and the After-Clap was not rebuked in his insistent demand for +"my Kettle, I want my Kettle! Where is my Kettle?" + +At intervals, from the time he waked in the morning until Mrs. +McGillicuddy put him in his crib at night, the After-Clap was screaming +for Kettle, and as the baby was extremely robust, his shrieks and wails +for Kettle were clearly audible to the Colonel, sitting grimly in his +private office, or at luncheon, or having his tea in the drawing-room. +Colonel Fortescue, however, spent most of his time during those three +days at the headquarters building or the officers' club. As for Mrs. +McGillicuddy, she was openly on the side of Kettle and against the +Colonel, and shrewdly surmised exactly what had happened about the +enlistment, and also that Sergeant McGillicuddy was implicated with the +other two sergeants in the outrage. Mrs. McGillicuddy boldly +propounded this theory to Mrs. Fortescue while the latter was dressing +for dinner on the first evening of Kettle's incarceration. The +Colonel, in the next room, going through the same process of dressing, +could hear every word through the open door. + +"It's Patrick McGillicuddy that had a hand in it, mum," said Mrs. +McGillicuddy wrathfully. "He's been takin' rises out of the naygur, as +he calls Kettle, for twenty years, and he seen Sergeant Gully and +Sergeant Halligan draggin' poor Kettle along to the riding hall. I +seen Kettle when he run out, and McGillicuddy was a standin' off, +a-laffin' fit to kill himself, and I know that Gully and Halligan has +been jokin' Kettle and makin' him believe he has enlisted in the +aviation corps and will have to go flyin', and Kettle's scared stiff." + +"Poor Kettle," said Mrs. Fortescue softly, clasping her pearls about +her white throat. "It's been a sad day to all of us, except the +Colonel. Of course, I never attempt to criticise Colonel Fortescue's +professional conduct, but I do feel lost without Kettle." + +"Well, mum," replied Mrs. McGillicuddy, "I haven't been a sergeant's +wife for twenty years without findin' out that nobody can't say a word +about the orficers, but I do think, mum, as three days in the +guardhouse for poor Kettle, who was bamboozled by Tim Gully and Mike +Halligan, is one of the cruelest things a commandin' orficer ever done. +Not that I'm a-criticisin' the Colonel, mum--I wouldn't do such a thing +for the world." + +"Nor would I," replied Mrs. Fortescue meekly, and fully conscious of +the Colonel's presence in the next room, shaving himself savagely, "but +three days for such a little thing does seem hard." + +Colonel Fortescue ground his teeth and gave himself such a jab with his +razor that the blood came. + +This subtle persecution of the Colonel went on, with variations, for +three whole days. + +On the Friday when Kettle's time was up he was released and his return +was hailed with open delight by his partisans, Mrs. Fortescue, Mrs. +McGillicuddy and the After-Clap, and with secret relief by the Colonel, +Anita and Sergeant McGillicuddy. + +Kettle, on reporting to the Colonel, said solemnly, "Kun'l, I ain't +never goin' ter try an' enlist no mo', so help me Gord A'mighty. An' I +ain't a'goin' to pay no more 'tention to the chaplain's sermons, 'cause +'twuz that there chaplain as fust got me in this here mess, cuss him!" + +This last was under Kettle's breath, and the Colonel pretended not to +hear. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE PLEADING EYES OF WOMEN + +It was May before the winter loosened its grasp on Fort Blizzard. Once +more, the fort was in touch with the outside world for a few months. The +mails came regularly and there were two trains a day at the station, ten +miles away. In May Anita had a birthday--her eighteenth. + +"You can't call me a child any longer, daddy," she said to Colonel +Fortescue, on the May morning when she was showered with birthday gifts. +Nevertheless, Colonel Fortescue continued to call her a child, but a +glance at her reading showed that Anita was very much grown up. She +still read piles of books and pamphlets concerning the Philippines and +knew all about the stinging and creeping and crawling things that made +life hideous in the jungles, the horrors of fever, the merciless heat, +and the treacherous Moros who stabbed the sleeping soldiers by night. No +word had come from Broussard across the still and sluggish Pacific. + +The chaplain did not fail to remind Anita that it was a Christian act to +continue her visits to Mrs. Lawrence, who still remained weak and +nerveless and ill, and Anita was ready enough to do so. Mrs. Lawrence +never mentioned Broussard's name and, in fact, spoke little at any time. +A mental and bodily torpor seemed to possess her, and she was never able +to do more than walk feebly, supported by Mrs. McGillicuddy's strong arm, +to a bench, sit there for an hour or two, and return to her own two +rooms. Occasionally she asked if she should give up her quarters, but as +the surgeon and the chaplain and Mrs. McGillicuddy all united in telling +Colonel Fortescue that Mrs. Lawrence was really unable to move, the +Colonel silently acquiesced in her occupation of the quarters, which were +not needed for any one else. + +Once or twice a week, Anita would go to see her, and read to her, and +take the sewing or knitting out of her languid hand and do it for her. +Mrs. Lawrence, who appeared to notice little that went on around her, +observed that Anita's eyes always sought the photograph of Broussard on +the mantel, but his name was never uttered between them, nor did Mrs. +Lawrence ever ask Anita to write another letter. + +On Anita's birthday, in the afternoon, she went to see Mrs. Lawrence, +ostensibly to carry her some of the fruit and flowers that were so +abundant at the Commanding Officer's house, where the great garden was +blooming beautifully. Mrs. Lawrence accepted Anita's gifts with more +animation than usual, and buried her face in the lilac blossoms. From +her lap a letter dropped and Anita picked it up; it was in Broussard's +handwriting, which Anita knew. A vivid blush came into Anita's face; +however silent she might be about Broussard, her eyes and lips were +always eloquent when anything suggested him. Mrs. Lawrence made no +comment on the letter and presently Anita went away. The Colonel and +Mrs. Fortescue, sitting in the drawing-room at tea, saw her pass the wide +window and go into the beautiful walled garden, which was, next her +violin, Anita's chief delight. It was a wonderful garden for a couple of +years of growth and it had developed amazingly under Anita's hand. + +Sergeant McGillicuddy was a good amateur gardener, and at that very +moment, wearing a suit of blue overalls, was digging away industriously. +The Sergeant had lost a good deal of his cheerfulness in those later days +of winter, but the garden seemed to inspire him, as it did Anita. The +girl went up to him and the two were in close conference concerning a bed +of cowslips the sergeant was making. Through the open window the sunny +air floated, drenched with perfume. Anita was laughing at something the +Sergeant said;--they had usually been serious enough while working +together in the garden. + +Presently Anita came into the drawing-room, carrying in her thin, white +skirt, as if it were an apron, a great mass of blossoms. Colonel +Fortescue held out a letter to her. + +"This was enclosed in a letter to me from Mr. Broussard," said the +Colonel. + +[Illustration: "This was enclosed in a letter to me from Mr. Broussard," +said the Colonel.] + +Anita, although eighteen years old that day, acted like a child. She +dropped the corners of her skirt and the flowers fell to the floor. One +moment she stood like a bird poised for flight, and then taking the +letter, tripped out of the room and up the stairs. + +Both Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue in the still May afternoon heard her turn +the key in the lock of her little rose-colored room. + +Mrs. Fortescue gathered up the blossoms, the Colonel with moody eyes +looking down. + +"Oh, the jealousy of fathers," said Mrs. Fortescue, after a minute. "You +think we mothers are jealous, but it is nothing compared with the +jealousy of fatherhood. I have already made up my mind to be all +graciousness and kindness to Beverley's future wife, but you have already +made up your mind to hate your future son-in-law, whoever he may be." + +"How can a man love the man who robs him of his child? That's what +actually happens," replied Colonel Fortescue. + +"Then the only thing you can do," replied Mrs. Fortescue, "is to +concentrate all of your love upon your wife, for then you have no other +man for a rival." + +Colonel Fortescue agreed to this proposition, and also that his +objections to Broussard were purely fanciful and that he would contrive +to pick flaws in any man to whom Anita was inclined. + +"But she thinks and dreams too much about Broussard," said the Colonel. +"Probably he looks upon her as a pretty child, just as Conway does." + +"One can't control the thoughts and dreams of youth," replied Mrs. +Fortescue, "Anita must study the lesson-book of life and love like other +women." + +"Did you see her face when I gave her the note?" asked Colonel Fortescue. + +"You are an old goose," was all the reply Mrs. Fortescue would make to +this question. + +Locked in her own room, Anita read her precious note. It was very short +and perfectly conventional, thanking her for writing to him for Mrs. +Lawrence. Broussard knew of Lawrence being among the missing men. + +"Lawrence, as you may have heard," said the letter, "was a playmate of +mine in my boyhood and, although he has had hard luck, I have a deep +interest in him and his wife and child." + +Then came a sentence that, to Anita, contained a sweet and hidden +meaning: "Although Gamechick is no longer mine, I shall always love the +horse because of something that happened last Christmas at the music +ride." + +Anita was late for dinner that evening, and at the table, as she took her +lace handkerchief from the bosom of her little blue evening gown, +Broussard's note came out with the handkerchief, and fell upon the floor. +Her father and mother in kindness looked away, but Kettle, with +well-meant but indiscreet good will, picked the letter up, saying: + +"Hi! Miss 'Nita, here's your letter you carry in your bosom." + +Colonel Fortescue suddenly grew cross; this thing of having a man's +daughter carrying around next her heart a letter from another man is very +annoying to a father of Colonel Fortescue's type. And Anita was more +tender and devoted than ever, keeping up a brave show of loyalty, +although she had already surrendered the citadel. + +As the winter at Fort Blizzard was like the frozen regions which the old +Goths believed to be the Inferno, so the summer was like a blast from the +eternal furnace. The hot winds swept over the arid plains and the sun +was more vengeful than the biting cold. The energies of many drooped, +and the sergeants grew short with the men. But cheerfulness prevailed at +the Commandant's house. In July Beverley Fortescue, named for the fine +old Virginia Colonel, Mrs. Fortescue's grandfather, was to come home, in +all the glory of his twenty-one years, wearing for the first time the +splendid cavalry uniform instead of the grey and gold and black of a +military cadet. More than that, he was to be assigned to duty at Fort +Blizzard. When Mrs. Fortescue heard this, she trembled a little; it was +almost too much of joy; this last crowning gift of fate made her almost +afraid. And Beverley was to see, for the first time, the After-Clap, who +was so much like Beverley that the Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue could +hardly persuade themselves he was their last born, and not their first +born. + +On the great day, Beverley came. In the soft July evening, at the +threshold, stood Mrs. Fortescue, holding by the hand the After-Clap, a +sturdy little chap for his two-and-a-half years. The mother was smiling +and blushing like a girl. Behind her stood Kettle, his face shining as +if it had been varnished, and next him was Sergeant McGillicuddy, who had +taught Beverley to ride and to shoot and to skate and to box, and all the +manly sports of boyhood. Mrs. McGillicuddy, ruddy and beaming, towered +over the little Sergeant. + +Colonel Fortescue and Anita stood on the lowest of the stone steps. +Presently, a motor whirled up and Beverley stepped out, looking so +handsome in his well-fitting civilian clothes, with his new straw hat, in +which he felt slightly queer. The Colonel wrung his hand saying: + +"Boy! Boy! How glad we are to have you once more!" + +Anita covered Beverley's face with kisses, but Mrs. Fortescue stood like +a queen, smiling and gracious, to receive her boy's reverence. Beverley +caught her in his strong young grasp; she looked so young, so lovely, so +full of radiant life, that she seemed like an older Anita. Then Mrs. +Fortescue raised the After-Clap and put him in Beverley's arms. +Accustomed to much adulation, the After-Clap was, in general, coolly +supercilious to strangers, but he seemed much pleased with Beverley's +appearance, and called him "Bruvver," as he had called Broussard, who had +been long since forgotten by the After-Clap. + +"What a jolly little rascal!" cried Beverley, whose experience with small +children was nil. + +The After-Clap returned the compliment, by rapturously hugging Beverley. +In fact, they became such chums on the spot that much difficulty was +experienced in persuading the After-Clap to go to bed when Mrs. +McGillicuddy was ready for him. + +There was a joyous dinner. Beverley, like Colonel Fortescue, was +surprised to find that Anita was grown up, like other girls of eighteen. +Also, that his father was almost as young and handsome as his mother. + +"I say, Colonel," said Beverley, "you're the handsomest Colonel in the +army." + +The Colonel smiled. + +"For your age, that is." + +The Colonel scowled. + +"Your father's touchy about his age," Mrs. Fortescue explained, "and so +am I, so please, Beverley, keep away from the unpleasant subject." + +Beverley Fortescue had three months' leave before taking up his duties as +an officer at the post and it was a halcyon time at the Commandant's +house. In spite of the torrid heat, there were parties of pleasure and +little dances, and all the round of gaieties that prevail at army posts. +The Colonel was proud of his well-set-up stripling, although, of course, +a boy could never be of so much value in a family as a girl, according to +Colonel Fortescue's philosophy. With Mrs. Fortescue it was the other +way. Dear as was Anita to her, the mother's heart was triumphant over +her soldier son. As for the After-Clap, he frankly repudiated his whole +domestic circle, except Kettle, for Beverley, who was as tall and strong +as his father and could do many more things amusing to a +two-and-half-year-old than a stern and dignified Colonel. Anita and +Beverley were as intimate and passionately fond of each other as when +they were little playmates. Beverley asked some questions of his mother +concerning Anita. + +"All the fellows like to dance with her and ride with her, but she treats +them all as she does old Conway." + +"Old Conway," Colonel Fortescue's aide, was barely turned thirty; but to +the twenty-one-year-old Beverley, Conway seemed an aged veteran. + +"I can't understand it," plaintively responded Mrs. Fortescue. +"Sometimes I think Anita has no coquetry in her. Again I think she is +the worst type of coquette--she treats all men alike. You remember my +writing you about Anita being thrown at the music ride last Christmas +Eve, and Broussard jumping his horse over her?" + +"I should think so," answered Beverley. "I wish you could have seen the +letter the Colonel wrote me about it. I felt more sorry for what the +poor old chap must have suffered than for you, mother." + +"Don't call your father 'the poor old chap,'" said Mrs. Fortescue +positively. "And don't make jokes about the After-Clap being the child +of his old age. Your father doesn't like it. It's perfectly disgusting +the way young people now speak of their elders, who are barely +middle-aged, as if they were centenarians. Well, I think, and your +father thinks, that Anita had a fancy for Broussard. He was a very +attractive man. Your father thought him a prodigal with his money, but, +of course, some fault must be found with every man who looks at Anita." + +[Illustration: "Don't call your father 'the poor old chap,'" said Mrs. +Fortescue positively.] + +"But Anita is so young--a chit, a child." + +"She is not quite three years younger than you," replied Mrs. Fortescue. +"This notion that Anita is a child and must be treated as such is +ridiculous. Why, when I was Anita's age, I had had a dozen love affairs." + +"Did no one ever tell you, mother, that you are a born coquette, and you +will be coquettish at ninety, if you live to bless us so long?" + +Mrs. Fortescue laughed the soft, musical laugh that was a part of her +armory of charms, and made no reply. + +At dinner that night Beverley suddenly began to ask questions about +Broussard, praising his horsemanship, but wanting to know what kind of a +fellow he was. The Colonel spoke guardedly and damned Broussard with +faint praise, as he would any man whom he thought likely to rob him of +his one ewe lamb; yet the Colonel thought himself a just man. + +The eloquent blood leaped into Anita's cheeks, and there was something +like resentment in her eyes at the Colonel's cool commendation. After +dinner she took Beverley into the garden, and the brother and sister +walked up and down in the moonlight, and Anita, thinking she was keeping +her secret, revealed everything to Beverley. Broussard was the finest +young officer, the most beautiful horseman, he could sing Körner's Battle +Hymn as no one else could, and when she played a violin obligato to his +songs of love---- + +Anita stopped short, and turned her long-lashed eyes full on Beverley. + +"Daddy doesn't do justice to Mr. Broussard," she said, "but you ought to +have seen the way he grasped Mr. Broussard's hands after the music ride." + +Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue, sitting in the cool, dim drawing-room, heard +Beverley's laughter floating in from the garden. Beverley saw the case +at a glance. + +The torrid summer slipped by, and in November it was winter again, and +the earth was snowbound once more. In all those months Mrs. Lawrence +remained, feeble and nerveless, in the two little rooms she was still +permitted to occupy. By that time she was a shadow. Mrs. McGillicuddy +was more kind than ever to her, and Sergeant McGillicuddy grew more +sombre every day, thinking that his words had brought Lawrence to ruin +and his unfortunate wife close to the boundaries of the far country. The +chaplain took the Sergeant in hand, and so did the Colonel, but the +Sergeant, who had a tender heart under his well-fitting uniform, was not +a happy man. Anita went regularly to see Mrs. Lawrence, and as the young +are appalled at the thought of life going out, she watched with +palpitating fear what seemed a steady journey toward the land where +spirits dwell. But always on those visits to the woman who seemed +slipping from life into the great ocean of forgetfulness, there was a +thrill of joy for Anita; she could see Broussard's picture. Young and +imaginative souls live and thrive on very little. + +The introspective life that Anita led was strongly expressed in her +music. Never had Neroda a pupil who was willing to work so hard as +Anita, and the result charmed him. On this afternoon Anita was at her +lesson in the great drawing-room, the red sunset pouring in through the +long windows and flooding the room with crimson lights and purple +shadows. Anita, wearing a little, nun-like black gown that outlined her +slim figure, played, with wonderful fire and finish, a wild and gorgeous +Hungarian dance by Brahms. + +There was a delicate melody winding through all of the rich harmonies, as +it ran up the scale, like a bird soaring into the blue sky, and then +descended with splendid double notes, into the sombre and passionate G +string, the string that touches the soul. It grew more of a miracle to +Neroda than ever to watch Anita's slender bow-arm flashing back and +forth, drawing out, with amazing force, the soul of the violin, her +slender figure erect and poised high, vibrating with the strings, and her +eyes darkening and lightening as the music grew deeply passionate or +brilliantly gay. When she finished, and stood, smiling and triumphant, +still holding the violin and bow, Neroda said to her: + +"Are you not tired, Signorina?" + +"Not a bit," cried Anita. "I feel that I could play as long as you did, +in the days of which you told me when you first came to America and would +play the violin all night long for dancers on the East Side in New York." + +"I believe you could, almost," replied Neroda, smiling. "I, who had been +a concert master in Italy, was only too glad to get three dollars for +fiddling from eight in the evening until three in the morning; but they +were happy nights, because I was young and strong and full of hope and +loved my fiddle. Sometimes, when I am leading the band in my fine +uniform, I long to take the instrument away from one of the bandsmen and +play it as I did in those days, without any baton to hold me back; but +the violin is a man's instrument and requires much strength. Now, where, +Signorina, in your girlish arms and little hands, did you get such +strength?" + +"It is here," said Anita, smiling and tapping her breast. "I have a +strong heart, my blood circulates well, and I am not afraid of the +violin, like most girls. I am its master, and it shall do my will." + +At that she tapped her violin sharply with the bow, saying to it: + +"Do you hear me? You are my slave, and I shall make you do what I wish +you to do. If I wish you to talk Brahms, you shall talk Brahms; if I +wish you to be sad, I will make you sad with funeral marches. You shall +speak Italian, German, French or English, as I tell you." + +Neroda laughed with delight. He loved the imaginative nature of the +girl, who treated her violin as if it were a living thing, and whispered +her secrets into the ear of her riding horse, and told love stories to +her birds. + +"In Italy," said Neroda, "a fiddler, if he really knows how to play dance +music, can dance as well as play. In those nights on the East Side, in +New York, when I played for the workmen and working girls in their cheap +finery, I went among the dancers myself while I played, and they always +gave me a round of applause and danced harder themselves." + +Anita suddenly swept the strings with her bow and dashed into another +Hungarian dance of Brahms, herself taking pretty dancing steps and +pirouetting as she played, sinking upon one knee and then rising, the toe +of her little slipper pointing skyward. She felt an unaccountable gaiety +of heart that day. Why, she knew not, only that some strong current of +emotion inspired her arms, her hands, her little, twinkling feet, as she +danced the length of the drawing-room and back again. Suddenly the music +stopped with a crash. She looked up and saw Broussard standing in the +door. + +"Thank you, thank you!" said Broussard, advancing and bowing and smiling. +"I have seen it all. When you dance and play at the same time, you can +master the heart of a man, as well as that of a violin." + +Anita stood still for a moment, thrilled with the shock of joy at seeing +Broussard. She laid her violin and bow down on the piano, and gave him +her hand, which trembled in his. Broussard's first thought was that +Anita was grown into a woman. Anita's first glance at Broussard showed +her that he was thin and sallow, and that his clothes hung loosely upon +him, and that, in spite of his smile and playful words, his mind was not +at ease. + +Neroda, standing near, saw the glow in the eyes of Anita and Broussard, +and as they had evidently forgotten his existence, he slipped, without a +word, out of the room. The next moment Colonel Fortescue walked in. + +All at once, Anita and Broussard assumed strictly conventional attitudes; +poetry became prose, music became silence. Broussard hastened to explain +his presence, after exchanging greetings with Colonel Fortescue. + +"I came on private business, sir," he said, "very important. Not finding +you at the headquarters building, I ventured to come to your house, as I +wished to see you immediately." + +"Will you come into my office?" said the Colonel, in a business-like +voice, which seemed to reduce Anita to the age of the After-Clap, and +classify Broussard with the poker that stood by the fireplace. + +The two men crossed the hall and entered the private office and sat down. +Then Colonel Fortescue noticed that Broussard looked haggard and worn, +and his dark skin had turned darker. His face and manner assumed a +gravity which made Colonel Fortescue feel that Broussard's errand was not +one of pleasure. + +"I am on sick leave," said Broussard. "We were in the jungles eight +months and every one of us had fever. I was the last to come down, and I +had a bad case. The doctors sent me home for three months, and when I go +back--for I didn't mean to let the infernal climate out there get the +better of me--I shall be in Guam. That's paradise compared with the +interior." + +"So I know," answered the Colonel, remembering the snakes and mosquitoes +and the flies and the beetles and the hideous swamps and sickening +forests, the slime, the mud, the marshes and all the horrors of the +tropics. + +"I should like to spend my leave at Fort Blizzard," Broussard continued, +"I thought the climate here was what I needed." + +Colonel Fortescue nodded courteously; nobody could stay at Fort Blizzard +without the permission of the C. O. But Broussard felt that the Colonel +saw through him and beyond him. As Colonel Fortescue would not encourage +him by so much as a word, Broussard kept on: + +"In the Philippines, I heard some news that was enough to kill a well +man, much less a man just out of jungle fever. You perhaps remember, +sir, the man Lawrence, who, I heard in the Philippines, had deserted?" + +"He was supposed to have deserted," corrected the Colonel, who was always +the soul of accuracy. + +He glanced at Broussard's face and saw there deep agitation and distress. + +"Lawrence has come back," continued Broussard. + +Then he stopped, as if unable to keep on, and taking out his +handkerchief, wiped away drops upon his forehead, so deadly white under +his black hair. + +Colonel Fortescue remained silent. He saw that Broussard had something +to tell that racked his soul. Broussard sighed heavily, and after a +pause spoke again: + +"I found Lawrence in San Francisco; he was trying to work his way back to +Fort Blizzard. I gave him the money to come and came here with him. He +wishes to give himself up and is willing to take his punishment. He got +frightened at striking McGillicuddy and deserted." + +"Do I understand that Lawrence was returning voluntarily?" asked the +Colonel. + +"Yes, sir--voluntarily. He saw my arrival in the San Francisco +newspapers and came straight to my hotel. If I ever saw a man crazy with +remorse, it was Lawrence. His sobs and cries were terrible to hear. He +knew nothing of his wife and child, and that, too, was helping to drive +him to madness." + +"His wife and child are still here," said Colonel Fortescue. "Lawrence's +disappearance has nearly killed his wife; that's always the way with +these faithful souls who do no wrong themselves. But somebody else +always does wrong enough for both. Where is Lawrence now?" + +"At the block house, a mile away," replied Broussard. "I wished to see +you before Lawrence gives himself up." + +Broussard's strange agitation was increasing. Colonel Fortescue took up +a newspaper and glanced at it, to give Broussard a chance to recover +himself. In a minute or two Broussard managed to speak calmly. + +"You remember, sir," he said, "that I asked you to take my word there was +nothing wrong in my association with Lawrence and his wife." + +"I remember quite well," answered Colonel Fortescue, "I never doubted +your word." + +"Thank you," said Broussard. Once more he wiped the cold drops from his +forehead, and continued in a low voice, tremulous and often broken. + +"I told you that Lawrence and I had been playmates in our boyhood, +although he is much older than I. Sir, Lawrence is my half-brother--the +son of my mother. She was an angel on earth, and she is now an angel in +Heaven. If heavenly spirits can suffer, my mother suffers this day that +her son should have deserted from his duty." + +Never had Colonel Fortescue felt greater pity for a man than for +Broussard then. The shame of confessing that his mother's son had +forfeited his honor was like death itself to Broussard. + +"But there is joy in Heaven over a penitent sinner," said Colonel +Fortescue, who believed in God, and was neither afraid nor ashamed to say +so. + +Broussard bowed his head. + +"My mother--God bless her--was the very spirit of honor. She was the +daughter of an officer. When I was a little chap and said I wanted to be +a soldier, she would tell me the stories of the Spartan mothers, who hade +their sons return with their shields or on them. Thank God, she was +taken away before dishonor fell upon her eldest son. She thought him +dead, and so did I, until last January, when Lawrence told me, the night +before I left this post, who he really was. When I met him in San +Francisco I told him I would come with him here to give himself up, that +I would acknowledge him for my half-brother, that I would sit by him at +his court-martial and go to the door of the military prison with him. He +begged me to keep our relationship secret for the sake of our mother's +memory." + +Colonel Fortescue held out his hand, and grasped that of Broussard. + +"You speak like a man," he said, "but Lawrence is right in keeping the +relationship a secret, and it shows that he understands the height from +which he has fallen. Does his wife know of the relationship?" + +"Yes, sir," Broussard replied. "I thought it best to tell her. But she +kept the secret well. My brother's wife is worthy of my mother." + +"There are many heroic women in the world," said Colonel Fortescue. + +"True," answered Broussard. "My sister-in-law was glad when my brother +enlisted. She said it was a good thing for him, and he undoubtedly did +better at this post than he had done for a long time. And his wife, who +was born and bred to luxury, stood by my brother and tried to save him. +She worked and slaved for him harder than any private's wife I ever saw. +She never uttered a reproach to him. Each day she mounted a Calvary. I +could kiss the hem of that woman's gown, in reverence for her." + +"So could I," said Colonel Fortescue. + +"Of course," continued Broussard, "I told her and wrote her that neither +she nor her child should ever suffer. I have sent her money--all that +was needed, as I have something besides my pay." + +The Colonel, recalling the motors, the oriental rugs, the grand piano, +and other articles _de luxe_, which Broussard had once possessed, thought +Broussard had a trifle too much beside his pay. + +"I don't think she has had much use for money since her husband +deserted," said Colonel Fortescue. "She has been constantly ill. My +wife and daughter and the other ladies at the post have done everything +possible for her, and Sergeant McGillicuddy took the boy. McGillicuddy +feels himself responsible for Lawrence running away. He said something +exasperating to Lawrence, who struck him in a fit of rage, and then ran +away." + +"So my sister-in-law wrote, or rather Miss Fortescue wrote for her." + +"The army is the place for good hearts," said the Colonel, well knowing +what he was talking about. + +As Colonel Fortescue spoke, a man was seen, in the fast falling dusk, to +pass the window. The next moment a tap came at the door, and when +Colonel Fortescue answered, the door opened and Lawrence walked in. + +The Colonel, who had watched Lawrence closely, saw a subtle change in +him. He held his head up, and his face, always handsome, had lost the +dissipated, reckless look that dissipated and reckless men readily +acquire. His hair and mustache, which a year before had been coal black, +were now quite grey; he seemed another man than he had once been. He +saluted the Colonel, and said quietly: + +"I have come, sir, to give myself up--I am the man, John Lawrence, who +struck Sergeant McGillicuddy last January, and deserted." + +"You were a great fool," replied the Colonel, "I think it was a clear +case of a fool's panic." + +"All I have to say, sir," said Lawrence, after a moment, "is, that I had +no intention of deserting until I struck the Sergeant and got frightened. +And I've been trying to get back for the last two months. Mr. Broussard +can tell you all about it." + +"Mr. Broussard has told me all about it," said the Colonel. "Consider +yourself under arrest until nine o'clock tomorrow morning, when you will +report at the headquarters building. Meanwhile, go to your wife; she is +a million times too good for you." + +"I know it, sir," replied Lawrence. + +"And my wife is a million times too good for me," added the Colonel, +reflectively. + +Lawrence went out and Broussard rose to go. + +"You have not asked me to consider this talk as confidential," said the +Colonel, "nevertheless, I shall so consider it. As your Colonel, I +advise and require that you should say nothing about Lawrence's +relationship to you. This much is due your mother's memory." + +"Thank you, sir," replied Broussard, a great load lifted from his heart. + +Broussard did not wish to go at once to Mrs. Lawrence; she should have +one hour alone with her husband. Nor did he care to go to the officers' +club at that moment. He walked toward the quarters of the +non-commissioned officers, scarcely noticing where his steps led. As he +passed the McGillicuddy quarters, the door opened, and little Ronald ran +out bareheaded. He recognized Broussard, and Broussard, feeling strongly +and strangely the call of the blood, took the boy in his arms and covered +his little face with kisses much to the lad's surprise, and sent him to +the house. The next minute, Broussard came face to face with Sergeant +McGillicuddy. + +The Sergeant, who did not often smile in those days, smiled when he saw +Broussard. + +"But, Mr. Broussard, you don't look quite fit," said the Sergeant. "The +Philippines, drat 'em, ain't good for the complexion." + +"I know I look like the devil," replied Broussard, "but I'm on sick leave +and I hope Fort Blizzard is the right kind of a climate for me. By the +way, the man Lawrence, who deserted in January, has come back. We +travelled from San Francisco together. He has already given himself +up--voluntarily, you know." + +In the gloom of the November twilight Broussard could not see the +Sergeant's face clearly. There was a bench close by, on the edge of the +asphalt walk, and the Sergeant dropped rather than sat upon it. + +"Excuse me, sir," he said to Broussard, "but the news you give me takes +all my nerve away, and yet it's the best news I ever heard in my life. +You know, sir, it was some words of mine--and God knows I never meant to +harm Lawrence--that made him strike me, and then he got scared and----" + +"I know all about it," replied Broussard, sitting down on the bench by +the Sergeant. "Of course, you felt pretty bad about it. Any man would." + +Something between a sob and a groan burst from the Sergeant. + +"I've worn chevrons for twenty-seven years, sir," he said. "I was made a +sergeant when I was twenty-five. I've handled all sorts of men and +licked 'em into shape and I ain't got it on my conscience as I ever tried +to make a man's lot any harder, or to discourage him, and I never spoke +an insultin' word to a soldier in my life, and I hope I'll be called to +report to the Great Commander before I do. But I said something +chaffin'-like to that poor devil and he struck me, and I didn't hit him +back--I didn't hit him back, thank God, nor threaten to report him. But +I had to tell the truth to the Colonel and take part of the blame on +myself." + +"That's right," answered Broussard with deep feeling. The Sergeant +little knew how great a stake Broussard had in the business. + +"And the chaplain, he seen something was wrong with me and so did Missis +McGillicuddy--she's a soldier, sir, is Missis McGillicuddy. I made a +clean breast of it to the chaplain and he helped me a lot. I've been +goin' to church on Sundays ever since I was married--to tell you the +truth, sir, Missis McGillicuddy marched me off every Sunday without +askin' me if it was agreeable, any more than she'd ask Ignatius or +Aloysius. But since my trouble, I've gone of my own will, and I've +headed the prayin' squad, I can tell you, Mr. Broussard." + +"And you took good care of the boy, you and Mrs. McGillicuddy," said +Broussard, who had learned of it from the letter written by Anita at Mrs. +Lawrence's request. The Sergeant took off his cap for a moment, baring +his grey head to the biting cold. + +"The best we could, so help me God. There wasn't nothin' me and Missis +McGillicuddy could do for the kid as we didn't do. The chaplain told us +we done too much, we was over-indulgent to the boy. But we taught him to +do right, although we give him better food and better clothes than any of +our own eight children ever had, and now----" + +The Sergeant stood in silence for a moment, his cap once more in his +hand, his head bowed. Broussard knew he was giving thanks. + +Broussard, under cover of the darkness, took his way to the quarters +which Mrs. Lawrence had never left. He knocked and, receiving no answer, +entered the narrow passage-way and walked into the little sitting-room. +Lawrence lay back in the arm chair in which his wife had spent so many +hours of helpless misery. His face was paler than ever and his lank hair +lay damp upon his forehead. Mrs. Lawrence, who had been suffering from +the cruel malady known as a shamed and broken heart, sat by her husband, +speaking words of cheer and tenderness. As Broussard entered she rose to +her feet with new energy, no longer tottering as she walked, and placed +both arms about Broussard's neck. + +"Oh, my brother! The best of brothers," she cried and could say no more +for her tears. + +Presently they were sitting together, all externally calm, but all filled +with a tense emotion. + +"Try to persuade her," said Lawrence to Broussard, "to go away before the +court-martial sits. It will be too much for her." + +Mrs. Lawrence turned her dark eyes, once tragic but now brimming with +light, full on Broussard. Broussard said to Lawrence: + +"These angelic women are very obstinate." + +"Would your mother, of whom my husband has told me so much, go away if +she were in my place?" + +Both Broussard and Lawrence remained silent. + +"Then," said Mrs. Lawrence, "can you blame me if I act as your mother +would act?" + +Broussard took her hand and kissed it; the marks of toil upon it went to +his soul. + +"But the boy must be sent away," cried Lawrence. + +"Yes, he may go," replied Mrs. Lawrence, "but I shall stay." + +It was nearly seven o'clock, the hour for dinner at the officers' club, +before Broussard left the Lawrences' quarters. All the men at the club +were delighted to see Broussard, and all of them told him he looked seedy +and every one who had served in the Philippines and had caught the jungle +fever proposed a different regimen for him, but all agreed that Fort +Blizzard was a good place to recuperate and that the "old man," as the +commanding officer is always called, was rather a decent fellow, and +might let him stay, and then they plunged into garrison news and gossip. +Broussard was thoroughly glad to be back once more at the handsome mess +table, with the bright faces of the subalterns around him and the cheery +talk and honest laughter, but his heart was full of other things--Anita +Fortescue, for instance, and Lawrence and his wife and the little boy. +Some questions were asked him about Lawrence. Broussard replied briefly +that he found the man in San Francisco trying to get back to Fort +Blizzard; he wanted to give himself up at the scene of his crime and +Broussard had paid for his railway ticket. + +"And brought him with you to keep him from getting away," said Conway, +"very judicious thing to do with men like Lawrence." + +"I think he would have given himself up anyway," Broussard replied +quietly. + +Military justice is short and simple and severe. Within forty-eight +hours the court-martial sat. As Lawrence marched into the courtroom +between two soldiers, guarding him, his wife, dressed in black, as +always, and with Mrs. McGillicuddy sitting near her, rose from her seat +and took another one as close to her husband as she could get and smiled +encouragement at him. Lawrence, watching her tender gaze, burst into +tears. + +It was all done very quickly. Sergeant McGillicuddy was one of the two +witnesses, Broussard being the other. The Sergeant testified as if he +were the criminal and not Lawrence. Broussard was the second witness and +merely told of Lawrence coming to him in San Francisco, saying he wished +to get to Fort Blizzard and give himself up. He could have done so at +San Francisco but he wanted to see his wife and child and believed he +would get more mercy at Fort Blizzard than any where else. + +Then the prisoner was called to tell his story. He did it quietly and in +a few words. He had no thought of deserting until he struck the +Sergeant. Then he was frightened and ran away and, making the railway +station, hid in a freight car and got away. He worked his way East, and +found employment as a miner and was earning good wages, but his +conscience troubled him, especially after he received a letter from his +wife. He had got as far as San Francisco, which took all his savings, +when he saw Mr. Broussard's name in the newspapers and went to see him. +He asked the mercy of the court. + +The court was merciful, and gave him the shortest possible prison +sentence, to be served out at the military prison of Fort Blizzard. All +the officers kept their eyes turned from the pale woman in black, sitting +close to the prisoner. They wished to do justice and not to be turned +from it by a woman's pleading eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +LOVE, THE CONQUEROR + +Broussard meant to spend his three months' leave in the pursuit of +happiness at Fort Blizzard, where he could see Anita every day if he +wanted--and he always wanted to see Anita. She was now nearing her +nineteenth birthday and could hardly be considered the infant which +Colonel Fortescue continued to proclaim her to be. + +The day after Broussard's arrival was Sunday and on Sunday afternoons. +Broussard knew he should find Anita at home. It was the pleasant custom +in the C. O.'s house for Mrs. Fortescue to receive the young officers, +for whom she always had a tender spot in her heart. Broussard was one of +the later arrivals. Already through the great windows the blue peaks of +ice were seen, touched with a moment's golden glory from the setting sun, +and the purple shadows were softly descending upon the snow-white world. + +The first member of the Fortescue household who met Broussard gave him a +rapturous greeting. This was Kettle, who opened the massive doors to +visitors. + +"Hi! Mr. Broussard, I cert'ny is glad to see you, and Miss 'Nita, she is +right heah in the drawin'-room, and I spect she jump fer joy when she see +you!" shouted Kettle, who was a child of nature and spoke the truth as he +saw it. + +"And I'm glad enough to get back to snow and ice after snakes and +mosquitoes and Moros," replied Broussard. + +Immediately a small financial transaction passed between Broussard and +Kettle, accompanied with the usual wink from Broussard and grin from +Kettle. + +"She doan' take no notice of none of 'em," whispered Kettle +confidentially, "she jes' smile at 'em all and goes 'long thinkin' about +you!" + +This was most encouraging and Broussard considered it well worth a +quarter. + +As he entered the drawing-room, bright with a glowing wood fire, Anita, +who was entrenched behind a little tea table, rose to greet him. She +wore a little white gown and like another white gown of hers it had a +train--Anita was very anxious to appear as old as possible. As Broussard +spoke to Mrs. Fortescue, who received him with her usual graceful +cordiality, they could hear from the plaza the band playing the solemn +hymn which precedes the retreat on Sunday afternoons. Suddenly the +sunset gun roared out, showing that the flag was descending from the +flagstaff. At once, every one in the room rose and stood respectfully at +attention until the flag came down. Broussard, in the friendly shadow of +the tea table, held on a moment to Anita's hand. She looked straight +away from Broussard, her red lips smiling at an infatuated second +lieutenant on the other side of her, but her cheeks, already of a +delicate rose color, hung out the scarlet flag which means, in love, a +surrender. Broussard even felt a faint returning pressure of the +fingers, so well screened that only they themselves knew of the meeting +of the hands. + +Then they all sat down again and the pleasant talk began once more, Anita +taking her part with a subdued current of gaiety unusual in her, for, as +Mrs. Fortescue was essentially L'Allegro, so Anita was by nature, Il +Penseroso. + +Once more, when the color-sergeant brought the flag in, and placed it in +a corner of the fine drawing-room, all present stood up; then there was +much merry chatter and tea and chaff and that universal kindliness which +seems to develop around a friendly tea table. One thing surprised +Broussard--not only that Anita appeared quite grown up but that she could +talk of many things of which he had never before heard her speak. As for +the Philippines, she had all the lore about them at her finger tips. +Broussard, watching her out of the tail of his eye, saw that she was no +longer the adorable child, who lived with her birds and her violin, but +an adorable woman, who had learned to think and feel and speak as a +woman. How was it that she had read so many books on the Philippines? + +"When did you begin your study of the Philippines?" asked the wily +Broussard. + +"Only since January," answered Anita; and realizing that she had +unconsciously revealed a great secret she lowered her lashes and turned +her violet eyes away from Broussard. + +That night, over his last cigar in his room at the officers' club, +Broussard began to plan a regular campaign for Anita against Colonel +Fortescue. But ever in the midst of it would come those sweet +inadvertent words of Anita's and Broussard would fall into a delicious +reverie with which Colonel Fortescue had no part. But then Broussard +would come back to the real business of the matter--outgeneralling +Colonel Fortescue--for everybody knew how devoted Anita was to her father +and Broussard considered the C. O. as a lion in his path. Of course, the +old curmudgeon, as Broussard in his own mind called the Colonel, would +rake up a lot of imaginary objections--he always was a martinet, and +would be a stiff proposition to master in the present emergency. +Broussard was tolerably certain of Mrs. Fortescue's assistance, who was +an open and confessed sentimentalist, and was generally understood to be +the guardian angel of all the love affairs at Fort Blizzard. Beverley +Fortescue might be reckoned as a neutral, being himself in the toils of +Sally Harlow, who was Anita's age. Then, Kettle and the After-Clap could +be reckoned upon as auxiliaries--Broussard swore at himself for not +remembering the After-Clap's existence that afternoon; Anita was +ridiculously fond of the little chap. + +But Colonel Fortescue would be a hard nut to crack--Broussard threw the +stump of his cigar into the fire and thought all fathers of adorable +daughters highly undesirable persons. After long and hard thinking +Broussard concluded to begin at once an earnest and devoted courtship of +Colonel Fortescue as the best way to win Anita. + +"Because I'll have to court the old fellow anyhow, cuss him!" was +Broussard's inner belief. "Anita will expect any man she marries to be +as much in love with the Colonel as she is--so here goes!" + +The very next morning Broussard began his open attentions to the Colonel +and his secret wooing of Anita. He had plenty of opportunities for both. +It was easy enough to see Anita every day. Often they rode together in +the gay riding parties that were among the constant amusements of the +young things at the post. Then, there was the weekly dance in the great +ball-room and many little dances and dinners, and Broussard always +contrived to be with Anita the best part of the evening. He was always +willing to sing and Anita was always ready to play the violin obligatos +for him. Broussard developed wonderful knowledge of song birds and +entirely abandoned game chickens, and was astonishingly regular in his +attendance at the chapel, which induced Anita to think him a model of +Christian piety. If Broussard had been a conceited man he would have +seen that Anita's heart was his long before he asked for it; but being a +modest fellow and thinking Anita was but a little lower than the angels, +Broussard paid her the delicate and tender court which women love so well. + +The regimen of love and leisure did wonders for Broussard. His thin face +filled up, his color returned, he was soon able to dance and ride and +shoot with the best of his comrades. He did not forget the man in the +military prison or the wife that watched and waited and prayed and hoped. +But there was reason to hope: Lawrence was, from the beginning, a model +prisoner, and the chaplain, who had lost, in the course of years, some of +his confidence in repentance, began once more to believe that it was +possible to regenerate a man's soul. Most prisoners are a trifle too +ready to accept the theory of the forgiveness of sins. Not so Lawrence. +Often, he had paroxysms of despair, accusing himself wildly and doubting +whether the good God could forgive so evil a sinner as he. Sometimes, he +would refuse to see his wife, declaring he was not fit for her to speak +to; again, he would weep and ask for a sight of his child, now far away +and in good hands. All these things, and more, the chaplain knew, from +long experience, meant that Lawrence's soul was struggling toward the +light. Regularly Broussard went to see him at the prison and the two +men, the high-minded officer and the disgraced private, were drawn +together by the secret bond between them. Often, they talked in whispers +of their dead mother and Broussard would say to Lawrence: + +"Our mother's spirit and your wife's love ought to save you." + +Another visitor Lawrence had was Sergeant McGillicuddy. The Sergeant's +merciful soul could not accept the chaplain's theory that the blow +provoked by McGillicuddy had been Lawrence's salvation. + +"I never knew a man who was helped by being a deserter, sir," was the +Sergeant's answer to the chaplain's kindly sophism, "but Lawrence is a +penitent man--that I see with my own eyes. I don't need no chaplain to +tell me that, sir." + +Meanwhile, Broussard kept up a steady courtship of Colonel Fortescue. +Whatever views the Colonel advanced, Broussard promptly endorsed. He +gave up cock fighting, motors, superfluous clothes and high-priced +horses, and, if his word could be taken for it, he had adopted Spartan +tastes and meant to stick to them. Colonel Fortescue rated Broussard's +newly-acquired taste for the simple life at its true value, and was +sometimes a trifle sardonic over it. + +"I wish," said Colonel Fortescue savagely one night in his office, where +he always smoked his last cigar, Mrs. Fortescue sitting by, "I wish +Broussard would let up a little in his attention to me. I know exactly +what it means and it is getting to be an awful nuisance." + +"Cheer up," answered Mrs. Fortescue encouragingly, "he'll let up on his +devotion to you as soon as he marries Anita--for I have seen ever since +the night of the music ride that Anita has a secret preference for him, +and it's very natural--Broussard is an attractive man." + +"Can't see it," growled the Colonel. + +"If you would just limber up a little and not be so stiff with him," +urged Mrs. Fortescue, "let him see he can have Anita." + +"How can I limber up and tell him he can have Anita?" roared the Colonel. +"The fellow hasn't asked me for Anita." + +"He's asking you all the time," answered Mrs. Fortescue, smiling. + +Colonel Fortescue looked up at her with sombre eyes. He had seen Anita +become the target for the flashing eyes of junior officers. He realized +that Mrs. Fortescue, woman-like, did not share and could not understand +the pangs of his soul at the thought of parting with Anita. He had often +observed that mothers willingly gave their daughters in marriage, but he +had never seen a father give up his daughter cheerfully to another man. +Mrs. Fortescue saw something of this in Colonel Fortescue's face and +leaned her cheek against his. + +"Dear," she said, "I believe most fathers suffer as you do at the thought +of giving up a daughter and some day I shall suffer the same at giving up +my son to another woman. So, after all, since our children will take on +a new love, we must return to our honeymoon days and not let anything +matter so long as we are together. Then, the After-Clap--I always feel +so ridiculously young whenever I look at that baby." + +At this the Colonel's heart was soothed and he did not hate Broussard +quite so much. + +There was, however, no let-up in Broussard's ardent wooing of the +Colonel, who took it a trifle more graciously. One afternoon, late in +December, Broussard, passing the headquarters building, saw Colonel +Fortescue's orderly holding the bridle reins of Gamechick, who was +saddled. Broussard was in his riding clothes and was himself waiting for +the horse lent him for the afternoon by a brother officer. He stopped +and began to pat Gamechick's beautiful neck and the horse, who was, like +all intelligent horses, a sentimentalist, rubbed his nose against +Broussard's head, and said, as plainly as a horse can say: + +"Dear master, I love you still." + +Colonel Fortescue, coming out of the gate, saw Broussard, and his heart +softened as he recalled the last time he had seen Broussard riding +Gamechick. It was now nearly a year ago. + +"Good afternoon, Mr. Broussard," said the Colonel, "I see you are dressed +for riding. Perhaps you would like to ride that old charger again; if +so, I will send for my own horse. Gamechick belongs to my daughter and I +only ride him to keep him in condition, because sometimes she is a little +lazy about exercising him." + +"Ladies are seldom judicious with horses," answered Broussard, agreeing +as always with Colonel Fortescue. "I shall be glad to ride the old horse +once more, and thank you very much." + +In a few minutes, the Colonel's own horse was brought and the two men, +mounting, rode off and away from the post for an hour's brisk ride in the +late winter afternoon. + +Broussard, whose tongue was usually frozen to the roof of his mouth when +he was in the Colonel's presence, felt a sudden sense of freedom and +talked naturally and therefore intelligently. His description of +military affairs in the East was wonderfully illuminating, and the +Colonel plied him with questions. They were so interested in their talk +that they reached the spur of the mountain ranges before they knew it. +The crisp air had got into their blood and into that of their horses, +which took the mountain road sharply, and at an eager trot. They had +climbed a good mile along the steep winding road, the snow under their +feet frozen as hard as stone, the rocks ice-coated, and the fir trees +like great trees of crystal. Gamechick was so sure-footed that Broussard +gave him the reins but Colonel Fortescue watched his horse carefully. + +Ahead of them was a sudden turn in the road under the great overhanging +cliff, and on it, a magnificent fir tree reared itself, glittering with +icicles, in the rose-red light of the sunset. + +"Look," said Colonel Fortescue, pointing to the tree. "Was there ever +anything more beautiful?" + +As the words left his lips he saw, and Broussard saw, a huge boulder +suddenly start down the mountain side and strike like a cannon ball the +splendid tree. There was a fearful breaking and splintering and all at +once it was as if the cliff crumbled and trees and boulders and ice and +snow came thundering and crashing down into the roadway. One moment the +crystal air had been so still that the click of the iron hoofs of their +horses seemed to be the only sound in the world. The next minute the +roar of breaking trees and falling rocks echoed like an earthquake and a +white cloud of misty snow and flying icicles hid the steel-blue heavens. + +It was done in such a fragment and flash of time that Broussard hardly +knew what had happened. He found himself standing on his feet, entangled +in the frozen branches of a fir tree. A little way off he heard +Gamechick, whinnying with fear, while under a fallen boulder Colonel +Fortescue's horse lay, his neck broken. Close by Colonel Fortescue lay +stark upon the ground. Broussard ran to him; he was lying upon his back +and said as coolly as if on dress parade: + +"I had a pretty close shave, but I don't think I'm hurt, except my ankle." + +Broussard, having had experience with injured men, thumped and punched +the Colonel only to find that he was not injured in any way except the +broken ankle; but a man with a broken ankle, six miles away from the +fort, with night coming on, and the thermometer below zero, presents +problems. + +"What a pity neither of us has a pistol," said Colonel Fortescue, when +Broussard had got him up from the frozen earth and arranged a rude seat +from the branches of the fir tree for him. "We could kill my poor horse +and end his sufferings." + +"He's already dead, thank God," replied Broussard, going over and looking +at the horse, lying as still and helpless as the rock that lay upon his +neck. Gamechick, the broken rein hanging upon his neck, stood trembling +and snorting with terror. + +"I think you had better ride back to the post and get help," said Colonel +Fortescue. + +Broussard walked toward Gamechick, but the horse, stricken with panic, +backed away and before Broussard could catch him, he whirled about wildly +and galloped down the mountain road at breakneck speed. The sound of his +iron hoofs pounding the icy road as he fled, driven by fear and anguish, +cut the silence like a knife. The two men listened to the clear metallic +sound borne upon the clear atmosphere by the winter wind. + +"He's a good messenger," said Broussard, "he is making straight for the +post." + +"If he gets there before he breaks his neck," replied the Colonel coolly, +taking out his cigar case and striking a light. + +Broussard listened attentively until the last echo had died away in the +distance. + +"He has got down all right and is now on the open road, and will get to +the fort in thirty minutes," he said. + +Then Broussard, gathering the broken branches of the fir tree, made a +fire which not only warmed them, but the blue smoke curling upward was a +signal for those who would come to search for them. He took the saddle +and blanket from the dead horse and arranged a comfortable seat for the +Colonel, who declared that a broken ankle was nothing; but his face was +growing pale as he spoke. + +"You remember," he said to Broussard, "that story about General Moreau, +something more than a hundred years ago, who smoked a cigar while the +surgeons were cutting off his leg." + +"Yes, sir," replied Broussard. "You are not as badly off as General +Moreau, and I think I can help you, sir." Broussard proceeded to take +off the Colonel's boot and stocking. He rubbed the broken ankle with +snow and then, with his handkerchief and a splinter of wood, made a +bandage and splints, as soldiers are taught to do. + +Then Broussard accepted the cigar offered him by the Colonel, and smoked +vigorously. A lieutenant does not lead the conversation with a Colonel, +and so Broussard said nothing more and devoted himself to keeping the +fire going. + +Colonel Fortescue bore the pain, which was extreme, in grim silence, but +Broussard noticed that he stopped smoking and threw away his cigar. It +could not soothe him as it did General Moreau. Broussard immediately +threw away his cigar, too, which annoyed the Colonel. + +"Why don't you keep on smoking?" asked the Colonel tartly. + +"Oh, I don't care about it particularly," shamelessly answered Broussard, +who was an inveterate smoker. + +"When we got out of tobacco in the jungle I kept the men quiet by singing +the old song ''Twas Off the Blue Canaries I Smoked My Last Cigar.'" + +"Music has always had a soothing influence over me," said Colonel +Fortescue, after a moment. "Suppose you sing that song. It may help +this infernal ankle of mine." + +Broussard obeyed orders immediately, and the old song was sung with all +the feeling that Broussard could infuse into his fine, rich voice. When +it was over, the Colonel said sternly: + +"Sing another song. Keep on singing until I tell you to quit." + +Broussard, being a sly dog, did not sing any of the modern songs that he +was wont to troll out at the club, or on the march, but chose for his +second number a song that subalterns sang to pianos, to banjos and +guitars, and even without accompaniment, the favorite song of the +subaltern, "A Warrior Bold." Broussard's clear baritone, sweet and +ringing, echoed among the icy cliffs in the wintry dusk. At the end, +Colonel Fortescue nodded his head in approval. + +"I used to sing that song," he said, "when I was a youngster, but I never +had a fine voice like yours. Tune up again." + +Broussard tuned up again, and this time it was a sweet old sentimental +ballad. He went conscientiously through his repertory of old-fashioned +ballads, not smiling in the least, Colonel Fortescue listening gravely to +these songs of love. The purple twilight was coming on fast and the +ruddy glare of the fire threw a beautiful crimson light upon the +snow-draped cliffs and ice-clad trees. During the intervals between the +songs, the two men listened for the sound of coming help. With a good +fire, plenty of cigars, and Broussard's cheerful singing, their plight +was not so bad. But a disturbing thought came to both of them. + +"The horse running back riderless, will alarm my wife and daughter," said +Colonel Fortescue after a while. + +Broussard made no reply; he hoped that Anita would be a little frightened +about him. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE REVEILLE + +Half an hour after Colonel Fortescue and Broussard rode away, Anita, +walking into her mother's room, said to Mrs. Fortescue: + +"Mother, let us ride this afternoon. It is so gloriously clear and +cold." + +Mrs. Fortescue turned from the desk where she was writing and hesitated. + +"I saw your father go off on Gamechick. You can ride Pretty Maid, but +your father objects so much to my riding Birdseye." + +"But there are plenty of mounts besides Birdseye," said Anita. + +Mrs. Fortescue glanced out of the window at the winter landscape and +shivered a little. + +"It is very cold," she said, "and rather late; the sun will be gone in +a little while." + +Anita came behind her mother and put her hands under Mrs. Fortescue's +pretty chin. + +"Dear mother," she said, "I want so much to ride this afternoon; I feel +that I must. Won't you go out, if it is only for half an hour?" + +Anita's eloquent eyes and pleading voice were not lost upon Mrs. +Fortescue, who found it difficult always to resist pleadings. + +"Well then," she said, "call up the stables and tell them to bring the +horses around as soon as possible, and some one to go with us, perhaps +McGillicuddy." + +Ten minutes later, Mrs. Fortescue and Anita, in their trim black habits +and smart little hats fastened on with filmy veils, came out on the +stone steps. The trooper was leading the horses up and down, and +Sergeant McGillicuddy, as escort, put both ladies into their saddles +and then himself mounted. Just as Mrs. Fortescue settled herself in +saddle and gave her horse a light touch with her riding-crop, a strange +sound was borne upon the sharp wind, the unmistakable sound of a +runaway horse. Sergeant McGillicuddy and Anita heard the sound at the +same moment, and stood motionless to listen. It grew rapidly near and +nearer and stray passers-by turned toward the main entrance, from which +direction came the wild clatter of iron-shod hoofs in maddened flight. +Suddenly through the open main entrance dashed Gamechick without a +rider. + +A riderless horse fleeing in terror, is one of the most tragic sights +on earth. The horse came pounding at breakneck speed, blinded in his +fright, as runaway horses are, but instinctively taking the straight +path across the plaza. It was as if the frantic hoof-beats awakened +the whole post. Soldiers ran out and officers stepped from their +comfortable quarters, while the officers' club emptied itself into the +street. The horse was recognized in a moment as Colonel Fortescue's +mount, and he made straight for the commandant's house. It was not +necessary for the trooper to seize the reins hanging loose on +Gamechick's neck. He came to a sudden halt, his sides heaving as if +they would burst, and he was dripping wet as if he had been in a river. +He stood, quivering, his sensitive ears cocking and uncocking wildly. + +Mrs. Fortescue's face grew pale, but she said to McGillicuddy calmly: + +"Some accident has happened to Colonel Fortescue. Send word at once to +Major Harlow and to my son." + +Major Harlow, next in command, was on the spot almost as Mrs. Fortescue +spoke. + +"It is all right, Mrs. Fortescue," said Major Harlow, cheerfully. "The +Colonel probably dismounted and the horse got away. We will find him +in a little while." + +"Yes," replied Mrs. Fortescue, "and Anita and I will ride with you." + +Anita looked with triumphant eyes at her mother. + +"I felt that we must be on horseback," she said, "I didn't understand +why a few minutes ago, but now I know why." + +A messenger was sent for Beverley Fortescue, but he was not to be +found. Some one in the group of officers remembered having seen him +riding off with Sally Harlow. Major Harlow did not attempt to keep up +with his daughter's cavaliers. + +"We'll find the Colonel all right," said Major Harlow, confidently, +"the horse will show us the way." + +Major Harlow rode in front with Sergeant McGillicuddy, who led +Gamechick, his head hanging down, looking the picture of shame but +carefully retracing his steps. Behind them rode Mrs. Fortescue and +Anita, and then came a small escort. Gamechick, walking wearily in +advance over the frozen snow, suddenly lifted his head and gave a loud +whinnying of joy, and at the same moment his tired legs seemed to gain +new strength, and he started off in a brisk trot. + +"He has caught the trail, Mrs. Fortescue," called back Major Harlow, +turning his head and meeting Mrs. Fortescue's glance; her face was pale +and so was Anita's, but the eyes of both were undaunted. + +Gamechick trotted ahead, sometimes faltering and going around in a +circle, the escort waiting patiently until he once more found his own +tracks. They were still a mile away from the entrance of the mountain +pass when Anita, looking up into the clear dark blue sky where the +palpitating stars were coming out, saw the blue smoke curling upward +from the pass. + +"Daddy and Mr. Broussard have made a fire," she cried. + +"Is Mr. Broussard with the Colonel?" asked Major Harlow, in surprise. +Until then, no one had spoken Broussard's name, or knew he was with +Colonel Fortescue. + +"I think so," replied Anita, "I was watching my father as he rode +toward the main entrance and I saw Mr. Broussard join him and they rode +off together." + +When they reached the rugged mountain road, the horses, with rough-shod +feet, scrambled up like cats. Now the searching party could not only +see the blue smoke floating above their heads, but they perceived a +delicate odor of burning fir branches. When they reached a spot in the +pass where a bridle path diverged Gamechick halted, putting his nose to +the ground as he stepped about and then throwing back his head in +disappointment. + +In the midst of the stillness came the sound of a voice; Broussard was +trolling out a ballad in Spanish which he had learned in the far-off +jungles of the Philippines. Mrs. Fortescue glanced at Anita. A +brilliant smile and a warm blush illuminated the girl's face. The +mother smiled; she knew the old, old story that Anita's violet eyes +were telling. + +Major Harlow raised a ringing cheer in which Sergeant McGillicuddy and +the officers and troopers joined. An answering cheer came back. It +was unnecessary then for Gamechick to show the way by galloping ahead. + +Within five minutes the pass was full of cavalrymen. Mrs. Fortescue, +down on her knees in the snow, was examining Colonel Fortescue's broken +ankle. Anita, for once losing the quiet reserve that was hers by +nature, was sitting by the Colonel, her arm around his neck, her cheek +against his, and the tears were dropping on her cheeks. + +"Oh, daddy," she was whispering, "I knew that something had happened to +you and that I must come to you, and that was why I begged and prayed +my mother to come with me, and now we have found you, we have found +you!" + +Colonel Fortescue drew the girl close to his strong beating heart for a +brief moment. + +"It is a very neat splint," said Mrs. Fortescue, rising to her feet and +bestowing one of her brilliant smiles on Broussard. "Mr. Broussard is +a capital surgeon." + +"And a capital soldier," said the Colonel, quite clearly. + +A smile went around, of which Broussard's was the brightest and the +broadest. Everybody present knew that the stern Colonel was melting a +little toward Broussard. + +Then Colonel Fortescue insisted upon mounting Gamechick. + +"You are so obstinate," murmured Mrs. Fortescue, in his ear. "You are +as bent on riding that horse as you say I am on riding Birdseye." + +The Colonel nodded and smiled; the little differences which arose +between Mrs. Fortescue and himself were not settled in the presence of +others. + +Colonel Fortescue was helped on Gamechick's back and a trooper +dismounted and gave his horse to Broussard, the trooper mounting behind +a comrade; and without asking anybody's leave, Broussard rode beside +Anita. As the cavalcade took its way down the road, the darkness of a +moonless night descended suddenly, and the difficult way out of the +pass was lighted only by the large, bright stars, that seemed so +strangely near and kind. Often, in guiding Anita's horse along the +rocky road, Broussard's hand touched Anita's. Sometimes he dismounted +to lead her horse; always he was close to her, and when they spoke it +was in whispers. The rest of the party, including even Colonel +Fortescue, in sheer good nature left them to themselves and their +happiness. + +Soon the party reached the broad, white plain from which a great crown +of lights from the fort shone brilliantly in the dusk of the evening. +Half way across the plain they met Beverley Fortescue, riding in search +of them. He glanced at Anita, who blushed deeply, and at Broussard, +who smiled openly, and the two young officers exchanged signals, which +meant that the Colonel had been outgeneralled, out-footed and "stood on +his head," as Beverley undutifully expressed it at the officers' club +an hour later. + +"How did you manage the C. O.?" asked Beverley of Broussard, as they +exchanged confidences in the smoking-room. + +"I sang to him, like David did to Saul, and got the evil spirit out of +him. You ought to have seen him, sitting before the fire, grinding his +teeth with the pain of his ankle, and listening to 'Love's Old Sweet +Song.' I gave him a genteel suffering of sentimental songs, I can tell +you, and never cracked a smile, and no more did the old man"--this +being the unofficial title of all commanding officers. + +"Do you think it would work on Major Harlow?" anxiously inquired +Beverley, "because this afternoon Sally and I----" + +Here the conference was reduced to whispers, as plans were made to +conquer Major Harlow. Only daughters are highly prized by doting +fathers. + +A broken ankle at fifty does not heal in a day, and until Christmas Eve +Colonel Fortescue was a prisoner in his chair, doing his administrative +work; and when that was done being cheered and soothed by the +tenderness in which he had been lapped since the day when, as a young +lieutenant, he married Betty Beverley in an old Virginia church. Never +was anything seen like Anita's devotion to her father. It seemed as if +she were never out of sound and reach of him and gave up all the +merry-making of the Christmas time to be with him. This prevented +Broussard from seeing Anita very often, and never alone, but they had +entered the Happy Valley together, and basked in the delicate joy of +love unspoken, but not unfelt. Anita knew that Broussard was only +biding his time, and Broussard knew that Anita was waiting, in smiling +silence. The Colonel wrote Broussard a very handsome note of thanks +and Mrs. Fortescue greeted him with grateful thanks. Then, Christmas +was coming, the claims of the After-Clap and the eight McGillicuddys +became insistent. Broussard did not forget the prisoner in the grim +military prison, nor the woman so faithful to the prisoner. Sergeant +McGillicuddy spent a small fortune in such comforts as Lawrence was +allowed to receive at Christmas time, and his knotty, weather-beaten +face grew positively cheerful over the way Lawrence was really +reforming. + +Broussard knew that Anita would not come to the Christmas Eve ball, +because in the evening her father liked her to read to him. But +Broussard went to the ball, and for the first time found a Christmas +ball dull. Flowers were scarce at Fort Blizzard, but by the +expenditure of much time and money Broussard succeeded in getting a +great box of fresh white roses for Anita on Christmas Day. + +Broussard went to the early service at the chapel in the darkness that +comes before the dawn. The little chapel shone with lights and echoed +with the triumphant Christmas music. It was quite full, but Anita sat +alone in the C. O.'s pew. She was all in black, except a single white +rose pinned over her heart. When the service was over, and the people +had streamed out, and the brilliant lights were replaced by a radiance, +faint and soft, Anita remained on her knees, praying. Broussard +remained on his knees, too, thinking he was praying, but in reality +worshipping Anita. Presently, she rose and passed out into the cold, +gray dawn. Broussard went out, too, meaning to intercept her and walk +home with her. But at the door Kettle appeared, carrying in his arms +the After-Clap, now nearly three years old, and capable of making a +great deal of noise. At once, he sent up a shout for "'Nita!" and +Anita, cruelly oblivious of Broussard's claims, took the After-Clap by +the hand and ran off to see his Christmas tree--that being the +After-Clap's day. Kettle, however, lagged behind to administer +consolation to Broussard. + +"Doan' you mind, Mr. Broussard," said Kettle, confidentially, "Miss +'Nita, she's jes' cipherin' on you all the time. She makes the Kun'l +tell her all 'bout them songs you done sing him that night in the +mountains, an' she and Miss Betty laffed fit ter kill when the Kun'l +tell 'em he made you sing like the devil to keep him from groanin' over +his ankle." + +For six mortal days, Broussard sought his chance to be alone with +Anita, but that chance eluded him in a maddening manner. Either the +Colonel or the After-Clap was perpetually in his way, and neither +Beverley Fortescue nor Kettle, who were his open allies, nor Mrs. +Fortescue, who was secretly on his side, could help him. Broussard, +however, swore a mighty oath that he would have Anita's promise before +the new year began. + +Late in the afternoon of the last day of the year, Broussard, who kept, +from the officers' club, a pretty close watch on the Commanding +Officer's house, saw Anita come out in her dark furs and the little +black gown and hat in which she looked most charming, and take her way +to the chapel. There was a back entrance, screened from the plaza by a +stone wall and a projection of the chapel, and Broussard thought there +could not be a better place for the words he meant to speak to Anita. +He seized his cap and ran out, ignoring the jeers of his comrades, who +had seen Anita pass and suspected Broussard's errand. In two minutes +he had entered the little walled-in spot, and there, indeed, stood +Anita. Within the chapel he could hear voices--the chaplain's voice +directing some changes; Kettle and a couple of men moving seats and +arranging things at the chaplain's directions. But as long as they +remained in the chapel they mattered little to Broussard. + +Anita's cheeks hung out their red flags of welcome. + +"At last!" said Broussard, clasping her hand, "I have watched and +waited for this chance!" + +In the little secluded spot, with a small, crescent moon stealing into +the sunset sky and the happy stars shining down upon them, Broussard +told Anita of his love. He knew not what words he spoke, for Love, the +master magician, speaks a thousand languages, and is eloquent in all. +Nor did Anita know what reply she made. After a deep and rapturous +silence they returned to earth, only to find it still Heaven. + +"I love you better than anything on earth except my honor," said +Broussard, holding Anita's little gloved hand in his. + +"Yes," answered Anita softly, "next your honor." + +"And I have loved you for a long time," Broussard continued, "for a +whole year." In their brief, bright lives, a whole year seemed a long +time. "But you were so young--last year you were but a child, and I +was ashamed of myself for what I said to you the night of the music +ride--it isn't right to speak words of love to a girl who is not yet a +woman. Will you forgive me?" + +Anita's forgiveness shone in her eyes and smiled upon her scarlet mouth +when Broussard laid his lips on hers. + +Suddenly, a wild shriek resounded. The After-Clap, who had been in +hiding behind Anita, and was unseen by Broussard, and forgotten by +Anita, emerged and set up a violent protest. Being now a sturdy +three-year-old, he was well able to express himself. + +"You go 'way!" screamed the After-Clap, raising a copper-toed foot, and +kicking Broussard's shins. + +"You let my 'Nita 'lone, you bad man!" + +The After-Clap's shrieks brought the chaplain and Kettle and a couple +of soldiers quickly out of the chapel. Meanwhile, with what Broussard +thought superhuman and intelligent malice, the After-Clap dragged the +iron gate open that led to the plaza, and rushed straight into the arms +of Colonel Fortescue, returning from his first walk, aided by a stick +in one hand and Mrs. Fortescue's arm on the other side. + +"Daddy! Daddy! You come here and beat Mr. Broussard. He kissed +'Nita! He kissed 'Nita!" shrieked the After-Clap. + +Broussard and Anita, standing in the circle of eyes, were much +embarrassed; Kettle, grabbing the After-Clap, shook him well, saying: + +"Heish yo' mouth! you didn't see no sich a thing!" + +This only increased the After-Clap's indignation, and he bawled louder +than ever: + +"I see Mr. Broussard kiss 'Nita! I see him kiss my 'Nita." + +"Yes, I kissed Anita," responded Broussard, recovering his native +impudence, "but she is my Anita and not your Anita any longer." + +This produced another attack on Broussard's shins by the After-Clap. + +"I think," said Mrs. Fortescue demurely, "Kettle had better take the +After-Clap home." + +"So do I," said Broussard, "he has been very much in my way ever since +he began yelling." + +The Colonel and the chaplain began to make conversation, as Kettle +carried the After-Clap off, still proclaiming he had seen Broussard +kiss Anita. The two soldiers grinned silently at each other. The +whole party started off to the C. O.'s house, Mrs. Fortescue walking +between the Colonel and the chaplain, while Broussard and Anita brought +up the rear. + +When they reached the house, Colonel Fortescue went straight to his +office. Mrs. Fortescue and the chaplain made little jokes on the +lovers, but the Colonel had looked as solemn as the grave. The hour +had come when his little Anita was no longer his. + +"Come," said Broussard to Anita, "let us face the battery now." + +Hand in hand they entered Colonel Fortescue's office. The Colonel +behaved better than anybody expected. When he had given his formal +consent, Anita slipped behind his chair and said to him softly: + +"Daddy, I made up my mind when I was a little girl, a long time ago, +that I would never marry any man that was not as good as you, my +darling daddy!" + +Fond fathers are generally won by these tender pleas. Broussard turned +his head away as the Colonel drew his daughter to him; the passion of +father-love was too sacred even for the eyes of a lover. On the way +out they met Sergeant McGillicuddy, who tried to look unconscious. + +"Congratulate me!" cried Broussard. + +"I do, sir," replied the Sergeant, solemnly, "and if I may make bold to +say it, the Colonel will make a father-in-law-and-a-half, sir." + +This was enigmatic, but Broussard was too happy then to study enigmas. + +That night, when the Colonel, limping a little, entered the ballroom he +leaned upon Beverley's strong young arm, while on the other side was +Mrs. Fortescue, always particularly radiant in evening dress. +Broussard and Anita walked behind them. The news, as rashly announced +by the After-Clap, that Mr. Broussard had kissed Anita, had spread like +wildfire through the post. Everybody knew it, and everybody smiled +upon Broussard and Anita; even second lieutenants who envied +Broussard's luck; good wishes and kind congratulations were showered +upon them. + +It was a very gay ball; as Colonel Fortescue held, the sharp cold, the +radiant arc lights, always going, the wall of ice by which the fort was +surrounded, gave an edge to joy as well as to pain. To mark this last +ball of the year the young officers introduced some of the prankish +features of their happy cadet days. + +At five minutes to midnight, when the great floor was a whirl of dainty +young girls, their heads crowned with roses or with flashing ornaments +that matched their sparkling eyes, and with dashing young officers, +glittering in gold and blue, the band, with Neroda leading, stopped +suddenly. A handsome young bugler appeared and in the midst of the +tense silence the wonderful melody of "Taps," the last farewell, was +played for the dying year. Then Anita, as the commanding officer's +daughter, had the honor of turning off the lights. To-night she looked +her sweetest, wearing a little white dancing gown that showed her +satin-slippered feet. With Broussard escorting her, Anita walked the +length of the long ballroom to the point where, with one touch of the +hand every light went out in an instant of time, and the ballroom was +plunged into the blackness of darkness and the stillness of silence. + +The band then played softly the delicious waltz "Auf Wiedersehen," with +its sweet promise of eternal meeting. + +On the stroke of twelve came a great roar and reverberance from the +outside and a dazzling flash of light blazed in at the window from a +_feu de joie_ on the plaza. At the same moment, the young bugler +played the splendid fanfare that welcomes the dawn, the reveille. +Broussard and Anita, looking into each others' smiling eyes, began the +new year of their perfect happiness with the joyous echo of the silver +trumpet proclaiming the coming of the sunrise. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BETTY AT FORT BLIZZARD*** + + +******* This file should be named 18022-8.txt or 18022-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/0/2/18022 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Betty at Fort Blizzard</p> +<p>Author: Molly Elliot Seawell</p> +<p>Release Date: March 20, 2006 [eBook #18022]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BETTY AT FORT BLIZZARD***</p> +<br><br><center><h3>E-text prepared by Al Haines</h3></center><br><br> +<hr class="full" noshade> +<BR><BR> + +<A NAME="img-front"></A> +<CENTER> +<H4> +[Frontispiece: Anita walked down the stairs and came face to face <BR> +with Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence. (missing from book)] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +BETTY AT FORT BLIZZARD +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +By +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +AUTHOR OF "BETTY'S VIRGINIA CHRISTMAS," "PAPA BOUCHARD," <BR> +"THE JUGGLERS," "LITTLE JARVIS," ETC. +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR +<BR> +AND FROM PEN DRAWINGS BY +<BR> +EDMUND FREDERICK +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PHILADELPHIA & LONDON +<BR><BR> +J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY +<BR><BR> +1916 +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY JOHN WANAMAKER +<BR> +BOOK NEWS MONTHLY +<BR> +Under title "Colonel Fortescue's Betty" +<BR><BR> +COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY +<BR><BR><BR> +PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER, 1916 +<BR> +REPRINTED OCTOBER 20, 1916 +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +TO +<BR><BR> +ELEANOR T. WOOD +<BR> +THE GENTLE LADY +<BR><BR> +WHOSE PATH THROUGH LIFE IS RADIANT +<BR> +WITH GOOD DEEDS +<BR><BR> +THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED +<BR> +BY +<BR> +THE AUTHOR +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<BR> + +<CENTER> + +<TABLE WIDTH="80%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">CHAPTER</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">I. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap01">"MISS BETTY" IN A NEW RÔLE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">II. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap02">A PRETTY MAID AND A GAMECHICK</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">III. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap03">THE HEART OF A MAID</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap04">"GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART, GOOD-BYE"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">V. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap05">UNFORGETTING</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">SOME LETTERS AND KETTLE'S ENLISTMENT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">THE PLEADING EYES OF WOMEN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">LOVE, THE CONQUEROR</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">THE REVEILLE</A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +ILLUSTRATIONS +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IN COLOR +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-front"> +Anita Walked Down the Stairs and Came Face to Face with Broussard<BR> +and Mrs. Lawrence . . . . . . Frontispiece +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-054"> +Broussard Lifted Gamechick by the Bridle and the Next +Moment<BR> Cleared Both Mare and Girl +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-106"> +The Last Glimpse Broussard Had of Anita Was, As She +Stood,<BR> Her Arm About Gamechick's Neck +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-161"> +"This Was Enclosed in a Letter to Me From Mr. Broussard,"<BR> +said the Colonel +</A> +</H3> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +FROM PEN DRAWINGS +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-015"> +The Black Mare Suddenly Threw Her Head Down and Her Heels Up +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-031"> +"Miss Anita is in there with Mr. Broussard, an' He got<BR> +on His Courtin' Breeches, an' They's Just as Quiet as<BR> +a Couple of Sleepin' Babies" +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-043"> +"Never Mind, Dear, Darling Daddy, I Love You Just the Same" +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-061"> +Mrs. McGillicuddy Sat Majestically Upright in the Buggy,<BR> +While the Sergeant Bestrode the Peaceful and Amiable Dot +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-137"> +"Neither You nor Your Child Shall Suffer for the Present" +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-149"> +Kettle Dropped the Reins, and Grasping Corporal +Around the Neck<BR> Hung on Desperately +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-169"> +"Don't Call Your Father 'the Poor old Chap,'" Said<BR> +Mrs. Fortescue Positively +</A> +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +BETTY AT FORT BLIZZARD +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +"MISS BETTY" IN A NEW RÔLE +</H3> + +<P> +Colonel John Hope Fortescue, commanding the fine new cavalry post of +Fort Blizzard, in the far Northwest, sat in his comfortable office and +gazed through the big window at the plaza with its tall flagstaff, from +which the splendid regimental flag floated in the crystal cold air of +December. Afar off was a broad plateau for drills, an aviation field, +and beyond all, a still, snow-bound world, walled in by jagged peaks of +ice. It seemed to Colonel Fortescue, who was an idealist and at the +same time a crack cavalry officer, that the great flag on the giant +flagstaff dominated the frozen world around it, and its stars were a +part of the firmament. When the sun rose and the flag was run up, then +indeed it was sunrise. And when the sun descended in majesty, so the +flag descended in glory. +</P> + +<P> +As the last pale gleam of splendor touched the flag, the sunset gun +cracked out suddenly. Colonel Fortescue and his right-hand man for +twenty years, Sergeant Patrick McGillicuddy, rose to their feet and +stood at "attention," as the flag fell slowly. Then it was reverently +furled, and the color sergeant, with the guard, started toward the +Colonel's quarters, all whom they passed making way for them and +saluting the furled colors. +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue continued to look out of the window, while Sergeant +McGillicuddy, getting some belated mail together, passed out of the +office entrance of the fine new commandant's quarters. Two +horsewomen—Mrs. Fortescue, she who had been Betty Beverley, and her +seventeen-year-old Anita—followed by a trooper as escort, were coming +through the main entrance. Colonel Fortescue's eyes softened as he +watched his wife and daughter, Mrs. Fortescue as slim as when she was +Betty Beverley of old in Virginia, and riding as lightly and gracefully +as a bird on the wing. +</P> + +<P> +There were two other watchers besides the Colonel. These two stood at +the drawing-room window. One was tall and black and kind-eyed, with +the unquenchable kindness of the colored race. His official name was +Solomon Ezekiel Pickup, but ever since Mrs. Fortescue, as Betty +Beverley, had taken him, a little waif, forlorn and homeless and +friendless, he had been simply Kettle, being as black as a kettle. He +had watched and adored the baby days of "Marse Beverley," the straight +young stripling now training to be a soldier at West Point, and Anita, +the violet-eyed daughter, the adored of her father's heart, but Kettle +had not come into his own until the two-year-old baby, John Hope +Fortescue II, had arrived in a world which did not expect him, but +welcomed him the more rapturously on that account. The new baby had +taken everybody by surprise, and immediately acquired the name of the +After-Clap. He coolly approved of his father and mother, and thought +Anita an entertaining person when she got down on the floor to play +with him. Naturally he was indifferent to his twenty-year-old brother, +whom he had never seen, but Kettle—his own Kettle—was the beloved of +the After-Clap's heart. Next to Kettle in his affections was Mrs. +McGillicuddy, the six-foot-two wife of Sergeant McGillicuddy, who had +eight children, of assorted sizes, and still found time to do a great +deal for the After-Clap. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue, riding briskly across the plaza, and seeing Kettle, so +black, holding in his arms the laughing baby, so white, smiled and +waved her hand at them. Then, catching sight of the Commanding +Officer, standing at the window of his office, she smiled at him. But +Colonel Fortescue was not smiling; on the contrary, he was frowning as +his eyes fell upon Mrs. Fortescue's mount, Birdseye, a light built +black mare, with a shifty eye and a propensity to make free with her +hind feet. More than once Colonel Fortescue had reminded Mrs. +Fortescue that it was somewhat beneath the dignity of a Commanding +Officer's wife to ride a kicking horse. But Mrs. Fortescue had a +sneaking affection for Birdseye and much preferred her to Pretty Maid, +the brown mare Anita rode, and who was considered as demure as Anita, +and Anita was very demure, and very, very pretty. At least, so thought +Lieutenant Victor Broussard, watching her out of the tail of his eye, +as he passed some distance away. It was not so far away, however, that +Anita could not see the handsome turn of his close-cropped black head, +and his eyes full of laughter and courage and impudence. As some +things go by contraries, the glimpse of Broussard made Anita dismount +quickly from Pretty Maid and flit within doors to avoid the sight of +him. Once indoors, Anita ran where she could catch a last look of +Broussard's young figure, his cavalry cape thrown back, before he +turned the corner and was gone. +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue, at the office window, returned a salute, without a +smile, to Mrs. Fortescue's greeting from afar. His teeth came together +with a snap. +</P> + +<P> +"It's the last time," he said aloud—meaning that Mrs. Fortescue would +have to submit to his judgment in horses and let Birdseye alone. +</P> + +<P> +What happened next turned the Colonel's resolution to adamant. A +trooper was leading Pretty Maid away and another trooper was about to +do the same for Birdseye when the black mare suddenly threw her head +down and her heels up. Mrs. Fortescue kept her seat, while the mare, +backing, and kicking as she backed, knocked over a couple of the +passing color guard, and only by adroitness the color sergeant saved +the flag from being dropped to the ground. Meanwhile, the two +troopers, falling backward, collided with the chaplain, a small, meek +man, as brave as a lion, who stopped to look and was ignominiously +bowled over. Sergeant McGillicuddy, just coming out of the office +entrance, made a dash forward and grabbed Birdseye by the bridle. The +mare, still unable to unseat Mrs. Fortescue or to break away from the +wiry little Sergeant, yet managed to scatter all the official mail in +the Sergeant's hand on the snow. Kettle, who could not have remained +away from "Miss Betty" under such circumstances to save his life, +dropped the baby on the drawing-room floor and rushed out. This the +After-Clap resented, shrieking wildly. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-015"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-015.jpg" ALT="The black mare suddenly threw her head down and her heels up." BORDER="2" WIDTH="353" HEIGHT="567"> +<H4> +[Illustration: The black mare suddenly threw her head down and her heels up.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +The combination of the kicking mare, the fallen troopers, the prostrate +chaplain, and the screaming baby at once determined Colonel Fortescue +to remain in his office; what he had to say to Mrs. Fortescue would not +sound well in public. Unlike Kettle, Colonel Fortescue had no fear +whatever for Mrs. Fortescue, and watched calmly from the window as +Sergeant McGillicuddy brought Birdseye to her four feet. Mrs. +Fortescue sprang to the ground and apologized gracefully to the +chaplain, assuring him that Birdseye was the best disposed horse in the +world, except when she was in a temper and her temper was merely +bashfulness and stage fright. +</P> + +<P> +"Whatever it is," answered Chaplain Brown, smiling while he rubbed a +bruised shin, "it hurts. It hurts pretty badly, too." +</P> + +<P> +Next, Mrs. Fortescue apologized profusely to the troopers who had been +knocked down by the bashful Birdseye. After their kind, they preferred +a kicker to a non-kicker, and accepted, with delighted grins, Mrs. +Fortescue's sweet words. But it was another thing when Mrs. Fortescue +had to face a frowning husband. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue tripped into the Colonel's office, and going up to +Colonel Fortescue gave him two soft kisses and a lovely smile, and this +is what she got in return, in the Colonel's parade-ground voice: +</P> + +<P> +"I supposed I had made myself perfectly clear, Elizabeth, in regard to +your riding that kicking mare." +</P> + +<P> +"But, darling," replied Mrs. Fortescue, "I thought you wouldn't mind. +And please don't call me Elizabeth. It breaks my heart." +</P> + +<P> +"I must ask—in fact, insist—that you shall not ride that mare again," +answered the Colonel sternly, without taking any notice of Mrs. +Fortescue's breaking heart. +</P> + +<P> +"And her name is Birdseye," plaintively responded Mrs. Fortescue. +"Don't you remember, the first horse you ever put me on was your first +Birdseye." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue accompanied this information with a little pinch of the +Colonel's ear. The Colonel remained coldly unresponsive; he had +steeled his heart; the kisses and the pinch were hard to resist, but +hardest of all the look of wide-eyed innocence in the dark eyes +uplifted to his. Mrs. Fortescue would never see forty again, and her +rich hair had a wide streak of silver running from her right temple; +but she was the same Betty Beverley of twenty years before. The Betty +Beverleys of this world are dowered with immortal youth and change but +little, even under strange stars. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue had never in her life been at the end of her resources +for placating men. She withdrew her arms from about her husband's +neck, and running lightly into the drawing-room took the After-Clap +from Kettle's arms, and, throwing him pick-a-back on her shoulders, +tripped with her beautiful man-child into the Colonel's office. Mrs. +Fortescue and the baby were the only persons who ever took liberties +with Colonel Fortescue. +</P> + +<P> +The baby, charmed with his father's uniform, seized a shoulder strap +with one hand and grabbed the Colonel's carefully trimmed mustache with +the other, and lifted a pair of laughing eyes, wonderfully like his +mother's, into his father's face. Mrs. Fortescue, at first as demure +as any C. O.'s wife in the world, suddenly smiled the radiant smile +that began with her eyes and ended with her lips. The woman's cunning +was too much for the man's strength. Colonel Fortescue put his arm +around his wife, as she laid the baby's rose-leaf face against his +father's bronzed cheek. Husband and wife looked into each other's eyes +and smiled. With this baby their lost youth was restored to them. +Once more the Colonel was a slim young lieutenant, and Mrs. Fortescue +was holding in her arms another dark-eyed, rose-leafed baby, now a +young soldier in the gray uniform of a military cadet. They, +themselves, could scarcely realize the flitting of the years. This new +baby was a glorious surprise in their later married life. The baby's +little hand had led them backward to the splendid sunrise of their +married happiness. +</P> + +<P> +"It is because I love you so that I can't—I won't let you ride that +black devil, Betty dear," said the Colonel. +</P> + +<P> +"How ridiculous!" replied Mrs. Fortescue. "You know I can ride as well +as you can—can't I, After-Clap?" +</P> + +<P> +"Goo-goo-goo-goo!" replied the baby, positively. +</P> + +<P> +"And I never could understand why you should take the trouble to get +angry with me," Mrs. Fortescue kept on, "when you can't stay angry with +me to save your life." +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue made a last stand. +</P> + +<P> +"But if I didn't get angry with you sometimes, Betty——" +</P> + +<P> +"'Betty' sounds cheerful," interrupted Mrs. Fortescue, and then there +was peace between them. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue and the Colonel went up-stairs to dress for dinner, and +Kettle, on watch in the hall, took charge of the After-Clap, who +commanded to be taken back into the office. Kettle, as always, +promptly obeyed, and putting the baby on Sergeant McGillicuddy's desk, +allowed the After-Clap to wreck everything in sight. +</P> + +<P> +It had not been originally designed that Kettle should be the +After-Clap's nurse. The colored mammy who had nursed Beverley and +Anita with tender devotions having gone to her well-earned rest, Mrs. +Fortescue had determined to be very modern with the After-Clap. A +smart young trained nurse, in a ravishing cap, was his first nurse. +But the baby showed such marked preference for Kettle, and Kettle +dogging the baby by day and night and thrusting superfluous services +and advice upon the nurse, she decided she would not stand being +"bossed by a nigger," and took a train for the East. Then, Mrs. +Fortescue determined to return to first principles and imported from +Virginia, at great cost and trouble, a colored mammy, most capable and +experienced. But the complications with Kettle grew more acute, and +the mammy, in a blaze of indignation, took even stronger ground than +the trained nurse, and declared she "warn't goin' to be bossed by no +black nigger." When she had shaken the snow of Fort Blizzard from her +feet, there was nothing left but to hand the baby over to Kettle and +Mrs. McGillicuddy, as coadjutor. After tending her own brood and +keeping a sharp eye on Anna Maria McGillicuddy, her eldest daughter, +who had reached the stage of beaux, and cooking the best meals for the +Sergeant that any sergeant could ask, Mrs. McGillicuddy still had time +to lend a helping hand with the After-Clap. +</P> + +<P> +Kettle and Mrs. McGillicuddy had been good friends ever since the time, +nineteen years before, when she had become the little Sergeant's +two-hundred-pound bride. But in the twenty years, during which Kettle +had never left "Miss Betty" and Sergeant McGillicuddy had been Colonel +Fortescue's factotum, there had been a continual guerilla warfare +between Kettle and the Sergeant. The Sergeant alluded scornfully to +Kettle as "the naygur," while with Kettle the Sergeant was always "ole +McGillicuddy." Mrs. McGillicuddy was invariably on Kettle's side, and +one blast upon her bugle horn was worth ten thousand men in what Kettle +called his "collusions," with the Sergeant. Sergeant McGillicuddy had +performed prodigies of valor in fights with Indians; he had been +mentioned in general order, along with Colonel Fortescue, and was +commonly reputed to fear neither the devil nor the doctor. But he was +under iron discipline with Mrs. McGillicuddy, and Kettle, like +everybody else, knew it. +</P> + +<P> +While the After-Clap was disporting himself with the articles on the +Sergeant's desk, under the full glare of the electric light, a shadow +passed the window. The next minute Sergeant McGillicuddy entered, the +lion in him aroused by the sight of the liberties taken with his desk. +</P> + +<P> +"I say, you naygur," snorted the Sergeant wrathfully, "you take that +baby off my desk and out of this office. The C. O's office ain't no +day nursery." +</P> + +<P> +"You go to grass," replied Kettle boldly. +</P> + +<P> +The reason for Kettle's boldness was in sight. Mrs. McGillicuddy's +majestic figure was seen approaching from the region back of the +dining-room, and she had heard the Sergeant's remark about the C. O.'s +office being a day nursery. +</P> + +<P> +"And it's you, Patrick McGillicuddy," cried Mrs. McGillicuddy, sailing +into the office, "the father of eight children, complaining of this +sweet blessed lamb." +</P> + +<P> +"D' ye mean the naygur?" asked McGillicuddy. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. McGillicuddy, scorning to reply, seized the baby, and with Kettle +following marched out. It was not really judicious for the After-Clap +to be taken into the C. O.'s office. +</P> + +<P> +The Sergeant began meekly to straighten up his desk, and Colonel +Fortescue, coming in later to glance over the evening newspaper, found +McGillicuddy gazing meditatively at the Articles of War, lying in a +volume on the table. +</P> + +<P> +The Sergeant was not the modern educated non-com, with an eye to a +commission, but an old-timer, unlearned in books, but an expert in +handling men and horses. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it, Sergeant?" asked the C. O. +</P> + +<P> +"Just this, sir," replied the Sergeant respectfully, "I was thinkin' a +man ought to be mighty keerful when he picks out a wife." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly," replied the Colonel, gravely, who had exercised no +forethought at all, after once falling under the spell of Betty +Beverley's laughing eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"When I got married I didn't act rash at all, sir, because I'm by +nature a timid man," continued the Sergeant, who was a valiant man, and +free. "I went to a palmist and paid him a dollar for my horrorscope. +I told him I wanted a little woman, about my size, who would follow me +around like a poodle dog. The palmist, he said, sir, he seen a little +woman in my hand as would follow me around like a poodle dog. Then I +went to a reg'lar fortune teller, and she told me the same thing, for a +dollar. And I went to a mind reader, the seventh daughter of a seventh +daughter, and she promised me the little woman, too. I bought a dream +book and there was the same little woman again, sir. Within a +fortnight after all this I met Araminta Morrarity, as is now Missis +Patrick McGillicuddy, and she is six-foot-two-and-three-quarters inches +in height, and tipped the scale then at a hundred and ninety-six +pounds—and I'm the lightest man in the regiment. Missis McGillicuddy +has been a good wife, sir—I ain't sayin' a word about that, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"I should think not," replied Colonel Fortescue, to whom the Sergeant's +married life was known intimately for nineteen years, "Mrs. +McGillicuddy keeps all the soldiers' wives satisfied and is a boon to +the regiment." +</P> + +<P> +"That's so, sir," the Sergeant agreed, "and the chaplain, he +compliments her on the way she marches them eight children and me to +the chapel every Sunday, rain or shine, me havin' the right of the +line, Missis McGillicuddy herself bein' the rear guard, the line +properly dressed, no stragglers, everything done soldier-like. But +Missis McGillicuddy don't follow me around like a poodle dog, as the +palmist, and the mind reader, and the dream book said she would. She's +hell-bent—excuse me sir—on havin' her own way all the time." +</P> + +<P> +Just then a vision flitted past the door. It was Anita, dressed for +dinner, in a filmy gown of pale blue and white, the colors of the +Blessed Damozel. A light came into Colonel Fortescue's eyes as they +rested on this darling of his heart. The Sergeant had a pretty +daughter, Anna Maria by name, who was just Anita's age and of whom the +Sergeant was extravagantly fond. The two fathers, the Colonel and the +Sergeant, exchanged intelligent glances. Often, in their twenty years +of daily association, they talked together about things of which they +never spoke to any other man. +</P> + +<P> +"Anna Maria is a fine girl," said the Colonel. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir," answered the Sergeant, "if she'd just get over the fancy +she has for Briggs, the artillery corporal. That man is bound to be +killed by a wheel runnin' over him. You know, sir, if there is +anything on earth that skeers me stiff it is a horse hitched to any +kind of a vehicle. I don't mind ridin' 'em because then the horse's +heels is behind me. But in a vehicle the horse's heels is in front of +me, and it makes me nervous. I have told Anna Mariar that she shan't +so much as look at Briggs unless he exchanges into the cavalry, so the +horse's heels will be behind him, and not in front of him." +</P> + +<P> +The entrance bell rang, and Kettle went to the front door. Colonel +Fortescue could neither hear nor see the visitor, but the step and the +sound of a military cloak thrown on a chair indicated the arrival of a +junior lieutenant. Colonel Fortescue looked annoyed. The junior +officer running after Anita bothered him even more than Briggs, the +artillery corporal, bothered Sergeant McGillicuddy. Anita was but a +child—only seventeen; the Colonel had proclaimed this when he brought +Anita to the post. Colonel Fortescue did all that a father and a +Colonel could do to keep the junior lieutenants away from Anita, but no +method has yet been found to keep junior officers away from pretty +girls. +</P> + +<P> +There were still twenty minutes before dinner, and the scoundrel, as +Colonel Fortescue classified all the juniors who, like himself, adored +Anita, seemed determined to stay until the musical gong sounded, and +later, if he were asked. This particular scoundrel, Broussard, was the +one to whom the Colonel most objected of all the slim, good-looking +scoundrels who wore shoulder straps, for Broussard had too much money +to spend, and spent it wildly, so the Colonel thought; he, himself, had +something handsome besides his pay, but he had also a sensible father +who held him down. Broussard had too many motors, too many horses, too +many dogs, too many clothes, too many fighting chickens, and, above +all, was too intimate with a certain soldier, a gentleman-ranker who +was disapproved, both of officer and man. A gentleman-ranker is a man +serving in the rank who might be an officer. This one, Lawrence by +name, was a bad lot altogether. The Colonel could add quite a +respectable number of demerits to Broussard's credit. And to make +matters worse, Broussard was a dashing fellow, the best rider in his +troop, and had a way with him that made Anita's eyes soften and her +tea-rose cheeks brighten when he came within her presence. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile, Broussard was walking up the long and handsome drawing-room +toward the little glass room at the end, which had been fitted up for +Anita's birds, her doves and her canaries. +</P> + +<P> +Anita, leaning backward in the cushioned window seat, held to her +breast a fluttering white dove. She did not see Broussard until he was +quite in the little room, and had closed the glass door after him. As +Anita gave Broussard her hand, a great wave of delicate color flooded +her face. This quickened the beating of Broussard's heart—Anita did +not blush like that for everybody. She had a gentle aloofness +generally toward men which was a baffling mystery to her mother. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard, being frankly in love with Anita, lost all his importance +and presumption in her sweet presence, and was as gentle and modest as +the white dove that Anita still held to her breast. As he longed to +sit near her and ask her poignant questions, Broussard sat a long way +off and talked common-places, chiefly about birds, of which he showed a +surprising knowledge, gleaned that afternoon from the encyclopaedia, in +anticipation of his visit. Also, Broussard had, very artfully, secured +a traitor in the enemy's camp because it was well understood at Fort +Blizzard that Colonel Fortescue was the enemy of every subaltern at the +post who dared to raise his sacrilegious eyes to the Colonel's daughter. +</P> + +<P> +This traitor was Kettle, into whose hand Broussard never failed to +place a quarter whenever they met, and at the same time to wink +gravely. Kettle knew the meaning both of the quarter and the wink. +</P> + +<P> +Across the hall Kettle was arranging the dinner table, it being Mrs. +McGillicuddy's duty to put the After-Clap to bed. The dining-room door +was ajar, and Kettle kept an eye open to Broussard's advantage. +</P> + +<P> +Presently, Mrs. Fortescue came down-stairs, dressed for dinner in a +gown of a jocund yellow, which Colonel Fortescue liked. As she passed +the open door of the handsome dining-room, Kettle beckoned to her +mysteriously. Mrs. Fortescue walked into the room and Kettle closed +the door after her. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Betty," whispered Kettle earnestly, "doan' you go into that there +apiary," by which Kettle meant the aviary. "Miss Anita is in there +with Mr. Broussard, an' he got on his courtin' breeches, an' they's +jest as quiet as a couple of sleepin' babies." +</P> + +<A NAME="img-031"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-031.jpg" ALT=""Miss Anita is in there with Mr. Broussard, an' he got on his courtin' breeches, an' they's jest as quiet as a couple of +sleepin' babies."" BORDER="2" WIDTH="367" HEIGHT="460"> +<H4> +[Illustration: "Miss Anita is in there with Mr. Broussard, an' he got<BR> +on his courtin' breeches, an' they's jest as quiet as a couple of<BR> +sleepin' babies."] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +A look of annoyance came to Mrs. Fortescue's expressive eyes. The +Colonel had imbued her with disapproval of the man of too many motors +and horses and dogs and clothes and fighting chickens. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue waved Kettle away and marched into the hall, where she +met Colonel Fortescue coming out of his office. +</P> + +<P> +"It's Broussard," she whispered to the Colonel. +</P> + +<P> +Together they entered the long drawing-room. Broussard and Anita were +leaning forward; Anita's face was still deeply flushed. Her beloved +white dove fluttered, unnoticed, about her white-shod feet. When the +glass door opened and Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue entered the little +glass room, both Anita and Broussard started violently—a sign of +captive love. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue was gracious, merely because she could not help it, and +the Colonel treated Broussard with the elaborate courtesy which a +Colonel shows to a subaltern and which makes the subaltern look and +feel the size of the head of a pin. Naturally, Broussard hastened his +leave-taking and received no invitation to remain, except from Anita's +eyes, shy and long-lashed. +</P> + +<P> +When the Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue and Anita were sitting at the +softly-shaded round table in the dining-room, Anita's chair was close +to her father's—the two were never far apart when they could be close +together. Mrs. Fortescue wore around her white throat a locket with a +miniature in it of her boy soldier. He was to her what Anita was to +the Colonel, but being a stout-hearted woman she had sent her son away +to be a soldier and had worn a smile at parting. There was a strain of +the Spartan mother in this smiling daughter, wife, and mother of +soldiers. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you have a pleasant visit from Mr. Broussard?" asked Colonel +Fortescue. +</P> + +<P> +"Very pleasant, daddy dear. He knows so much about birds." +</P> + +<P> +"I think," replied the Colonel, darkly, "Mr. Broussard's knowledge +comes chiefly from the study of fighting chickens." +</P> + +<P> +"I hear he has cockfights on Sunday, in the cellar of his quarters," +said Mrs. Fortescue, willing to give Broussard a slashing cut under the +fifth rib. +</P> + +<P> +"Cocking mains, my dear," corrected the Colonel, and then kept on, +earnestly, to Anita. +</P> + +<P> +"Yon can scarcely imagine the horrors of a cockpit. The poor +gamecocks, with cruel spurs upon their feet, tearing each other to +pieces, and blood and feathers all over the place." +</P> + +<P> +"You seem wonderfully familiar with cockpits," remarked Mrs. Fortescue. +"It seems to me, when we went to our first post after we were married, +that you were sometimes missing on Sunday morning, and used to tell me +afterward about the grand time you had, and the superior fighting +qualities of the Savoys over the Bantams." +</P> + +<P> +The Colonel scowled. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't recall the circumstances, Elizabeth," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"But I do, John," tartly responded Mrs. Fortescue. +</P> + +<P> +Anita knew that when it was Jack and Betty the skies were serene, and +when it became John and Elizabeth there were clouds upon the horizon. +</P> + +<P> +At this point Kettle, who was serving dinner, felt that his duty as +Broussard's ally was to speak. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Betty," said he with solemn emphasis, "Mr. Broussard doan' keep +them chickens in his cellar fur to fight; he keeps 'em to lay aigs fur +his breakfus'." +</P> + +<P> +"That's queer," said the Colonel, "all of Mr. Broussard's chickens are +cock chickens." +</P> + +<P> +This would have abashed a less ardent partisan, but it only stimulated +Kettle. +</P> + +<P> +"Come to think of it, Miss Betty," Kettle continued stoutly, "them +chickens is cock chickens, but Mr. Broussard, he keep 'em for fryin' +chickens and bri'lers; he eats a cock chicken ev'ry mornin' fur his +breakfus', day in and day out." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Kettle!" said Anita, in a tone of soft reproach. She disliked the +notion of a cockpit, but she was a lover of abstract truth, which +Kettle was not. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Miss Anita," Kettle began argumentatively, "the truth is, Mr. +Broussard, he jes' keep them chickens to' 'commodate the chaplain. The +chaplain, he's a gre't cockfighter, an' he say, 'Mr. Broussard, the +Kun'l is mighty strict, an' kinder queer in his head, an' he ain't no +dead game sport like me an' you, so if you will oblige me, Mr. +Broussard, jes' keep my fightin' chickens in your cellar, an' if the +Kun'l say anything to you, tell him them chickens is yourn. You +wouldn't mind a little thing like that, would you, Mr. Broussard?' +That's what I hee'rd the chaplain say." +</P> + +<P> +"Kettle!" shouted the Colonel, and Mrs. Fortescue remarked candidly: +</P> + +<P> +"You are a big story-teller, Kettle, there isn't a word of truth in all +you have been telling." +</P> + +<P> +"That's so, Miss Betty," announced Kettle, brazenly. "Truth is, Mr. +Broussard ain't got no chickens at all in his cellar, he keeps ducks, +Miss Betty, 'cause the water rises in the cellar all the time." +</P> + +<P> +Kettle's active help did not end with wholesale lying as a means of +helping Broussard. Within a week every time the After-Clap caught +sight of Broussard he would shout for "Bruvver." This, Kettle +carefully explained, was the baby's way of saying Broussard, but it +brought a good many quarters from Broussard's pocket into Kettle's palm. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A PRETTY MAID AND A GAMECHICK +</H3> + + +<P> +The December days sped on, and Christmas was nearing. As the great, +splendid fort was a shut-in place, the people in it made great +preparations for Christmas, if only to forget that they were shut in. +The Christmas Eve exhibition drill and music ride was to be the +principal event of the season, and, wonder of wonders, Anita was to +ride with Broussard at the music ride. This was not accomplished +without pleadings and even tears from Anita. Mrs. Fortescue took no +part in this affair between the Colonel and the adored of his heart; +Anita and the Colonel had always settled their problems between +themselves solely. Sergeant McGillicuddy had something to do with +wringing from the Colonel his consent that Anita should ride with +Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +"Accordin' to my way of thinkin', Mr. Broussard is the best rider of +all the young orficers, sir," said McGillicuddy to the Colonel, in the +seclusion of the office. "Miss Anita, she'd look mighty pretty ridin' +with him, and Pretty Maid is as quiet as a lamb, sir, under the saddle. +I wouldn't answer for her in shafts, sir. Lord! There's nothin' too +devilish for a horse to do in shafts, or hitched to a pole. Missis +McGillicuddy can't see it in this light, judgin' from the Christmas +gift she's preparin' to give me." +</P> + +<P> +"What is it, McGillicuddy?" asked the Colonel. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a buggy, sir," answered the Sergeant despondently. "When I +wanted to enlist in the aviation corps that woman, sir, forbid it; she +said to me, 'Patrick McGillicuddy, I never did believe one word about +your bein' afraid av horses in wheeled vehicles.' An' ivery time I go +up in a flyin' machine, just for the fun av it, Missis McGillicuddy, +she says to me 'Patrick, if they was to lop off the f from that flyin' +machine, it would fit you to a t, bedad!' And that's the way she talks +to me when I spent seven dollars and fifty cents in gettin' +prognostications that I was goin' to marry a woman as would follow me +around like a poodle dog!" +</P> + +<P> +"Women have a good many burrs in their convolutions," said the Colonel, +lighting a cigar and handing a handful to the Sergeant. +</P> + +<P> +"They has, sir," replied McGillicuddy, accepting the cigars with +doleful gratitude, "and Missis McGillicuddy threatens to take me out in +that buggy on Christmas day. Well, sir, I've made my will and settled +up my account at the post trader's, and the aviation orficer has +promised to tak' me on a fly Christmas Eve morning. It may be the last +fly I'll take until I get wings, for I hardly expects, sir, to escape +the dangers of that buggy." +</P> + +<P> +In talking with Mrs. Fortescue about the music ride Colonel Fortescue +dwelt upon the superiority of a quiet horse like Pretty Maid over a +constitutional kicker like Birdseye. +</P> + +<P> +"It's the quiet ones, horses and women, that need watching," replied +Mrs. Fortescue, who had never been accused of being a quiet one. +</P> + +<P> +For two weeks before Christmas the exhibition drill and music ride was +the great subject of attention at Fort Blizzard. The most interesting +part of the show was the music ride, in which the girls of the post +were to ride, each girl having her attendant cavalier. When it was +known that Anita was to ride with Broussard all the other +sublieutenants who had hoped to sit in Broussard's saddle promptly +provided themselves with other charming young ladies of the post. Next +to Anita, the best rider was Sally Harlow, the daughter of her who had +been Sally Carteret. Mrs. Harlow followed the example of Mrs. +Fortescue, whose bridesmaid she had been, and had married within a year +the dashing young officer with whom she "stood up" at Mrs. Fortescue's +wedding. Mrs. Harlow, like Mrs. Fortescue, showed a marked inability +to grow old and was as gay and drank the wine of life as joyously as +did her daughter, Sally the Second. +</P> + +<P> +For a fortnight before Christmas the practice rides took place every +afternoon in the great riding hall, in which four troops of cavalry +could manoeuvre. +</P> + +<P> +As the daughter of the C. O., Anita, with Broussard, was to lead the +girl riders and their cavaliers. Broussard called punctually at the +Colonel's quarters for Anita, on the red December afternoons, when the +air was like champagne and Broussard felt as if his veins ran wine +instead of blood. The After-Clap, under Kettle's secret instructions, +became valuable ally of Broussard's. Kettle managed that the baby's +afternoon ride in his wicker carriage should coincide with Broussard's +arrival. The dark-eyed baby, in his little white fur coat and cap and +white fur blanket, looked like a snowdrop by the side of Kettle, who, +except his shiny teeth, was so black it seemed as if he had been coated +with shoe polish. The After-Clap always hailed Broussard with a +vigorous shout of "Bruvver! Bruvver!" and Kettle invariably explained: +</P> + +<P> +"He's a-tryin' to say 'Mr. Boosard.'" +</P> + +<P> +At this Broussard would laugh and agree with Kettle that the After-Clap +was the knowingest baby in the world, and Anita would blush +beautifully. Colonel Fortescue's heart sank when he saw Broussard and +Anita walking off together; Broussard so trim and soldierly in his +riding uniform and Anita so amazingly pretty in her blue habit and cap, +cunningly imitating the cavalry uniform, a fetching dress adopted by +all the young ladies who were to take part in the music ride. +</P> + +<P> +The drill and ride were to begin at eight o'clock on Christmas Eve, and +afterward there was to be a big ball, for at Fort Blizzard the young +girls and young officers ended everything with a ball, where they could +"chase the glowing hours with flying feet." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +A great silver moon and a mighty host of palpitating stars put the +electric lights to shame on Christmas Eve. When Broussard called for +Anita, a little before eight, she was waiting, already dressed in the +pretty imitation of an officer's uniform—a costume that would make +even a plain girl enchanting, and how much more so the violet-eyed +Anita? Mrs. Fortescue, in a beautiful ball gown, looked quite as +handsome as her daughter. The regimental tailor had been busy all day +letting out Colonel Fortescue's full dress uniform and the Colonel +fondly hoped that a couple of inches he had gained in girth were +concealed by the tailor's art. But Mrs. Fortescue's quick eye +discerned it. +</P> + +<P> +"I declare, Jack," she cried, showing off her own figure, as slim as a +girl's, "I shall have to put you on a diet of lemon juice and slate +pencils if you keep on getting stout!" +</P> + +<P> +At which the Colonel glowered darkly and Anita, putting her arms about +his neck, whispered: +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind, dear, darling daddy, I love you just the same." +</P> + +<A NAME="img-043"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-043.jpg" ALT=""Never mind, dear, darling daddy, I love you just the same."" BORDER="2" WIDTH="395" HEIGHT="480"> +<H4> +[Illustration: "Never mind, dear, darling daddy, I love you just the same."] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue, who would have been affable to the Evil One himself, +smiled at Broussard. The Colonel was polite but not effusive, having +developed a rooted dislike to junior unmarried officers as soon as he +found out that Anita had to grow up, like other human beings. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard felt himself in Paradise when he was walking with Anita along +the moonlit plaza toward the riding hall. Outside, troopers were +leading the restless horses up and down. Pretty Maid did not belie her +name, and was the best behaved, as she was the handsomest, of all the +mounts of the young ladies. Broussard's Gamechick, a perfectly trained +cavalry charger, with an eye and ear of beautiful intelligence, had not +his superior among the horses. Sergeant McGillicuddy, who was the best +man with horses at Fort Blizzard, was sauntering about, looking at the +horses approvingly and saying to all who cared to hear: +</P> + +<P> +"As good a lot of nags as ever I see, and every blarsted one of 'em has +got four legs. It's mighty seldom nowadays, you see a four-legged +horse; most of 'em has only three legs and some of 'em ain't got as +much as two and a half." +</P> + +<P> +The riders, all wearing the same uniform as Broussard and Anita, +appeared by twos and fours; bright-eyed young officers and merry girls. +Their part was not to come for an hour, but they declared the night was +too lovely to go into the waiting-room, and they strolled about and +talked horses and dancing and balls and all the happy things that fall +out "when youth and pleasure meet." +</P> + +<P> +In the midst of the chatter of the riders and stamping and champing of +the blanketed horses, as they were led up and down, Kettle suddenly +appeared carrying in his arms a white bundle, which turned out to be +the After-Clap. He should have been asleep in his crib for hours, but +instead he was wide awake, laughing and crowing and evidently meant, +with Kettle's assistance, to make a night of it. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean, Kettle, by bringing the baby out this time of +night?" asked the surprised Anita. +</P> + +<P> +"I got him all wropped up warm," answered Kettle, apologetically, +pointing to the After-Clap's white fur coat and cap. "But that chile +knowed there wuz a hoss show on—it's mighty little he doan' know, and +after the Kun'l and Miss Betty lef', he begin' to cry for 'Horsey! +Horsey!' an I jes' had to take him up an' dress him an' bring him here. +An' that's Gord's truth, Miss Anita," a phrase Kettle habitually used +when making doubtful statements. +</P> + +<P> +The baby was so obviously happy in this breach of all nursery +discipline that Anita had not the heart to send him home. Anita was a +soft-hearted creature. Sergeant McGillicuddy, however, explained +disgustedly to the waiting troopers and horses how the After-Clap was +permitted to begin his career of dissipation. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll bet you a million of monkeys," the Sergeant proclaimed, "as +Missis McGillicuddy wasn't on hand when that there baby begun to yell +'Horsey! Horsey!' if he ever did it at all. With eight children av +her own and Anna Mariar's beau, Missis McGillicuddy must sometimes stop +at home. Lord help the naygur if Missis McGillicuddy should favor this +evint with her prisince!" +</P> + +<P> +The sympathies of the soldiers were entirely with the After-Clap, who +loved soldiers, knowing them to be his true friends, and was never +happier than with his big, kind, blue-coated playmates, the troopers, +with their rattling sabres and clanking spurs. +</P> + +<P> +Sergeant McGillicuddy, being himself under Mrs. McGillicuddy's iron +rule, did not approve of Kettle's breach of discipline and hatched a +scheme to catch him. With a countenance as inscrutable as the Sphinx, +he stepped to the telephone booth, shut the door carefully, and held a +short conversation over the wire with Mrs. McGillicuddy. When the +Sergeant came out of the telephone booth his face was not inscrutable +but expressed pure human joy and triumph. +</P> + +<P> +"It's Missis McGillicuddy as 'll do for ye," said the Sergeant with a +grin, going up to Kettle, holding the delighted After-Clap in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +"Go 'long, man," answered Kettle, "Mrs. McGillicuddy ain't my boss. +She's yourn." +</P> + +<P> +This language, uttered toward a man with chevrons and three stripes on +his sleeve, naturally incensed the Sergeant. He had learned, however, +in twenty years of warfare with Kettle, that it was very hard to get +him punished. +</P> + +<P> +"The naygur never has found out that orders is orders," remarked the +Sergeant to the lookers on. "But Missis McGillicuddy can wallop him +with one hand tied behind her back, and she'll do it, too, when she +finds out about the kiddie bein' out this time of night." +</P> + +<P> +This was no idle threat. Fifteen minutes later, when Kettle and the +After-Clap were at the height of their enjoyment, Mrs. McGillicuddy, +with only a shawl over her head, in the keen December night, was seen +stalking across the plaza and toward the group of men and horses +outside the drill ball; the riders had trooped into the waiting-room +for coffee and sandwiches before the ride began. The troopers, who +knew and admired Mrs. McGillicuddy, made way for her respectfully as +she swooped down on Kettle, to his complete surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Solomon!" shouted Mrs. McGillicuddy. +</P> + +<P> +Whenever Mrs. McGillicuddy used Kettle's baptismal name it meant the +same thing as when Colonel Fortescue called Mrs. Fortescue +"Elizabeth,"—there was trouble brewing. +</P> + +<P> +"And it's you," continued Mrs. McGillicuddy, in a voice like a bassoon +in a rage, "as the Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue trusted their innocent +lamb, and when they are peacefully watchin' the show you take this pore +baby out of his warm bed and brings him out here to catch his death of +cold, and Patrick McGillicuddy, you'll laugh on the wrong side of your +face when I get you home, and the Colonel shall know this, if my name +is Araminta McGillicuddy." +</P> + +<P> +With that Mrs. McGillicuddy tore the After-Clap from Kettle's arms. +Like Kettle and McGillicuddy and the admiring crowd of troopers, the +baby knew enough to maintain silence when Mrs. McGillicuddy had the +floor. +</P> + +<P> +"Right 'bout face and march," screamed Mrs. McGillicuddy to Kettle, who +meekly obeyed her, "and McGillicuddy 'll hear from me when he comes +home to-night!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. McGillicuddy then, with Kettle walking in advance, his head +hanging down, followed with the After-Clap and took the way to the C. +O.'s quarters, where the baby, much to his disappointment, was again +laid in his crib and Kettle was promised terrors to come like those of +the Day of Judgment. +</P> + +<P> +McGillicuddy, standing in the moonlight among the riderless horses and +grinning troopers, forestalled criticism by handing out a card on which +a legend was inscribed in large letters. +</P> + +<P> +"Boys," said the Sergeant, solemnly, "there's my rule for all married +men in the service and out av it. It's the Golden Rule of married +life, boys, and it ought to be added to the Articles of War and the +Regulations. Here it is, boys, 'Doant munkey with the buzz saw.'" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Meanwhile, within the vast riding hall the splendid pageant was taking +place. The lofty roof was hung with flags of all nations entwined with +ropes and wreaths of Christmas greens and crimson and gold electric +lights. In the middle of the roof, dark and high, hung a great silken +flag of the United States, with the electric lights so arranged as to +throw a halo of glory upon it. The galleries were full of officers and +ladies in brilliant ball costumes for the ball that was to follow. +Under the galleries the soldiers and their families were massed. Over +the wide entrance door was the musicians' gallery, where the regimental +band, and Neroda, their leader, a handsome Italian, with their gleaming +instruments, made a great splash of vivid color against the sombre +wall. Opposite the entrance was the Commanding Officer's box, +beautifully draped with flags and wreaths of holly. In the box sat the +Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue, both looking wonderfully young and +handsome. The Colonel caught sight of the chaplain peering in at a +window below; the chaplain knew a horse from an automobile, and loved +horses too much for the good of his soul, so he thought. In a moment a +messenger came with the Colonel's compliments and the request for the +chaplain's company, and the chaplain obeyed with alacrity and a joy +almost unholy. +</P> + +<P> +Above the murmur of conversation and laughter the band dominated, +playing soft Italian music. Suddenly and silently, as if in a dream, +the great entrance doors drew apart, the band changed into a great +military fanfare, and a splendid troop of cavalry charged in, the lithe +young troopers and the sleek horses with muscles of steel under their +satin skins, horse and man moving as one. After a dash around the +hall, they proceeded to show what troopers and horses could do. The +soldiers rode bareback and upside down, got on and off the horses in +ways incredible, made pyramids of troopers, the horses galloping at +full speed, stopped like machines, dismounted, the horses lay down and +the troopers, at full length, pounded out deadly imaginary volleys into +unseen enemies. +</P> + +<P> +When this was over and the troopers had trotted out amid thunders of +applause, the great doors again slid open as if by magic and a battery +of light artillery rushed in, the band thundering out "For He Is a Son +of a Gun." The drivers, with four horses to each gun, sat like +statues, as did the three artillerymen, erect, with folded arms, as +straight and still as men of steel, and their backs to the horses, as +the guns sped around the hall and turned and twisted marvellously, +never a wheel touching, but always within three inches of disaster. +Loud applause greeted the wonderful spectacle of gunners, horses and +gun carriages inspired by an almost superhuman intelligence. +</P> + +<P> +When the battery had passed out and the doors were closed there was a +short pause. The next and last event was the music ride by the +officers and girls, the prettiest sight in the world. Middle-aged +matrons and gray-mustached officers smiled in anticipation of seeing +their rosebud daughters, on beautiful horses, admired and applauded of +all. +</P> + +<P> +In the C. O.'s box, Mrs. Fortescue, opening her fan, leaned over and +smiled into the Colonel's face. +</P> + +<P> +"She'll do it," whispered the Colonel confidently, meaning that Anita +would do her act more gracefully and brilliantly than any girl who ever +rode a horse. +</P> + +<P> +The band once more struck up, the great doors drew wide apart, this +time with a clang, and the procession of youth and beauty and valor +dashed upon the tanbark. The officers were resplendent, while the +girls, in their daring imitation of the uniform and with cavalry caps +upon their pretty heads, looked like young Amazons riding to war. +Broussard and Anita, who led the cavalcade, were the best riders where +all were good. Pretty Maid and Gamechick seemed on the best of terms +and their stride fitted perfectly. +</P> + +<P> +The procession circled around the hall at a canter, and as Anita and +Broussard, leading the procession, reached a point in front of the C. +O.'s box, they both saluted, Anita raising her little gauntleted hand +to her cavalry cap. Colonel Fortescue stood up and returned the salute +as the riders passed, two by two. Next began the scene of beautiful +horsemanship, pure and simple, winding up with the Virginia reel, done +by the riders on horseback, as the band played the old reel, "Billy in +the Low Grounds." +</P> + +<P> +Then came the last feature of all; the ride formed again, and, suddenly +quickening their pace to a full gallop, started upon the circuit of the +hall. They swept around the circle at a sharp gallop, the clanking +spurs and rattling sabres keeping time to the roar of the music. Anita +was riding like a bird on the wing and Pretty Maid, who had behaved +with her usual grace and decorum, opening and shutting her stride like +a machine. Just as she got in front of the C. O.'s box the mare +suddenly lost her head. She hesitated, bringing her four feet together +in a way that would have thrown over her head a rider less expert than +Anita. Behind her the line of riders was thrown into slight confusion +with the unexpected halt. +</P> + +<P> +The movements of animals are so much quicker than those of men that the +eye can scarcely follow them. One instant Anita was in her saddle; the +next Pretty Maid stopped, crouched, gave a wild spring, fell prone on +her knees, and rolled over, struggling violently. Anita, half thrown +and half slipped from her saddle, was on the tanbark, directly in front +of Gamechick. +</P> + +<P> +She straightened out her slim figure full length, and closed her eyes. +Broussard's horse was then not six feet away from her and coming on as +if the trumpeters were sounding the charge. +</P> + +<P> +A great groan rose from the floor and the galleries; the band played on +wildly, losing its perfect tempo and each musician playing for himself, +but still playing as a band should play on in terrible crises. The +line of riders was sharply checked, the perfectly trained horses coming +to a dead stop within ten seconds. In the C. O.'s box the chaplain was +on his feet, his hands clasped in silent supplication; Mrs. Fortescue, +braver than a brave soldier, put her arm about her husband's neck, as +Colonel Fortescue swayed about in his seat like a drunken man. Amid +the blare of the band and the riders and chargers almost upon the +struggling horse and motionless girl, lying on the tanbark, Broussard, +coolly, as if he were on the parade ground, lifted Gamechick by the +bridle, gave him a touch of the spur, and the next moment cleared both +mare and girl, with twenty inches between Gamechick's iron-shod hind +hoofs and Anita's beautiful blonde head. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-054"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-054.jpg" ALT="Broussard, lifted Gamechick by the bridle and the next moment cleared both mare and girl." BORDER="2" WIDTH="409" HEIGHT="601"> +<H4> +[Illustration: Broussard, lifted Gamechick by the bridle <BR> +and the next moment cleared both mare and girl.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +It had all passed in twenty seconds by the clock, but to those who +watched it seemed a long hour of agony. The moment the leap was made, +Anita sprang to her feet and Broussard was on the tanbark. Wild +cheering almost drowned the crash of the band; some of the women were +weeping and others laughing hysterically, the men cheering like madmen. +Broussard smilingly picked up Anita's cavalry cap, which had fallen on +the tanbark, brushed it and put it on Anita's pretty head; some words, +unheard by others, passed between them. The mare then lay perfectly +quiet. Broussard, amid the roar of cheers and shouts and furious +handclapping and music, got the mare on her feet. She stood trembling, +frightened and ashamed; Anita patted her neck gently and rubbed her +nose reassuringly. Then Broussard, taking the girl's slender waist +between his hands, swung her into her saddle, himself mounted, and, the +riders falling in behind, it was as if Tragedy had not showed her awful +visage for one fearful moment. +</P> + +<P> +All the cheering and clapping and weeping and laughing and shouting +that had gone before were nothing to what followed after, while the +band played "For He Is a Jolly Good Fellow," and everybody who could +sing, or thought he could sing, joined in the refrain. Colonel +Fortescue, whiter than death, sat straight up in his place. Mrs. +Fortescue whispered in his ear: +</P> + +<P> +"Be brave,—brave as you were in battle." +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue had been in battle, but the screaming shells and +crash of machine guns brought with them no such wild and shivering +terror as when he saw Gamechick's forefeet in the air over Anita, lying +on the tanbark. +</P> + +<P> +The procession passed once more around the hall, Anita's face flushed +and smiling, Broussard outwardly calm, but the red blood showing under +his dark skin. When they reached the entrance doors and were about to +ride out Sergeant McGillicuddy stopped Broussard with a word. The +audience, watching and smiling, knew what would happen and all eyes +were fixed on the C. O.'s. box. In a minute Broussard, with his +cavalry cap in his hand, was seen mounting the stairs; Colonel +Fortescue rose and clasped Broussard's hand, while Mrs. Fortescue +frankly kissed him on both cheeks. The band broke loose again and so +did the people. Although Fort Blizzard was a great fort it was so far +away in the frozen northwest that those within its walls constituted +one vast family. Anita was known to all of them, officers and ladies, +troopers and troopers' wives and children, and the company washerwomen, +and the regimental blacksmiths; they felt as if Broussard had saved the +life of a child of their own. +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue was a soldier and recovered himself and walked +bravely with Mrs. Fortescue in the moonlight to their quarters, +Broussard and Anita riding ahead as if nothing had happened, when +everything had happened. At the door Broussard left Anita; both had to +dress for the ball. +</P> + +<P> +In the office, his City of Refuge, Colonel Fortescue sat in his chair +and trembled like a leaf. Mrs. Fortescue, with tender words and soft +caresses, comforted him. +</P> + +<P> +"Stay with me, dear wife," he said, "I tell you as truly as if I were +this moment facing a firing squad that I never knew what fear was until +this night, and yet I thought I knew it and could feel my heart +quivering as I cheered my men to the charge. Betty, I love our child +too much, too much!" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Mrs. Fortescue, kissing his cheek, "you don't love her half +as much as you love me. Suppose I had been there in our child's place." +</P> + +<P> +The Colonel put his arm over his face. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't, Betty—I can't bear it," he cried. +</P> + +<P> +"But you must bear it; you must go to the ball in twenty minutes." +</P> + +<P> +The Colonel, with bewildered eyes, looked at her as if to ask what were +balls, and where? +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue said no more. Presently they heard Anita's light step +on the stairs. She flitted into the office and looked, in her ball +gown of shimmering white, as pure and sweet as one of her white doves. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm ready for the ball, dad," she said, smiling and kissing the +Colonel and her mother, "I am a soldier's daughter, and I can't let a +little thing keep me from my duty—which is, to go to the ball." +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue caught her in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +"What a spirit!" he cried brokenly, "You have the making of ten +soldiers in you, my daughter, my little daughter!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue rose and drew her beautiful evening cloak around her. +Colonel Fortescue noticed for the first time how pale she was, but +there was a smile on her lips and the fine light of courage in her eye; +it was partly from her that Anita inherited her brave spirit. +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue rose, too; he could not be less brave than his wife +and daughter. Anita kissed him tenderly; a soft-hearted deserter +always takes an affectionate leave of his comrades when he is about to +desert. +</P> + +<P> +At the ball Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue were composed, smiling, +graceful; Anita was less shy, more laughing than usual. When Broussard +entered the ball-room he was greeted with a great roar of applause, and +when he danced the first dance with Anita once more there was applause +and something in the eyes of the smiling, handclapping crowd that +brought the ever-ready color into Anita's delicately lovely face. It +was a beautiful ball, as all military balls are, and lasted late. When +the C. O. and Mrs. Fortescue and Anita got home it was Christmas +morning, and the stars that led the Magi to the crib at Bethlehem were +shining gloriously in the blue-black sky. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +At daybreak began the hullabaloo which attends Christmas morning in a +house where there is an adored child, and only one. The After-Clap, +with the preternatural knowledge claimed for him by Kettle, knew that +it was Christmas morning and a day of riot and license for him. +</P> + +<P> +At an early hour he began to storm the earth and stun the air. There +was a Christmas tree for him and for the eight McGillicuddies, and the +day was so full that Mrs. Fortescue found it hard to get time in which +to give Kettle the necessary wigging for taking the baby from his bed +and carrying him out of doors at eight o'clock in the evening because +he waked up and said "Horsey." In vain Kettle pleaded "fo' Gord—" +always a forerunner of a tarradiddle—that he "didn't have no notion on +the blessed yearth as Miss Betty would mind," and also wept copiously +when Mrs. Fortescue frankly told him that he was a tarradiddler, and +made, for the hundredth time, a very awful threat to Kettle. +</P> + +<P> +"But I can tell you this much," she said, with great severity, "that if +you keep on doing everything the baby tells you to do, I will buy you a +ticket back to Virginia and send you home. Do you understand me?" +</P> + +<P> +At this, a smile rivalling a rainbow suddenly overspread Kettle's face +and his mouth came open like an alligator's. +</P> + +<P> +"Lord, yes, I understand you, Miss Betty," Kettle replied, with a +chuckle. "I knows when you is bullyraggin' me an' say you is goin' to +sen' me back to Virginia, you is jes' jokin'. You done tole me that +too oftin, Miss Betty, an' you ain't never give me no ticket yet, an' +'tain't nothin' but a sign you is comin' roun', Miss Betty." +</P> + +<P> +Kettle's grin was so seductive and his reasoning so correct that Mrs. +Fortescue suddenly laughed, too; there was no way short of putting +Kettle in handcuffs and leg-irons to keep him from obeying the +After-Clap, whose orders were <I>orders</I> to Kettle. +</P> + +<P> +In the afternoon Colonel Fortescue, sitting in his office, from which +not even Christmas Day exempted him, saw, a long way off, down by the +non-coms' quarters, a pitiful sight. Mrs. McGillicuddy had carried out +her menace to put a buggy in the Sergeant's Christmas stocking. The +buggy was at the Sergeant's door, and in it sat Mrs. McGillicuddy, +elaborately dressed, a picture hat and feathers on her carefully +frizzed hair and her voluminous draperies nearly swamping the little +Sergeant cowering in the corner of the buggy. To it was hitched the +milkman's mare, which was about as big as a large rabbit and owned up +to twenty-three years of age and the name of Dot. The equipage passed +out of sight but in an hour was seen returning. Mrs. McGillicuddy sat +majestically upright in the buggy, while the Sergeant bestrode the +peaceful and amiable Dot. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-061"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-061.jpg" ALT="Mrs. McGillicuddy sat majestically upright in the buggy while the Sergeant bestrode the peaceful and amiable Dot." BORDER="2" WIDTH="401" HEIGHT="484"> +<H4> +[Illustration: Mrs. McGillicuddy sat majestically upright in the buggy<BR> +while the Sergeant bestrode the peaceful and amiable Dot.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +Presently the Sergeant, looking much wilted and depressed, entered the +Colonel's office. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you enjoy your drive in the new buggy, Sergeant?" asked the +Colonel. +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir," replied the Sergeant, earnestly, "this has been a awful +Christmas day to me. I didn't think as Missis McGillicuddy would play +me such a low trick as to give me the buggy and then make me ride in +it. She said as the milkman told her he had owned the mare fir +thirteen years, and she wasn't young when he bought her; but I reminded +her as thirteen was a unlucky number. But Missis McGillicuddy acted +heartless and give orders as I was to mount that buggy. I pleadid with +her, sir, not to risk my life, for the sake of the eight children, even +if she didn't have no love or affection for me. I reminded her as +she'd stand a divil of a chanst of gettin' married again, havin' all +them eight children. I told her the aviation orficer had promised to +take me flyin' with him to-morrow mornin', and if I lost my life in a +wheeled vehicle there'd be no more flyin' fir me because I don't look +to be a angel immediate I get into the next world. All she says to me +was, like she was a Sergeant Major and I was a recruity, 'You get into +this buggy, Patrick McGillicuddy.' So, as orders is orders, sir, I got +in, and I stayed in until my fears of that horse's hind feet right +under nay nose got the better of my duty to Missis McGillicuddy, as my +superior orficer. I begun to feel hollow inside, like a man feels when +he's ordered into action and the artillery is ploughing up the ground +with shells. Then, sir, I mutinied. I jumped out of that damned +buggy—excuse me, sir—and I got on the back of the mare and felt jist +as safe as if I was riding old Corporal, the horse we gives the +recruits to ride. I've escaped the dangers of that buggy and there +won't be no vacancy in my grade yet awhile from ridin' in wheeled +vehicles. An I'm goin' flyin' tomorrow in a nice safe aeroplane that's +got a man hitched to it and not a horse. This ain't been no merry +Christmas to me, sir. And if Missis McGillicuddy holds a reg'lar court +of inquiry on me, as she does seven nights in the week, I'm a' goin' to +stand on my rights and swear by the Jumpin' Moses I'll never set foot +again in that damned, infernal, hellish buggy, sir,—excuse me, sir." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE HEART OF A MAID +</H3> + + +<P> +When the wild and throbbing excitement of the evening was over, the +fear, the horror, the joy, the triumph, the exulting exhilaration, +Broussard, smoking his last cigar at one o'clock in the morning, felt a +little ashamed of himself. After all, Anita was little more than a +child, being but seventeen, and it was hardly fair to her that he +should try to chain her young feet and blindfold her young eyes before +she had seen the great moving picture of the world. Broussard did not +in the least remember what he said to Anita when he was putting her cap +on her head, nor even the words in which she had replied; he only knew +that they were burning words that came from the heart and spoke through +the eyes as well as the tongue. But a man was not always master of +himself. Broussard had a good many plausible excuses to urge for +himself, and was always a good barker for Victor Broussard, and Anita +was so charming, she had so much more sense than the average +seventeen-year-old fledgling, she was so obviously more developed +mentally and emotionally for her age, she had grown up in an atmosphere +of tenderness and happiness, for everybody knew that the Colonel and +Mrs. Fortescue were still like lovers, after twenty years of married +life. Broussard fell into a delicious reverie that lasted until he +heard the clang of the changing sentries at two o'clock in the morning. +</P> + +<P> +The Christmas gaieties went on for a fortnight, including another big +ball given by the officers. Colonel Fortescue brought upon himself +many maledictions from the junior officers by the way in which he +regulated these balls. The Colonel was neither bashful nor backward +with his young officers, and he liked them to dance, bearing in mind +the saying of a great commander that a part of every soldier's +equipment is gaiety of heart; but he was grimly particular about the +kind of dancing that took place at Fort Blizzard. Before every ball, +Colonel Fortescue's aide, Conway, a serious young lieutenant, delivered +the Colonel's orders that there was to be no tangoing or +turkey-trotting or chicken-reeling or "Here Comes My Daddy" business in +that ball-room. Moreover, Neroda, the bandmaster, had orders if any of +these dances, abhorred of the Colonel's heart, were started the music +was to stop immediately. Colonel Fortescue himself, by way of setting +an example, would do a sedate waltz with some matron of the post, or +select a rosebud girl for a solemn set of lancers quadrilles. Mrs. +Fortescue still held the palm as the prettiest waltzer at the post, +none the less gay for being dignified. However, the young people, +except Anita, revenged themselves on the C. O. by doing, in their own +drawing-rooms, all the prohibited dances. With Anita, nothing could +have induced her to do anything forbidden by the beloved of her +heart—a trait not without its dangers. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard was treated as a hero by everybody at the post and enjoyed it +extremely, in spite of his deprecation of all praise and declaring that +Gamechick was the real hero. +</P> + +<P> +Among the festivities was a big dinner given at the C. O.'s fine +quarters to the officers of high rank at the fort, and as a special +compliment Broussard was invited, the only bachelor officer except the +serious Conway, Colonel Fortescue's aide, who classified Anita with the +After-Clap in point of age. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard had met Anita and danced with her many times that fortnight +but, with native good taste, he avoided thrusting himself upon her. +She was so calm, so well poised, that Broussard concluded she had +forgotten all about the words spoken under the influence of the near +presence of love and death. In truth, Anita had forgotten nothing, but +had suddenly become a woman in those few days. Always Broussard had +wakened her girlish admiration by his charm of manner, his sly +impudence, his way of singing love songs; and her eyes followed him, +while she turned away from him. But she knew exactly what Broussard +had said to her while they stood on the tanbark and she blushed to +herself at the answer that came involuntarily to her lips. She knew no +more of actual love-making than the After-Clap, but she was an +inveterate reader of poetry and romance, and had not studied the poets +and romancists for nothing. Perhaps Broussard would say more to +her—at that thought a lovely light came into Anita's innocent eyes. +Perhaps he had forgotten everything. Then Anita's eyes were troubled. +The pride of maidenhood was born, as it should be, with love, and Anita +no longer ran to the window to see Broussard, but when he was present +he filled the room; when he spoke she heard no other voice than his. +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue had a theory which came amazingly true in his own +daughter. It was, that in high altitudes, with mountain ranges and +vast frozen rivers shutting out the rest of the world, the emotions +become preternaturally acute; that human beings grew more tragic or +more comic, according to their bent, and were closer to primeval men +and women than they knew. So it was at Fort Blizzard, standing grimly +watchful over the world of snow and ice and holding within its limits +all the struggle and striving and love, and laughter and dancing, and +the weeping and working and resting, and the hazards and the triumphs +of human life. On the aviation plain men daily played a fearful game +with destiny, the stakes being human lives, while the young officers, +when not flying toward the sun, were dancing every evening with the +dainty girls, in little muslin frocks that made them look like white +butterflies. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard, owing to a slight defect of vision, was not in the aviation +corps, but, like Sergeant McGillicuddy, he would fly whenever he had an +invitation from Lawrence, the gentleman-ranker with whom Broussard was +seen too often to please Colonel Fortescue. Lawrence had a pale, +fragile, handsome wife, like himself, of another class than the honest +soldiers and their buxom wives, and there was a little boy, Ronald, who +looked like a young prince—a beautiful boy, much noticed by all who +knew him. The soldiers forgot their grudge against Lawrence for what +they called his "uppish airs," and the soldiers' wives forewent their +objections to Mrs. Lawrence and her aloofness from them, when the boy, +Ronald, appeared. The officers, and their wives, too, had a kind word +for the little fellow, so handsome and well-mannered, and especially +was he a favorite with Broussard. It was, indeed, more than friendly +favor toward the child; Broussard was conscious of a strong affection +for the boy, about whom there was something mysteriously appealing to +Broussard, an expression in the frank young eyes, a soft beauty in the +boy's smile, that reminded Broussard of something loved and lost, but +he knew not what it was nor whence it came. Anita, although knowing +nothing of the gentleman-ranker and his wife and the handsome boy +except that, obviously, they were unlike their neighbors and fellows in +the married men's quarters, yet always observed them with curiosity. +Their unlikeness to their station in life was of itself a mystery, and +consequently of interest. Mrs. Fortescue, the soul of kindness to the +soldiers' wives and children, could make nothing of Mrs. Lawrence, who +withdrew into herself at Mrs. Fortescue's approach, and Mrs. Fortescue, +seeing that Mrs. Lawrence wished to hold aloof, respected her wishes, +and from sheer pity left her alone. Mrs. McGillicuddy was not so +considerate, and told thrilling tales of rebuffs administered by Mrs. +Lawrence to corporals' wives, and even sergeants' wives who were +willing to notice her and get snubbed for their good intentions. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Broussard is the only man Mrs. Lawrence gives a decent word to," +said Mrs. McGillicuddy in Anita's hearing, "When she meets him +anywhere, walkin' about, she stops and smiles and talks to him as if +she was the Colonel's lady—that she does, the minx! And she +pretending to be so meek and mild and not looking at any man, except +that good-for-nothing, handsome husband of hers! Just watch her, +stoppin' in the post trader's to talk with Mr. Broussard, she so +haughty-like, and carryin' her own bundles home, like she was doin' +herself a favor!" +</P> + +<P> +This sank deep into Anita's mind, as did every word referring to +Broussard. But she could make nothing of it; and Mrs. Lawrence, the +soldier's wife, became at once an object of interest, of mystery, +almost of jealousy, to Anita. The little boy she noticed, as did all +who saw him, and like everybody else, she was won by him. +</P> + +<P> +The morning of the great dinner at the Fortescues', Neroda, the Italian +band-master, came to give Anita her violin lesson. Mrs. Fortescue, +listening and delighted with Anita's progress, came in to the +drawing-room as Neroda was shouting bravos in rapture over the way his +best pupil caught the soul of music in her delicate hands and made it +prisoner. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-morning, Mr. Neroda," said Mrs. Fortescue in her pretty and +affable manner—Mrs. Fortescue would have been affable with an ogre—"I +must ask you to come this evening and play my daughter's +accompaniments. We are having a large dinner and I should like Anita +to play for us after dinner." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly, madam," answered Neroda, who, like everybody else, was +anxious to do Mrs. Fortescue's smiling bidding, "I am proud of the +signorina's playing." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Broussard is coming to the dinner," continued Mrs. Fortescue after +a moment. "He sings so charmingly. It would be delightful to have him +sing and Anita to play a violin obligato." +</P> + +<P> +"Admirable! Admirable!" cried Neroda, "Mr. Broussard has a superb +voice—much too good for an amateur." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue laughed; Broussard's beautiful voice was one of the +Colonel's grave objections to him. Anita remained silent, but Mrs. +Fortescue noticed the happy smile on her lips, as she picked a little +air upon the strings; she longed to show off her accomplishments before +Broussard and to accompany his singing seemed a little incursion into +Paradise. +</P> + +<P> +It was arranged that Neroda should come at half-past nine and have the +violin tuned. Anita, dropping the violin, found a book of songs, some +of which she had heard Broussard sing. +</P> + +<P> +"Come," she cried eagerly, "I must play these obligatos over. You will +sing the songs." +</P> + +<P> +Neroda sat down once more to the piano and played and sang in a queer, +cracked voice, the songs, while Anita, her soul in her eyes and all her +heart and strength in her bow arm, played the violin part. She did it +beautifully, and Mrs. Fortescue kissed the girl's glowing cheek when +the music was through. Kettle, who was himself a fiddler, at that +moment poked his head in at the door. He had a fellow artist's +jealousy of Neroda but he was forced by his artistic conscience to say: +</P> + +<P> +"Lord, Miss 'Nita, you cert'ny kin make a fiddle talk!" +</P> + +<P> +It was noon before the lesson was over and Neroda left. Anita, +exultant in the thought of playing to Broussard's singing, could not +remain indoors, but putting on her long, dark fur coat and her pretty +fur cap, which accentuated her delicate beauty, went out for a walk +alone. +</P> + +<P> +Beyond the limits of the great post, was a long, straight promenade, +bordered with stately young fir trees, and as it led to nowhere, was in +general a solitary place. It was here that Anita loved to walk alone. +The only objection to the place was that it gave upon the aviation +field—a place abhorred by all the women at the fort, from the +Colonel's lady down to the company laundresses. Anita always turned +her face away from the aviation field when she was walking under the +pine trees. +</P> + +<P> +The short way to the walk led by the big red brick barracks of the +married soldiers. Anita knew many of these soldiers' wives, honest and +hard-working women, doing their duty as if they were themselves +soldiers. As Anita passed along many of them, standing in their +doorways or carrying laundry baskets along the street, gave her a +kindly greeting. In one doorway stood Mrs. Lawrence, tall, young, +darkly beautiful, and looking as if she might have been a C. O.'s +daughter instead of being a private soldier's wife. Mrs. Lawrence was +so at odds with her surroundings that Anita, unconsciously, looked +questioningly at her. She stood, shading her eyes from the glare of +the snow and the sun, gazing anxiously toward the aviation field. It +was a flying day, and the hearts of the women at Fort Blizzard had no +rest or peace on those days. Anita could not but see that Mrs. +Lawrence's hands, browned and hardened with work, were small and +delicately formed, and, that the poise of the head, the fine contours, +were not those of a woman bred to toil. +</P> + +<P> +It was not quite time for the ascent and the officers were not yet on +the field, although there were a dozen or two soldiers and civilian +employes standing about the sheds in the middle of the plain, and +working with the huge machines, dragged from their shelter. Afar off, +the voices of the soldiers, singing a service song, were borne upon the +crystal clear air. +</P> + +<P> +They were trolling out the song as if there were no more risks in +aviation than in tennis. +</P> + +<P> +We don't know what we're here for,<BR> +We don't know why we're sent,<BR> +But we've brought a few unlimbered guns<BR> +By way of com-pli-ment.<BR> +</P> + +<P> +Anita walked quickly out of the entrance, keeping her eyes well away +from the flying field. It was a good half mile along the fir tree +walk, and Anita made it twice. The music was throbbing still in her +veins and the thought of playing to Broussard's singing had in it an +intoxication for her innocent heart. She heard the whirring and +clapping of the great aircraft above her head as they flitted across +the face of the sun, but Anita would not look; she hated aircraft and +wished they had never been invented. But she was forced to look when +she heard cries and shouts, as one of the great machines began to reel +about wildly in the air, when it was only twenty feet from the earth, +and then came down, with a crash, upon the snow. She saw Broussard +standing on the ground, he was in uniform, with his heavy cavalry +overcoat around him, and he was working with the men to drag the +aviator from the machine. They got him out, and putting him on a +stretcher, began to run with their burden toward the hospital. Anita +turned her eyes away. She did not see Mrs. Lawrence run out of the +entrance toward the field, her head bare in the icy cold, and no cloak +around her delicate shoulders. Broussard turned to meet her, and +taking off his cavalry overcoat, put it around the shivering woman, and +half led and half carried her as they followed the stretcher. Then +Anita knew it was Lawrence who was hurt. +</P> + +<P> +Within the entrance there was an excited group of soldiers' wives. +Some said that Lawrence was only slightly hurt; others that every bone +in his body was broken. The chaplain, passing along, reassured them. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing but a few bruises and scratches," he said. "I asked the +surgeon if I was needed and he told me there was nothing doing in my +line; I am going to the hospital though, to see the man's wife—it is +Mrs. Lawrence. Good afternoon, Anita. Now don't let this trifling +accident break your little heart. It's nothing, I tell you." +</P> + +<P> +Anita passed on, her face pale in spite of the chaplain's words. The +picture of Broussard folding his cape around Mrs. Lawrence's shoulders +was strangely photographed upon her mind. She wished she had not seen +it. +</P> + +<P> +Whenever there was an accident, however small, on the aviation field +the whole post was anxious and quivering. Colonel Fortescue and Anita +were both silent and preoccupied at luncheon, and Mrs. Fortescue, who +never lost her brave cheerfulness, tried to interest them in the dinner +that was to be given that evening, and Anita's music, but without much +success. +</P> + +<P> +"I declare, Jack," cried Mrs. Fortescue, "if I only knew the aviation +days in advance I would never arrange a dinner on one of those days. +You are as solemn as a mute at a funeral, and Anita always looks like a +ghost when she has been out to the aviation field. For my part, I do +not allow myself to see the aviation field nor even to think about it." +</P> + +<P> +"But you say a great many prayers on aviation days," replied Colonel +Fortescue, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue admitted this, but reminded her husband that she +believed in keeping a stiff spirit. +</P> + +<P> +"The man Lawrence is not much hurt," said Colonel Fortescue. "He +wanted to be taken to his quarters where his wife could nurse him, and +the surgeon allowed it, after dressing his cuts and bruises." +</P> + +<P> +Anita still looked so grave that Colonel Fortescue said to her: +</P> + +<P> +"How about a ride this afternoon, Anita? We can get back in time for +you to dress for the dinner." +</P> + +<P> +"Do go, Anita," urged Mrs. Fortescue plaintively, "it is such a relief +to have your father out of the house when I am arranging for a dinner +of twenty-four." +</P> + +<P> +It was one of the great treats of Anita's simple life to ride with her +father and the proposition brought a smile, at last, into her serious +face. +</P> + +<P> +"At four, then," said the Colonel, rising to return to the headquarters +building, while Anita ran to get his cap, and Mrs. Fortescue fastened +his military cape around him, and his gloves were brought by the +After-Clap, who had been drilled in this duty. The Colonel was well +coddled, and liked it. +</P> + +<P> +Anita practised on her violin nearly the whole afternoon, and, not +satisfied with that, sent a message to Neroda asking him to come at six +o'clock, when she would have returned from her ride, and rehearse with +her once more the obligatos she was to play to Broussard's singing. +</P> + +<P> +Anita's spirits rose as she rode by her father's side in the biting +cold of the wintry afternoon. They both loved these rides together and +the long talks they had then. The time was, when Colonel Fortescue +felt that he knew every thought in Anita's mind, but not so any longer. +He began to speak of Broussard, to try and search Anita's mind on that +subject, but Anita remained absolutely silent. The Colonel's heart +sank; Anita was certainly growing up, and had secrets of her own. +</P> + +<P> +It was quite dark when the Colonel and Anita cantered through the lower +entrance, the short way to the C. O.'s house. One door alone was open +in the long row of red brick barracks. The electric light in the +passageway fell full upon the figures of Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence as +the woman impulsively put her hand on Broussard's shoulder; he gently +removed it and walked quickly out of the door. Under the glare of a +street lamp he came face to face with Colonel Fortescue. +</P> + +<P> +An officer visiting the wife of a private soldier is not a thing to be +excused by a strict Colonel, and Colonel Fortescue was very strict, and +had Argus eyes in the bargain. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard saluted the Colonel and bowed to Anita and passed on. The +Colonel returned the salute but Anita was too startled to acknowledge +the bow. When they reached the Commandant's house and Colonel +Fortescue swung Anita from her saddle she walked into the house slowly, +her eyes fixed on the ground. At the door the After-Clap met her with +a shout, but instead of a romp with his grown-up playmate, he received +only an absent-minded kiss. Almost at the same moment Neroda walked +into the hall. +</P> + +<P> +"Here I am, Signorina," he said, "ready for the practice. Mr. +Broussard sings too well for you to do less than play divinely." +</P> + +<P> +Anita, taking off her gloves and veil, went, unsmilingly, into the +drawing-room, Neroda following her, and putting up the top of the grand +piano. +</P> + +<P> +It was Neroda's rule that Anita should tune her own violin. Usually +she did it with beautiful accuracy, but on this evening it was utterly +inharmonious. As she drew her bow across the strings Neroda jumped as +if he were shot. +</P> + +<P> +"Great God! Signorina," he shouted, "every string is swearing at the +G-string! The spirit of music will not come to you to-night unless you +tune your violin better." +</P> + +<P> +Anita stopped and laid down her bow, and once more holding the violin +to her ear, began tuning it. That time the tuning was so bad that she +handed the violin to Neroda. +</P> + +<P> +"You must tune it for me, Maestro," she said, with a wan smile. "The +spirit of music seems far away to-night." +</P> + +<P> +Neroda, in a minute, handed her back the instrument in perfect tune. +Anita, testing the strings, her bow wandered into the soft heart-moving +music of Mascagni's Intermezzo. Neroda said nothing, but watched his +favorite pupil. Usually she took up her violin with a calm confidence, +like a young Amazon taking up her well-strung bow for battle, because +the violin must be subdued; it must be made to obey; it must feel the +master hand before it will speak. But to-night the master hand failed +Anita, and she played fitfully and sadly and could do nothing as Neroda +directed her. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we give up the rehearsal?" asked Neroda presently, seeing that +Anita was not concentrated and that her bow arm showed strange weakness. +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied Anita, with a new courage in her violet eyes, "Let us +rehearse for the whole hour." +</P> + +<P> +If Neroda had been puzzled at Anita's inability he was now surprised at +her strength. She stood up to her full height and the bow was firm in +her grasp. Neroda was a hard master, but Anita succeeded in pleasing +him. Even Kettle, who had an artistic rivalry with Neroda, passing the +drawing-room door, cried: +</P> + +<P> +"Lord, Miss 'Nita, you kin play the fiddle mos' as well as I kin." +</P> + +<P> +As Mrs. Fortescue was putting the last touches to her toilette before +the long mirror in her own room, Colonel Fortescue came in, dressed to +go down-stairs. The Colonel's mind had been working on the problems of +Broussard's visit to Mrs. Lawrence, and the look he had noticed for +some time past in Anita's eyes when Broussard was present, or even when +his name was mentioned. +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid, Betty," said the Colonel, "that Anita thinks too much and +too often of Broussard. And in spite of that trick of horsemanship +there are some things a trifle unsatisfactory about him." +</P> + +<P> +"Really, Jack," answered Mrs. Fortescue, "you take Anita's moods far +too seriously. The girl will have her little affairs as other girls +have theirs. It's like measles and chicken-pox and other infantile +diseases." +</P> + +<P> +"Not for Anita," said Colonel Fortescue, "that child has in her tragic +possibilities. Her heart is brittle, depend upon it." +</P> + +<P> +"So are all hearts," replied Mrs. Fortescue, "but you are so +ridiculously sentimental and lackadaisical about Anita!" +</P> + +<P> +"She is my one ewe lamb," said the Colonel. +</P> + +<P> +Then they went down-stairs together, and the next minute Anita +appeared, wearing a gown of white and silver, with a delicious little +train, which she managed as well as a seventeen-year-old could manage a +train. +</P> + +<P> +In a minute or two the guests began arriving. They were handsome, +middle-aged officers and dignified matrons. Broussard was the only +young man present, which was understood as a special compliment to him, +and Anita was the only young girl in the company. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard greeted the Colonel as coolly as if that unlucky meeting just +outside of Lawrence's quarters had not occurred two hours before. And +Broussard was a captivating, fellow—this the Colonel admitted to +himself, with an inward groan, watching Broussard's graceful figure, +his dashing manner, all these externals that dazzle women. The Colonel +also saw the color that flooded Anita's face when she took Broussard's +arm to lead her in to dinner. At the table, though, Broussard found +Anita strangely unlike the Anita he had been steadily falling in love +with since he first saw her, three months before, when Colonel +Fortescue took command at Fort Blizzard. She was no longer the dreamy, +mysterious child, who knew all the stories of the poets, whose +affections were all passions, but a self-possessed young lady, who read +things in the newspapers about the European war and knew something +about aviation records, although she hated aviation. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard, with rage and chagrin in his heart, remembered that Anita +had probably seen him standing in the passage-way of Lawrence's +quarters, with Mrs. Lawrence's shapely hand on his shoulder. He +remained calm and smiling, nevertheless, and exerted to the utmost his +power to please. But Anita remained calm and smiling, and maddeningly +aloof. Broussard, inwardly cursing himself, made up his mind to have +it out with the Colonel the next day about the Lawrence affair. +</P> + +<P> +When dinner was over and the men had come in from the smoking-room, +Mrs. Fortescue asked Broussard if he would sing; Neroda was already +there to play his accompaniments and Anita, would play the violin +obligato. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard was not loth to show his accomplishments and he had a very +good will to try the magic of his voice upon Anita, gracious, and +obstinate and smiling. +</P> + +<P> +The guests, in a circle in the drawing-room, watched and listened to +the group at the piano—Neroda, short and swarthy, with a rancorous +voice; Anita, in her blonde beauty, looking like another St. Cecilia, +and Broussard, dark and handsome, like Faust, the tempter. +</P> + +<P> +With deep intent Broussard selected the most passionate of all his +passionate songs. It asked the old, old question, "I love thee; dost +thou love me?" Neroda struck into the accompaniment and Broussard's +voice, a tenor, with the strength and feeling of a baritone, took up +the song, while the music of Anita's violin delicately threaded the +harmonies, ever following and responding to Broussard's voice. All of +Anita's coldness vanished at the first strain of the music; Broussard's +voice penetrated her heart and inspired her hand. When the song was +over and she laid her violin down on the piano she was once more the +palpitating, shy enthusiast, the half-child, half-woman who had +captivated Broussard at the first glance. +</P> + +<P> +During the interludes between the songs it was plain they forgot all +except each other. They turned over songs and read the titles to each +other, Broussard sometimes singing, under his breath, the words. Then, +when he sang them in full voice he infused all the verve, the passion, +the feeling he knew so well how to command, and played upon Anita's +heart-strings with the hand of a master, as Anita played upon the +strings of her violin. The men and women, listening and charmed, +smiled at each other; evidently a love affair was on foot such as +everybody had expected since the night of the music ride. Colonel +Fortescue alone was grave, leaning back in his chair with sombre eyes +fixed on Broussard. He saw in Broussard a wild young officer who +needed a stern warning about a soldier's handsome wife; and, while +watching him, Colonel Fortescue was phrasing the very words in which he +meant to call Broussard to account the next day, for the Colonel was +not a man to postpone a disagreeable duty. It would be a very +disagreeable duty; the poignant memory of Anita lying on the tanbark +and Broussard having the skill to save her, still haunted Colonel +Fortescue's thoughts and came to him in troubled dreams. And +Anita—undoubtedly Broussard had impressed her imagination, and she was +a creature of such strong fibre that she must love and suffer more than +most human beings the Colonel knew, well enough. +</P> + +<P> +At last, the singing was over and the listeners came out of a waking +dream and complimented Anita and Broussard, and the pleasant chatter of +a drawing-room once more began. Presently there were leave-takings. +Broussard gave Anita's hand a sharp pressure, but she looked at him +calmly, all her coldness resumed. Out in the winter night Broussard +cursed himself for falling in love with a child, who was an embodied +caprice and did not know her own mind—one hour thrilling him with her +gladness and her low voice and her violin, and the next, looking at him +as if he were a stock or a stone. But she was so precociously +charming! And that unlucky meeting with her and with the Colonel in +front of Lawrence's door, with Mrs. Lawrence putting her hand on his +shoulder. Broussard meant to go to the Colonel the very next day and +explain the whole business. The resolve enabled Broussard to sleep in +peace that night. +</P> + +<P> +It was noon the next day before Broussard had a chance to ask for an +interview with Colonel Fortescue. Meanwhile, the Colonel had been +finding out things. He looked up the records of Broussard and Lawrence +and found that they were both natives of the same little town in +Louisiana. That might account for their intimacy, although Lawrence +was fifteen years Broussard's senior. +</P> + +<P> +Just as the Colonel's orderly was crossing the hall of the headquarters +building he came face to face with Broussard, headed straight for +Colonel Fortescue's office. The orderly had a message from the Colonel +for Mr. Broussard; the Colonel desired to see Mr. Broussard for a few +minutes. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard, like the Colonel, was not the man to shirk an unpleasant +five minutes, so he made straight for the Colonel's private office. In +spite of his courageous advance, Broussard felt very much as Sergeant +McGillicuddy described himself when in the abhorred buggy which Mrs. +McGillicuddy had given him as a Christmas gift, "Hollow inside." There +is something appalling to a subaltern in the kind of an interview which +Broussard felt was ahead of him. He knew in advance the very tone in +which Colonel Fortescue and all other Colonels prepare a wigging for a +junior. "It is my painful duty." The extreme politeness with which +this was accompanied was not reassuring. Then the Colonel, taking the +advice of old Horace, plunged into the middle of things. +</P> + +<P> +"I was very much surprised," said Colonel Fortescue, fixing his clear +gaze on Broussard, "when, yesterday evening, after dark, I saw you +standing in the passage-way to the home of an enlisted man, and +evidently upon familiar terms with the man's wife." +</P> + +<P> +"I was on my way to you, sir, just now, to explain that occurrence when +I received your order," replied Broussard promptly. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be glad to have it satisfactorily explained," said the C. O. +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue had the eye of command, that secure power in his +glance which is possessed by all the masters of men; the look that can +wring the truth out of a man's mouth even if that man be a liar, and +can see through the eyes of a man into his soul. This look of command +suddenly flashed into Colonel Fortescue's face, and gazing into the +clear eyes of Broussard saw honor and truth and candor there as +Broussard spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"The man, Lawrence, as you may know, sir, is a gentleman in origin and +socially above most of the good fellows in the ranks." +</P> + +<P> +"And these men sometimes make trouble," interrupted the Colonel. +</P> + +<P> +"He came from the same place that I do and tells me he knew my +mother—God bless her—and that she was very kind to him in his +boyhood. That was before I was born. He knows a surprising deal about +my parents, both of whom died when I was a boy. Sometimes I have +doubted whether all he told me was true, but invariably it tallies with +my own childish recollections and what I have been told of my mother. +Lawrence has a passionate attachment to my mother's memory. He knows +her birthday, and the day of her death, and more even than I do about +her. The first word I had with him was on the anniversary of my +mother's death. He came to my quarters and asked to see me, told me of +my mother's goodness to him, and burst into tears before he got +through. Of course, that melted me—my mother was one of God's angels +on this earth. He is always in money troubles, and I helped him. That +brought me into contact with his wife—a woman of his own class, who +has stood by Lawrence, and is worthy, I think, to be classified with my +mother. If you could see the way that woman works for Lawrence and +their child—there's a little boy five years old,—and how she +struggles to keep him straight and sober. I had just done her a little +favor at the post trader's place, and went to her to explain it +privately. She was very grateful; you saw her put her hand on my +shoulder. The truth is, Mrs. Lawrence does not yet fully understand +her position as a private soldier's wife. What I have told you, sir, +is all, upon my honor." +</P> + +<P> +"I believe you," said Colonel Fortescue, after a moment, and holding +out his hand, which Broussard grasped with a feeling of vast relief. +</P> + +<P> +"The man seems to be doing pretty well, except about his money +troubles, of which I know nothing but what you tell me," went on the +Colonel. "He is one of the best aviators in the corps. Of course, his +name isn't Lawrence." +</P> + +<P> +"So he admitted to me," replied Broussard, "I am all abroad concerning +his knowledge of my family. I only know that he loves my mother's +memory, that he evidently knew her well, and that his wife is an heroic +woman. I have promised her that when the little boy is old enough I +will do a good part by him. I have something besides my pay." +</P> + +<P> +This "something" was of a size that made the Colonel think it was +rather a drawback to Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +"I only advise you to be prudent in your intercourse with Lawrence and +his wife," said the Colonel, rising. And the interview was over. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard went back with a light heart to his day's duties. The +Colonel knew the truth, and so, some day, would Anita, the little witch. +</P> + +<P> +It was growing dusk when Broussard again passed the headquarters +building. The last mail had come in and the published orders were +fastened on the bulletin board. Broussard stopped to read them. The +first name mentioned was that of Lieutenant Victor Broussard, who was +detached from his present duty at Fort Blizzard and ordered on special +duty to the Philippines. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +"GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART, GOOD-BYE" +</H3> + + +<P> +Broussard, after reading his orders, walked quickly to his quarters. +On the desk in his luxuriously furnished sitting-room was a letter from +the C. O. giving the order in detail from the War Department; Broussard +was to make the next steamer sailing from San Francisco. He went +through with a rapid mental calculation. To do that, he would be +obliged to leave Fort Blizzard not later than the next afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard took his orders with a soldier's coolness. He particularly +disliked them; he did not want to leave Fort Blizzard for any other +spot on the habitable globe, and least of all did he want to go to the +island possessions. But he said no word of complaint, took, with +perfect good humor, the condolences and chaff of his brother officers +at the mess dinner that night, and plunged into his preparations to +leave. +</P> + +<P> +The disposal of the expensive impedimenta which Broussard had +accumulated gave him much trouble. He did not value them greatly, and +without much thought determined to give his costly rugs and lamps and +glass and china to the Lawrences—they were originally used to that +sort of thing and Broussard was in no fear of the Colonel's +misunderstanding it, or any one else, for that matter, as it had been +well known that there was some tie or association between Broussard and +Lawrence in their childhood. +</P> + +<P> +The scattering of costly gifts by a very free-handed person is usually +most indiscreet, and Broussard was no exception to the rule. He +presented his finest motor to a brother officer, who had to support a +wife and children on a captain's pay and could not afford to support +the motor besides. The game chickens, the beloved of Broussard's +heart, he presented to another officer, whose wife objected seriously +to cock-fighting. The chaplain, seeing the grand piano was about to be +thrown away on anybody who could take it, managed to secure it for the +men's reading-room. The thing which perplexed Broussard most was, what +to do with Gamechick. He longed to give the horse to Anita but dared +not. However, fate befriended him in this matter and Anita got +Gamechick by other means. When Colonel Fortescue came home for the cup +of tea that Mrs. Fortescue was always waiting to give him at five +o'clock, with the sweet looks and tender words that made the hour so +happy, he mentioned, in an off-hand way, Broussard's orders and that he +was leaving the next day. Neither the father nor the mother looked +toward Anita, sitting a little in the shadow of the dim drawing-room. +Mrs. Fortescue, by way of making conversation, said: +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder what he will do with his motors and horses and game chickens, +and all those beautiful things he has in his quarters?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, that's easy enough to tell," answered Colonel Fortescue. "All +these young officers who load themselves up with that kind of thing act +just alike. As soon as they are ordered somewhere else they throw away +these things. They call it giving, but it is merely largesse." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish," said Anita, in a soft, composed voice, "that I could have +Gamechick. I can't help loving the horse that might have killed me and +did not. Daddy, if I give up half my allowance for every month until I +pay for him, would you buy him for me?" +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue was quite as well able as Broussard to own Gamechick, +but Anita had been brought up with a wholesome economy. +</P> + +<P> +"I think so, my dear," replied the Colonel, gravely. +</P> + +<P> +It would, in reality, have taken Anita's modest allowance for a couple +of years to buy Gamechick. Mrs. Fortescue said as much. +</P> + +<P> +"It would take all your allowance for a long time, Anita, to buy +Gamechick. The horse has a pedigree longer than mine, and I have often +noticed that ancestors are worth a great deal more to horses than to +human beings." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, the price can be managed," said the Colonel, good naturedly. +"Broussard's horses will probably be sold for a song." +</P> + +<P> +Gamechick was not sold for a song, however, but for an excellent price. +Colonel Fortescue was not the man to buy a good horse for a song of any +man, least of all one of his own subalterns. When Broussard got the +Colonel's note containing an offer for Gamechick, he laughed with +pleasure, although he was not in a laughing mood. +</P> + +<P> +"I should like to own the horse," the Colonel's note ran, "which, +together with your fine horsemanship, saved my daughter's life, and he +is well worth my offer." +</P> + +<P> +Broussard would have given all of his other possessions at Fort +Blizzard if he could have made Anita a gift of the horse, but the next +best thing to do was, to sell him to her father. Broussard felt sure +that Anita would ride Gamechick and there was much solid comfort in +that, for an officer's charger, which carries him in life and is led +behind his coffin in death, is near and dear to him. So, Broussard +lost not a moment in accepting the Colonel's offer for Gamechick. +</P> + +<P> +It was quite midnight before Broussard, with the assistance of his +soldier attendant, had got those of his belongings which he intended to +take with him sorted out and packed up. He dismissed the man and in +the midst of his disordered sitting-room settled himself for his last +cigar before turning in for the night. At that moment he heard a tap +at the door, and opening it, Lawrence was standing on the threshold. +He entered, taking off his cap and loosening his heavy uniform +greatcoat. Once he had been a handsome fellow, but he had danced too +long to the devil's fiddling, and that always spoils a man's looks. +</P> + +<P> +For the first time, Lawrence seemed to forget the distance between the +private soldier and the officer. He sat down heavily, without waiting +for an invitation, and turned a haggard face on Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +"So you are going," said Lawrence. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," replied Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard saw that Lawrence was oppressed at the thought, there would +be no more Broussard to help him pay the post trader's bills and to +give him a good word when he got into trouble with the non-coms. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard handed him a box of cigars and Lawrence absently took one. +It was a very expensive cigar, as Broussard's things were all +expensive. Lawrence, after rolling it in his fingers for a moment, +laid it down. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a shame not to be able to smoke such a brand as that," he said, +"but the truth is, I can't stand tobacco to-night. It makes me nervous +instead of soothing me." +</P> + +<P> +Broussard, lighting a cigar for himself, looked closely at Lawrence, +whose face was pallid and his eye sombre and uneasy. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the trouble? More bills at the post trader's?" asked Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +"Worse," replied Lawrence, becoming more agitated as he spoke. "My +wife—the best wife that ever lived—has been traced here by her +people. Of course, my name isn't Lawrence, and there was some trouble +in finding her. They want her to leave me, and offer to provide for +her and the boy. The work is killing her—you see how pale and thin +she is—and the boy hasn't the chance he ought to have. They are worth +more than a broken and beaten man like I am. But ever since I married +her I've led a fairly decent life—she is the one creature who can keep +me a little on this side of the jail. If she leaves me, I'm lost. +What shall I do?" +</P> + +<P> +Lawrence rose to his feet, and stood, trembling like a leaf. Broussard +rose, too. By some strange, psychic foreknowledge, Broussard knew that +some disclosure, poignant and even vital to himself, was then to be +made by Lawrence. It came in Lawrence's next words, dragged out of +him, as it were, by a force like that which drags the soul from the +body. +</P> + +<P> +"I ask you this," cried Lawrence, "in the name of our mother, for you +and I, Victor Broussard, are brothers of the half blood." +</P> + +<P> +By that time, Lawrence was weeping convulsively. Broussard's lighted +cigar dropped to the floor, and lay there smoldering. +</P> + +<P> +"But—but—" stammered Broussard, "my half-brother, my mother's son by +her first marriage, died when I was a boy. My mother wore mourning for +him." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," answered Lawrence, recovering himself a little, "she thought I +was dead when I was in double irons for mutiny on a merchant ship. It +was one of God's mercies that she thought me dead when I was living a +life that would have been worse than death to her. Look you, I have +disobeyed and defied and disgraced the God that made me, but I have +never ceased to believe in Him. And, blackguard that I was and am, I +had the best mother, and I have the best wife——" +</P> + +<P> +There was a tense silence for a minute. Through all the bewildering +and overwhelming thoughts that were crashing through Broussard's brain, +but one thing was clear and unshakable, the deathless loyalty that a +son owes to his mother. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," said Broussard, in a cool and resolute voice, "I'll stand +by my mother's son, for my mother's sake. I was always puzzled at your +knowledge of my parents, but I want some actual proof of what you say. +Not for myself, you understand, but for others." +</P> + +<P> +"Here it is," said Lawrence, taking a small, thin gold ring from his +little finger. "When my mother married your father, I was fourteen +years old. She gave me the wedding ring my father had given her; she +put it on my finger and it has never been removed since—but I will +take it off to show to you." +</P> + +<P> +Lawrence pulled the ring off and Broussard, under the glare of the +electric lamp, read the initials and the date he had seen in the family +record. Then, handing the ring back, Broussard studied Lawrence's +haggard face. Lawrence, answering the unspoken words, said: +</P> + +<P> +"I was always thought like my mother, and the boy is the image of her." +</P> + +<P> +A sudden illumination flooded Broussard's mind with light. He recalled +the child's face, frank and handsome—a face that had always appealed +to him so strongly, and so strangely. Yes, it was the call of the +blood, and instantly the mysterious attraction the boy had for him +developed into the affection of a kinsman. +</P> + +<P> +"If you could see my wife and talk with her," continued Lawrence, +recovering himself a little. "I can't urge her to leave me, but I +think in common justice to her somebody ought to put the thing before +her." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly," replied Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +He was turning things rapidly in his mind. It would never do, after +the Colonel's warning, to go to Lawrence's quarters, and he said so. +</P> + +<P> +"It would look as if I had called for a farewell visit to your wife, +when I haven't time to pay any calls except to the C. O.," said +Broussard, after a moment. "But I will see the Colonel in the morning +and try to arrange, through him, an interview with your wife." +</P> + +<P> +"But don't, for God's sake, tell who I am," cried Lawrence. "Don't +tell it, for the sake of our mother's memory. It isn't necessary." +</P> + +<P> +"No, it is not necessary," replied Broussard. He was full of brotherly +pity for Lawrence, his respect and sympathy for Mrs. Lawrence suddenly +changed into the love of a brother for a sister, and the little boy +became dear to him in the twinkling of an eye. +</P> + +<P> +A silence fell between the two men, which was broken by Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +"Couldn't you get a discharge from the army?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," answered Lawrence, "there are too many black marks against +me—not enough to turn me out, but enough to keep me in. However, I've +kept soberer and acted straighter since I've been an enlisted man than +for a long time past; the non-coms. know how to handle men like me. +And I'm a good aviator, and they want to keep me." +</P> + +<P> +"At all events," said Broussard, taking Lawrence's hand, "I'll look out +for your wife and child. The boy shall have his chance—he shall have +his chance, the jolly little chap!" +</P> + +<P> +Then, standing up, the two men embraced as brothers do, and felt their +mother's tender spirit hovering over them. +</P> + +<P> +The next morning, while Colonel Fortescue was at breakfast, a note was +handed to him by Broussard's soldier attendant. It read: +</P> + +<P> +"Last night I had a visit from Lawrence. He has a great affection for +his wife and child, and wanted me to talk with his wife about a family +matter in which he feels he can not advise her. Can you kindly suggest +some way by which I may have a private talk of a few minutes with Mrs. +Lawrence?" +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue scribbled on the back of the note: +</P> + +<P> +"Come to my office in my house at ten o'clock and I will have Mrs. +Lawrence here." +</P> + +<P> +Broussard felt a little chagrined when he received this note. Suppose +Anita should see him? She had already seen Mrs. Lawrence put her hand +on his shoulder. There was, however, no gainsaying the C. O., and at +ten o'clock Broussard rang the bell at the Commandant's house. +Sergeant McGillicuddy opened the door for him and showed him into the +little office across the hall, saying: +</P> + +<P> +"Them's the Colonel's orders, sir." +</P> + +<P> +At the same moment Mrs. Lawrence, pale, beautiful and stately, walked +in from the back entrance. As she and Broussard met in the sunny hall, +brimming with the morning light, Anita walked down the stairs and came +face to face with Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard's dark skin turned dull red; Mrs. Lawrence, calmly +unconscious, bowed to Anita, who, in her turn, bowed and passed on; her +head, usually with a graceful droop, was erect; she radiated silent +displeasure. Then Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence entered the office and +Broussard closed the door. He was full of discomfort and chagrin, but +it did not make him forgetful of the pale woman before him. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Lawrence sat down in a chair; it was plain that she was not +strong. Broussard, taking her hand, said to her affectionately: +</P> + +<P> +"Last night Lawrence told me all. Remember, after this, that you and +he have a brother, and the boy will be to me as a son." +</P> + +<P> +The slow tears gathered in Mrs. Lawrence's eyes and fell upon her thin +cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"My husband told me when he came home last night. I can't express what +I feel—but the boy shall remember you in his innocent prayer." +</P> + +<P> +"It's the boy I want to speak about," said Broussard, "Lawrence tells +me that you have a chance of going back to your own people and that you +are breaking down under the hard work of a soldier's wife. You can +never get used to it." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps not," replied Mrs. Lawrence, calmly, "especially as I was +brought up to have a French maid. But I don't intend to leave my +husband. I love him too well. Don't ask me why I love him so. I +couldn't explain it to you to save my life, but I will say that since +the day we were married—I ran away to marry him—he has never spoken +an unkind word to me. He had nothing to give me except his love, but +he has given me that. Whatever his faults may be as a soldier, he has +been a good husband to me." +</P> + +<P> +"A good husband!" +</P> + +<P> +Broussard involuntarily repeated the words, marvelling and admiring the +constancy, the self-delusion, the blind devotion of the woman before +him. +</P> + +<P> +"A loving husband, I should have said," said Mrs. Lawrence, a faint +color coming into her face, "But my resolution is made. What you said +about helping the boy only fixes it firmer, because it did seem as if +his only chance would be thrown away." +</P> + +<P> +The conversation had not lasted five minutes but Broussard saw that +five decades of persuasion would not move Mrs. Lawrence. Besides, he +had spoken to her from a profound sense of justice; in his heart, the +tie of blood between him and Lawrence made him wish that the wife +should continue to stand by the husband. +</P> + +<P> +They both rose, feeling that the matter was settled inevitably. +Broussard took from his breast pocket a roll of notes. +</P> + +<P> +"It is better for you than bank checks," he said; "when this is gone, +write to me and there will be more. Lawrence feels, as I do, that for +the sake of our mother's memory it would be better that his identity +should not be revealed." +</P> + +<P> +A vivid blush flooded Mrs. Lawrence's face. Her woman's pride was cut +to the quick and Broussard, seeing it, said quickly: +</P> + +<P> +"It was his suggestion, not mine." +</P> + +<P> +Then, taking Mrs. Lawrence's hand, Broussard gave her a brother's kiss, +which she returned as a sister might, and they passed out of the +office. In the hall Broussard left cards for Colonel and Mrs. +Fortescue and Anita. Kettle, having heard that Broussard was leaving, +came out of the dining-room, where he had been washing dishes, and +wiping his hands on his long checked gingham apron, offered a friendly +grasp to Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +"I ain' goin' ter let Miss 'Nita furgit you, suh," Kettle whispered, +"doan' you be skeered of Mr. Conway—he treat Miss 'Nita same like he +did when she wear her hair down her back." +</P> + +<P> +Broussard inwardly thought that perhaps Conway's plan was best. But he +gave Kettle a confidential wink and a bank note. +</P> + +<P> +"Some day I'll come back, Kettle, and then——" +</P> + +<P> +Broussard did not finish the sentence in his own mind. Anita had seen +just enough to prejudice a young, innocent girl against him. +</P> + +<P> +Outside the door, a trooper was holding Gamechick by the bridle, +delivering the horse to his new master. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-bye, good horse," said Broussard, patting Gamechick's neck. "You +did me the best turn any creature, man or beast, ever did me, and I +promise never to forget my obligations to you." +</P> + +<P> +Horses are sentimental creatures. Gamechick knew that Broussard's +words were a farewell. He turned his large, intelligent eyes on +Broussard, saying as plainly as a horse can speak: +</P> + +<P> +"Good-bye, good master. Never will I, your faithful horse, forget you." +</P> + +<P> +Broussard, walking rapidly off, in the bright January morning, turned +around for one last glimpse at the house that held Anita. At that +moment the great doors of the Commandant's house opened, and Anita, +with a long crimson cloak around her and a hood over her head, ran down +the broad stone steps to where Gamechick was standing like a bronze +horse, the best-trained and best-mannered and best-bred cavalry charger +at Fort Blizzard. Anita put her arm about his neck and rubbed her +cheek against his satin coat, Gamechick receiving her caresses with +dignity, as a cavalry charger should, and not with the tender bondings +and nosings for lumps of sugar, like Pretty Maid. The last glimpse +Broussard had of Anita was, as she stood, her arm about Gamechick's +neck, her crimson mantle falling away from her graceful shoulder. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-106"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-106.jpg" ALT="The last glimpse Broussard had of Anita was, as she +stood, her arm about Gamechick's neck." BORDER="2" WIDTH="402" HEIGHT="639"> +<H4> +[Illustration: The last glimpse Broussard had of Anita was, <BR> +as she stood, her arm about Gamechick's neck.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"How much simpler," thought Broussard, as he buttoned his heavy fur +coat, for the ride to the station, "is love for a horse, for a child, +for anything created, than love for a woman! No man gets out of that +business without complications, and when the woman is half a child, an +idealist, precocious, an angel with a devil lurking somewhere about +her, it's the most complicated thing on this planet!" +</P> + +<P> +Broussard carried these thoughts with him through the frozen Northwest, +across the sapphire seas, and into the jungles of the tropics, to which +he was destined. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +UNFORGETTING +</H3> + + +<P> +"As the passing of leaves, so is the passing of men." Thus it was with +Broussard. Another man came to take his place; his once luxurious +quarters, now plainly furnished, were occupied by another officer, his +fighting cocks had disappeared, and Gamechick became a lady's mount. +Anita quite gave over riding Pretty Maid, and rode Gamechick every day. +She had some of the superstitions of the Arabs about horses, and when +she dismounted, she always whispered something in the horse's ear. The +words were: +</P> + +<P> +"We won't forget him, Gamechick, although he has forgotten us." +</P> + +<P> +At this, Gamechick would turn his steady, intelligent eyes on her, and +nod, as if he understood every word. Colonel Fortescue and Mrs. +Fortescue noticed this little trick of Anita's and looked at each other +in silent pity for the girl. She suddenly developed amazing energy, +working hard at her violin lessons and delighting Neroda by her +progress, reading and studying until Mrs. Fortescue took the books away +from her, going to all the dances, doing everything that her young +companions did, and many things which they did not. She became the +chaplain's right hand for work among the soldiers' children, and from +daybreak until she went to bed at night Anita was ever employed at +something and throwing into that something wonderful force and +perseverance. One thing became immediately noticeable to Colonel and +Mrs. Fortescue; this was that Anita never spoke Broussard's name from +the hour he left Fort Blizzard. +</P> + +<P> +"It is only a girl's fancy; she will get over it," said Mrs. Fortescue +to the Colonel. +</P> + +<P> +"She would if she were like most girls, but I tell you, Betty, this +child of ours, this devoted, obedient little thing, has more mind, more +introspection, than any young creature I ever knew. There is the +making of a dozen tragedies in her." +</P> + +<P> +"It is you who are too introspective and too tragic about her," +answered Mrs. Fortescue, and the Colonel, recognizing the germ of truth +in his wife's words, remained silent for a moment. Then he said: +</P> + +<P> +"It's the sky and the snow and this altitude, and being shut in from +all the world that make everything so tense. On these far-off, +ice-bound plains, life is abnormally vivid. We are all keyed up too +high here." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue, seeing Anita reading often, and getting many books from +the post library, glanced at the literature that crowded the table in +Anita's sunny bed room. They were of two sorts—books of passionate +poetry and books about the Philippines, their geography, their history, +the story of the natives, "the silent, sullen peoples, half savage and +half child," tales of the creeping, crawling, stinging things that make +life hideous in the jungles, all these was Anita studying. Mrs. +Fortescue said nothing of this to the Colonel, but recalled that +Broussard was in the Philippines, and Anita's soul was there, although +her body was at Fort Blizzard. In a book of her own, Anita had written +her name, in the firm, clear hand that belonged to thirty rather than +to seventeen, and these words: +</P> + +<P> +"This I, who walk and talk and sleep and eat here, is not I. It is but +my body; my soul is with the Beloved." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue said nothing of this to the Colonel, but the trend of +Anita's reading was unexpectedly revealed at one of the stately and +handsome dinners that were given weekly at the Commandant's house +during the season. When the officers were in the smoking-room a +question of the geography of the Philippines came up, and was not +settled. Colonel Fortescue called for a book on the subject, which was +in Anita's room. Anita herself brought it, and hovered for a moment +behind her father's chair; the subject of the Philippines had a magic +power to hold her. +</P> + +<P> +Not even the book gave the desired information and Anita leaned over +and whispered into her father's ear: +</P> + +<P> +"Daddy, I can tell you about it." +</P> + +<P> +"Do," answered the Colonel, smiling, and turning to his guests, "This +young lady will interest us." +</P> + +<P> +Anita, whose air was shy and her violet eyes usually downcast, was the +least shy and the most courageous creature imaginable. She got a map, +and, spreading it out on the table, pointed out the true solution, and +produced books to explain it. The officers, all mature men, listened +with interest and amusement, complimenting Anita, and telling her she +ought to have an officer's commission. Colonel Fortescue beamed with +pride; no other girl at the post had as much solid information as Anita. +</P> + +<P> +When the guests were gone and Anita was lying wide awake in her little +white bed, thinking of Broussard, Colonel Fortescue, in the pride of +his heart, was telling Mrs. Fortescue about it, as he smoked his last +cigar in his office. +</P> + +<P> +"It was great!" said the Colonel. "The child knew her subject +wonderfully. She sat there, talking with men who had served in the +Philippines, and they said she knew as much as they did." +</P> + +<P> +"Broussard is in the Philippines," replied Mrs. Fortescue quietly. +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue dashed his cigar into the fireplace and remained +silent for five minutes. +</P> + +<P> +"At any rate," he said presently, "The child's love affair hasn't made +a fool of her. She is actually learning something from it. That's +where she is so far ahead of most young things of her age." +</P> + +<P> +"She will be eighteen next spring," said Mrs. Fortescue. +</P> + +<P> +The mention of Anita's age always made the Colonel cross; so nothing +more was said between the father and mother about Anita that night. +But the Colonel yearned over the beloved of his heart, nor did he +classify Anita's silent and passionate remembrance of Broussard with +the idle fancies of a young girl; it was like Anita herself, of strong +fibre. +</P> + +<P> +The winter wore on, and the whirlpool of life surged in the far-distant +post, as in the greater centres of life. The chaplain, an earnest man, +found men and women more willing to listen to him, than in any spot in +which he had ever spoken the message entrusted to him. Perhaps the +aviation field had something to do with it; the people in the fort were +always near to life and to death. The chaplain disliked to find +himself watching particular faces in the chapel when he preached the +simple, soldierly sermons on Sundays, and was annoyed with himself that +he always saw, above all others, Anita Fortescue's gaze, and that of +Mrs. Lawrence, as she sat far back in the chapel. Anita's eyes were +full of questionings, and dark with sadness; but Mrs. Lawrence, in her +plain black gown and hat, sometimes with Lawrence by her side, always +with the beautiful boy, sitting among the soldiers and their wives, +embodied tragedy. The chaplain sometimes went to see Mrs. Lawrence; +she was a delicate woman, and often ill, and the chaplain was forced to +admire Lawrence's kindness to his wife, although in other respects +Lawrence was not a model of conduct. As with Mrs. McGillicuddy, and +everybody else at the fort, Mrs. Lawrence maintained a still, +unconquerable reserve. One day, the chaplain said to Anita: +</P> + +<P> +"I hear that Lawrence's wife is ill. Could you go to see her? You +know she isn't like the wives of the other enlisted men, and that makes +it hard to help her." +</P> + +<P> +Anita blushed all over her delicate face. She felt a deep hostility to +Mrs. Lawrence; she had seen Broussard with her twice, and each time +there was an unaccountable familiarity between them. But women seek +their antagonists among other women, and Anita felt a secret longing to +know more about this mysterious woman. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly I will go," answered Anita. "My father is very strict about +letting me intrude into the soldier's houses—he says it's impertinent +to force one's self in, but I know if you ask me to go to see Mrs. +Lawrence my father will think it quite right." +</P> + +<P> +The Colonel stood firmly by his chaplain, who was a man after his own +heart, and that very afternoon Anita went to Mrs. Lawrence's quarters. +The door was opened by the little boy, Ronald, whom Anita knew, as +everybody else did. The girl's heart beat as she entered the narrow +passage-way in which she had seen Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence standing +together, and it beat more as she walked into the little sitting-room, +where Mrs. Lawrence sat in an arm chair at the window. She was +evidently ill, and the knitting she was trying to do had fallen from +her listless hand. +</P> + +<P> +The Colonel's daughter was much embarrassed, but the private soldier's +wife was all coolness and composure. +</P> + +<P> +"The chaplain asked me to come to see you," said Anita, standing +irresolute, not knowing whether to stay or to go. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you and thank the chaplain also," replied Mrs. Lawrence. Then +she courteously offered Anita a seat. +</P> + +<P> +Anita had meant to ask if Mrs. Lawrence needed anything, but she found +herself as unable to say this to Mrs. Lawrence as to any officer's +wife. All she could do was to pick up the knitting and say: +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps you will let me finish this for you. I can knit very well." +</P> + +<P> +It was a warm jacket for the little boy, who needed it. Mrs. +Lawrence's coldness melted a little. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," she said, "there is not much to be done on it now." +</P> + +<P> +With that oblique persuasion, Anita took up the jacket, and her quick +fingers made the needles fly. Her glance was keen, and although +apparently concentrated on her work, she saw the strange mixture of +plainness and luxury in the little room. The floor was covered with a +fine rug, and a little glass cupboard shone with cut glass and silver. +</P> + +<P> +The two women talked a little together but Mrs. Lawrence showed her +weariness by falling off to sleep in the chair. The little boy went +quietly out, and Anita sat knitting steadily in the silent room. The +setting sun shone upon Mrs. Lawrence's pale face, revealing a beauty +that neither time nor grief nor hardship could wholly destroy. +</P> + +<P> +Involuntarily, Anita's eye travelled around the strange-looking room. +On the mantel was a large photograph; Anita's heart leaped as she +recognized it to be Broussard. It was evidently a fresh photograph, +and a very fine one. Broussard stood in a graceful attitude, his hand +on his sword, looking every inch the <I>beau sabreur</I>. Anita became so +absorbed that her hand stopped knitting; it was as if Broussard himself +had walked into the room. +</P> + +<P> +Presently she felt, rather than saw, a glance fixed upon her. Mrs. +Lawrence was wide awake, lying back in her chair, her dark eyes bent on +Anita, whose hands lay idle in her lap. +</P> + +<P> +The gaze of the two women met, for Anita was a woman grown in matters +of the heart. She imagined she saw pity in Mrs. Lawrence's expression. +Instantly, she began to knit rapidly. She wished to talk +unconcernedly, but the words would not come. Broussard's association +with the pallid woman before her was a painful mystery to Anita. +Jealousy is a plant that springs from nothing, and grows like Jonah's +gourd in the minds of women. +</P> + +<P> +Anita was too innocent, too rashly confident in the honor of all the +other women in the world to think any wrong of the woman before her. +But it was enough that Mrs. Lawrence knew Broussard well, and was in +communication with him—a strange thing between an officer and the wife +of a private soldier, even if the soldier be of a station unusual in +the ranks. Ever in Anita's heart smouldered the joy of the words +Broussard had spoken to her under thousands of eyes on that memorable +night of the music ride, and the sharp pain that came from Broussard's +saying no more. +</P> + +<P> +In a few minutes the jacket was done, and Anita rose. It required all +her generosity as well as justice to say to Mrs. Lawrence: +</P> + +<P> +"If I can do anything for you, please let me know." +</P> + +<P> +"I thank you," replied Mrs. Lawrence. "You have already done much for +me and for Ronald." +</P> + +<P> +Then Anita went out into the dusk, and in her soul was rebellion. +Youth was made for joy and she was robbed of her share. Anita was +scarcely eighteen and deep-hearted. +</P> + +<P> +In Mrs. Fortescue's room, Anita found Mrs. McGillicuddy, engaged in one +of the comfortable chats that always took place between the Colonel's +lady and the Sergeant's wife at the After-Clap's bed-time. As Sergeant +McGillicuddy kept the Colonel informed of the happenings at the fort, +so Mrs. McGillicuddy, who had great qualifications, and would have made +a good scout, kept Mrs. Fortescue informed of all the news at the fort, +from Major Harlow, the second in command, down to the smallest drummer +boy in the regiment. Mrs. Fortescue being nothing if not feminine, she +and Mrs. McGillicuddy were "sisters under their skins." +</P> + +<P> +Anita's face was so grave that Mrs. Fortescue said to her tenderly—one +is very tender with an only daughter: +</P> + +<P> +"Is anything troubling you, dear?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing at all," replied Anita, "I went to see Mrs. Lawrence, as the +chaplain asked me, and finished a little jacket she was knitting for +her boy. She doesn't seem very strong." +</P> + +<P> +"And I dessay," said Mrs. McGillicuddy, who had held Anita in her arms +when the girl was but a day old, "you saw all that cut glass and the +rugs, as Mr. Broussard give to Lawrence. Them rugs! They're fit for a +general's house. It seems to me it oughter be against the regulations +for privates to have such rugs when sergeants' wives has to buy rugs +off the bargain counter." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. McGillicuddy stood stiffly upon her rank as a sergeant's wife and +believed in keeping the soldiers' wives where they belonged. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't fancy Mr. Broussard is living in luxury himself just now," +said Mrs. Fortescue. And Mrs. McGillicuddy's kind heart, being touched +with remorse for having given Broussard a pin prick, hastened to say: +</P> + +<P> +"No, indeed, mum, for McGillicuddy heard Major Harlow readin' a letter +from Mr. Broussard, and he says as how he lives on bananas and has got +only two shirts, and his striker has to wash one of 'em out every day +for Mr. Broussard to wear the next day. McGillicuddy says that Major +Harlow says that Mr. Broussard says that he don't mind it a bit, and +he's glad to see real service and proud to command the men that is with +him, and they behaves splendid." +</P> + +<P> +Anita fixed her eyes on Mrs. McGillicuddy's honest, rubicund face, and +listened breathlessly as Mrs. McGillicuddy continued: +</P> + +<P> +"And Mr. Broussard says the Philippines is one big hell full of little +hells, and nobody can get warm there in winter, or cool in summer, but +there's lots of life to be seen there, and he's a-seein' it. And +Blizzard is so far away, he can't sometimes believe there ever was such +a place." +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly, without the least warning, a quick warm gush of tears fell on +Anita's cheeks. They were so far apart, the jungles and the icy peaks, +the palm tree on the burning sands, and the pine tree in the frozen +mountains! Anita walked quickly out of the room. Mrs. McGillicuddy, +soft-hearted as she was hard-handed, looked at Mrs. Fortescue. The +mother's eyes were moist; Anita was very unlike her, but Mrs. Fortescue +remembered a period in her own young life when she, too, felt that the +world was empty because of the absence of the Beloved. And suppose he +had never come back? Mrs. Fortescue, remembering the brimming cup of +happiness that had been hers merely because the man she loved came +back, felt a little frightened for Anita. The girl was so precocious, +so passionate—and how difficult and baffling are those women whose +loves are all passion! +</P> + +<P> +Anita baffled her mother still more, by appearing an hour later in a +gay little gown, and taking the After-Clap from his crib and dancing +with him until he absolutely refused to go to sleep. Then, Anita was +in such high spirits at dinner that the Colonel told Mrs. Fortescue in +their nightly talk while the Colonel smoked, he believed Anita had +completely forgotten Broussard. At this, Mrs. Fortescue smiled and +remained as silent as the Sphinx. +</P> + +<P> +The winter was slipping by, and work and study and play went on in the +snow-bound fort, and Colonel Fortescue was congratulating himself upon +the wonderfully good report he could make of his command. There had +not been a man missing in the whole month of February. But one day +Lawrence, the gentleman-ranker, was reported missing. +</P> + +<P> +The Colonel had no illusions concerning broken men and said so to Mrs. +Fortescue. +</P> + +<P> +"The fellow has deserted—that's the way most of the broken men end. +He was in the aviation field yesterday and his going away was not +premeditated, as he did not ask for leave. But something came in the +way of temptation, and he couldn't stand it, and ran away." +</P> + +<P> +The "something" was revealed by Sergeant McGillicuddy, with a pale +face, while he was shut up with the Colonel in his office. +</P> + +<P> +"It's partly my fault, sir," said the Sergeant. "The fellow has been +doing his duty pretty well, and yesterday, on the aviation field, the +aviation orficer was praisin' him for his work. You know, sir, how I +likes the machines and studies 'em at odd times. The flyin' was over +and there wasn't anybody around the sheds but Lawrence and me. I was +lookup at his machine, and, no doubt, botherin' him, an he says +sharp-like: +</P> + +<P> +"'You can't understand these machines. It takes an educated man like +me to understand 'em. They're more complicated than buggies.' That +made me mad, sir, and I says, 'That's no way to speak to your +Sergeant.' 'You go to the devil,' says Lawrence. 'You'll get ten days +in the guard house for that,' I says. Then Lawrence seemed to grow +crazy, all at once. 'Yes,' he shouts, like a lunatic, 'that's a fit +punishment for a gentleman. You'll see to it, Sergeant, that I get ten +days in the guard house, and my wife breakin' her heart with shame, and +the other children tauntin' my boy!' With that, sir, he hit me on the +side of the head with his fist. I was so unprepared that it knocked me +down, but I saw Lawrence runnin' toward the station. I picked myself +up and went and sat down on the bench outside the sheds to think what I +ought to do. I knew, as well as I know now, that Lawrence was runnin' +away, and I had drove him to it. But I swear, sir, before my Colonel +and my God, that I didn't mean to make Lawrence mad, or misuse him in +any way. You know my record, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," answered Colonel Fortescue, his pity divided among Lawrence and +his wife, and the honest, well-meaning McGillicuddy, who had brought +about a catastrophe. +</P> + +<P> +"For God's sake, sir," said McGillicuddy, "wiping his forehead, be as +easy on Lawrence as you can, and give me a day—two days—leave to hunt +him up." +</P> + +<P> +This the Colonel did, warning McGillicuddy not to repeat what had +occurred on the aviation plain. +</P> + +<P> +The Sergeant got his leave, and another two days, all spent in hunting +for Lawrence. There was nowhere for him to go except to the little +collection of houses at the railway station. No one had seen Lawrence +board the train that passed once a day, but a man, even in uniform, can +sometimes slip aboard a train without being seen. The Sergeant came +back, looking woe-begone, and Lawrence was published on the bulletin +board as "absent without leave." +</P> + +<P> +The shock of Lawrence's departure quite overcame his unhappy wife. She +took to her bed and had not strength to leave it. +</P> + +<P> +Sergeant McGillicuddy begged that he might be allowed to tell to the +chaplain the provocation he had given Lawrence, who might tell Mrs. +Lawrence. The blow struck by Lawrence was the act of a mad impulse, +and having struck an officer, Lawrence might well fear to face the +punishment. This the Colonel permitted, and the chaplain, sitting by +Mrs. Lawrence's bed, told her of it, and of Sergeant McGillicuddy's +remorse. Until then, Mrs. Lawrence, lying in her bed, had remained +strangely tearless, although a faint moan sometimes escaped her lips. +At the chaplain's words she suddenly burst into a rain of tears. +</P> + +<P> +"My husband never meant to desert," she cried between her sobs. "He +was doing his duty well—his own Sergeant said so. He must have been +crazy when he struck the blow!" +</P> + +<P> +"Poor McGillicuddy," said the chaplain quietly. "The Colonel has +forbidden him to speak of it to any one, and he is breaking his heart +over it." +</P> + +<P> +No word of forgiveness came from Mrs. Lawrence's lips. +</P> + +<P> +"It is the way with all of them, officers and men, they were all down +on my husband because they thought he had done something wrong," said +Mrs. Lawrence, with the divine, unreasoning love of a devoted woman. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Broussard was not down on your husband," said the chaplain. +</P> + +<P> +"True," replied Mrs. Lawrence, and then shut her lips close. If any +one wished to know the secret bond between Broussard and Lawrence, one +could never find it out from Mrs. Lawrence. +</P> + +<P> +Sergeant McGillicuddy could keep from Mrs. McGillicuddy the details of +what had occurred on the aviation field, but he could not conceal from +her the fact that he was unhappy and conscience-stricken. All he would +say to his wife was: +</P> + +<P> +"I've done a man a wrong. I never meant it, as both God and the +Colonel know." McGillicuddy had a way of bracketing the Deity with +commanding officers, and did it with much simplicity and meant no +irreverence. +</P> + +<P> +"And I know it too, Patrick," replied Mrs. McGillicuddy, with the faith +of a true wife in her husband. +</P> + +<P> +"I'd tell you all about it, Araminta," said the poor Sergeant, "but the +Colonel forbid me, and orders is orders." +</P> + +<P> +"I know it," answered Mrs. McGillicuddy, "and I'll trust you, Patrick, +I won't ever ask you the name because I can guess it easy. It's +Lawrence." +</P> + +<P> +The Sergeant groaned. +</P> + +<P> +"If you can do anything for Mrs. Lawrence," he said, "or the boy——" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll do it," valiantly replied Mrs. McGillicuddy, and straightway put +her good words into effect. +</P> + +<P> +Lawrence had then been missing five days. It was seven o'clock in the +evening, and Mrs. McGillicuddy had already put the After-Clap to bed +when she started for Mrs. Lawrence's quarters. There was no one to +open the door, and Mrs. McGillicuddy walked unceremoniously into the +little sitting-room, where the boy sat, silent and lonely and +frightened, by the window. Mrs. McGillicuddy spoke a cheery word to +him, and then passed into the bedroom beyond. The light was dim but +she could see Mrs. Lawrence lying, fully dressed, on the bed. At the +sight of Mrs. McGillicuddy she turned her face away. +</P> + +<P> +"Come now," said Mrs. McGillicuddy undauntedly, "I think I know why you +don't want to see me. Well, Patrick McGillicuddy is as good a man as +wears shoe-leather, but every Sergeant that ever lived has made some +sort of a mistake in his life. So Patrick wants me to do all I can for +you until something turns up, and I hope that something will be your +husband—and my husband will be mighty easy on him at the +court-martial." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Lawrence made no reply. Then Mrs. McGillicuddy went into the +little kitchen, and stirring up the fire soon had a comfortable meal +ready, and calling to the little boy, gave him his first good supper in +the five days that had passed since his father came no more. +</P> + +<P> +"You'd feel sorry for McGillicuddy if you could see him," Mrs. +McGillicuddy kept on, ignoring Mrs. Lawrence's cold silence. "And +recollect, if you feel sorry for your husband, I feel sorry for mine. +'Taint right to keep the little feller here while you can't lift a hand +to do for him, so I'm goin' to take him to my house, with my eight +children, because there's luck in odd numbers, and I'll feed him up, +pore little soul, and wash him and mend him, and start him to playin' +with Ignatius and Aloysius, for children ought to play, and Patrick 'll +come every morning and start your fire, although he is a Sergeant, and +we want to help you, and you must help us." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Lawrence was not made of stone, and could not forever resist Mrs. +McGillicuddy's kindness, and so it came about that the McGillicuddys +took care of Lawrence's boy, whose face grew round and rosy with the +generous McGillicuddy fare. A part of Mrs. McGillicuddy's good will to +him was that she instructed Ignatius and Aloysius McGillicuddy, both +excellent fist fighters for their age, that they were to lick any boy, +no matter what his age or size, who dared to taunt little Ronald about +his father or anything else. These orders were extremely agreeable to +the McGillicuddy boys, who loved fighting for fighting's sake, and who +sought occasions to practise the manly art. +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue sent word to Mrs. Lawrence that she could occupy her +quarters until she was able to make some plan for the future. It +seemed, however, utterly indefinite when Mrs. Lawrence would be able to +plan anything. She lay in her bed or sat in her chair, silent, pale, +and as weak as a child. The blow of her husband's desertion seemed to +have stopped all the springs of action. Neither the chaplain, the +post-surgeon, nor Mrs. McGillicuddy, singly or united, could rouse Mrs. +Lawrence from the deadly lassitude of a broken heart. Both the +chaplain and the surgeon had seen such cases, and nothing in the +pharmacopoeia could cure them. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue, whose heart was not less tender from long dwelling on +the airy heights of happiness and perfect love, was full of sympathy +for Lawrence's unfortunate wife, and would have gone to see her, but +Mrs. McGillicuddy, who delivered the message, brought back a +discouraging reply. +</P> + +<P> +"She says, mum, as she don't need nothin' at all, and I think, mum, she +kinder shrinks from the orficers' wives more than from the soldiers' +wives." +</P> + +<P> +Anita, who was sitting by, went to her mother and, putting her arms +around Mrs. Fortescue's neck, whispered: +</P> + +<P> +"Mother, let me go to see Mrs. Lawrence. I don't think she will mind +seeing me. You and daddy are always telling me that I am only a child." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue took Anita in her lap, as if the girl were indeed the +age of the After-Clap. +</P> + +<P> +"Do what you like, dear child," she said. "Girls like you can do some +things that women can't, because you have the enormous advantage of not +knowing anything." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SOME LETTERS AND KETTLE'S ENLISTMENT +</H3> + + +<P> +Anita, who could plan things quite as well as if she were forty instead +of eighteen, bided her time until the hour when Mrs. McGillicuddy was +putting the After-Clap to bed. Then the girl slipped away and took the +road to the long street of the married men's quarters. An icy fog +swept from the Arctic Circle, enveloped the world, hiding both moon and +stars, and made the great arc lamps look like little points of light in +the great ocean of white mist. Every step of the way Anita's heart and +will battled fiercely together. Broussard knew Mrs. Lawrence in some +mysterious way. Perhaps he had loved her once; Anita was all a woman, +and at seventeen was learned in the affairs of the heart. +</P> + +<P> +This woman, however, between whom and Broussard some strong link was +forged, Anita knew not when, nor how, nor where, was ill and poor and +suffering, and Anita's natural inclinations were merciful. Besides, +she had been taught by her father and mother the great lessons of life +in kindness and tenderness. She had seen her father give up a party of +pleasure to walk behind the pine coffin of a private soldier, and her +mother had robbed her greenhouse of its choicest blossoms to lay a +wreath on a soldier's grave. +</P> + +<P> +By instinct, rather than sight, Anita stopped in front of the right +door and met the chaplain coming out. +</P> + +<P> +"Glad to see you, Anita," said the chaplain, who was muffled up to his +eyes. "Go in and talk to that poor lady. We all want to help her, but +we find it hard, for she will tell nothing of herself, of her family, +or anything, except that she knows Lawrence didn't mean to desert, and +will yet report himself." +</P> + +<P> +In the plain little bedroom Mrs. Lawrence lay on her bed, the shaded +electric light by her bedside showing her thin face, made more pallid +by the great braids of lustrous black hair that fell about her. A look +of faint surprise came into her languid eyes as Anita drew a chair to +her bed and took her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"My mother sent me," Anita said, gently, "to ask if I could do anything +for you." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Lawrence murmured her thanks, and then hesitated for a moment, the +words trembling upon her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said, "you can do something for me. Something I haven't +asked anybody to do. I tried to ask the chaplain just now—he is a +kind man, and tries to help me but for some reason my courage failed; I +don't know why, but I didn't ask him. It is, to write a letter for me." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly I will write a letter for you," said Anita. +</P> + +<P> +"It is to Mr. Broussard," answered Mrs. Lawrence. +</P> + +<P> +The thought of writing to Broussard startled and overwhelmed Anita. +She glanced about her nervously, fearing Mrs. Lawrence's words had been +overheard, and stammered and blushed. But the woman, lying wan and +weak in the bed, did not notice this. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not strong enough to dictate it exactly as I want," said Mrs. +Lawrence, "and you will have to write it at your own home. But I am +very anxious for you to write to Mr. Broussard for me and tell him that +my husband is missing and will soon be posted as a deserter; that I +don't know where he is, but I am sure he will return. Don't tell Mr. +Broussard how ill I am, but just say that the Colonel has let me stay +on here, and the boy is well. Mr. Broussard is my husband's best +friend; they were playmates in boyhood." +</P> + +<P> +A dead silence fell between the woman and the girl and lasted for some +minutes. Anita was already composing the letter in her mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps before I go I can do something else for you," she said +presently. +</P> + +<P> +"No, everything has been done for me, and Mrs. McGillicuddy brings the +boy over every night to tell me good-night. What you can do for me is +to write the letter, as I asked you, and post it to-night. It can't +reach Mr. Broussard in less than a month, perhaps two months. The last +letter I received from him he was in some wild place a long distance +from Guam, but he will get the letter eventually, if he lives." +</P> + +<P> +Anita rose and walked back home through the icy mist. Mrs. Fortescue +was in the shaded drawing-room seated at her harp, playing soft chords +and arpeggios, with Colonel Fortescue leaning over her chair. If was a +picture Anita had often seen, and at those times, from her childhood +and from Beverley's, they were made to feel that they were secondary, +and even the After-Clap was superfluous. Nevertheless, Anita walked +into the room. The Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue started apart like young +lovers. +</P> + +<P> +"I have been to see Mrs. Lawrence," said Anita, "and she asked me if I +would write a letter for her. She didn't, of course, tell me not to +say anything about it to you, mother and daddy, but I would rather not +tell you to whom the letter is to be written. You must trust me, my +own dear daddy. It is a very simple letter, just to say that Lawrence +has disappeared and Mrs. Lawrence and the little boy are in kind hands." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course we trust you," answered Colonel Fortescue, smiling. "You +are a very trusty person, Anita." +</P> + +<P> +"Like my father and mother," answered Anita, and ran out of the room. +As they heard her light step tripping up the stairs, the father and +mother looked at each other with troubled eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"It is to Broussard," said the Colonel, remembering his last interview +with him. "I think Broussard steadily befriended Lawrence and his +wife." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue's candid eyes grew clouded. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a strange intimacy," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all right," unhesitatingly replied the Colonel. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, well," said Mrs. Fortescue, touching the harpstrings, "If you are +fomenting a love affair between Anita at Fort Blizzard and Broussard in +the tropics, it is your affair." +</P> + +<P> +"Elizabeth," said the Colonel, "I am not a person to foment love +affairs, or any other private and personal affairs." +</P> + +<P> +"I said <I>if</I> you were fomenting a love affair, John," replied Mrs. +Fortescue; and then there was no more music from the harp, the Colonel +going into his office and Mrs. Fortescue to the After-Clap's nursery. +</P> + +<P> +In her own little room Anita was already hard at work on her letter to +Broussard. It was a very short and simple letter, telling exactly, and +only, what Mrs. Lawrence had asked, and it was signed "Sincerely +Yours." But when it was to be sealed Anita's insurgent heart cried out +to be heard, and she added a little postscript, which read: +</P> + +<P> +"Gamechick is very well and sends his love. I ride him nearly every +day." +</P> + +<P> +Anita would not trust her precious letter to the mail orderly, or even +Sergeant McGillicuddy or Kettle, but throwing her crimson mantle around +her, she slipped out, in the cold mist, to the letter box. For one +moment she held the letter poised in her hand before it took its flight +toward the tropics; Anita's tender heart went with the letter. +</P> + +<P> +A fortnight later, the March sun having come in place of the February +snows, Mrs. McGillicuddy succeeded in dragging Mrs. Lawrence out of +doors, one day about noon, and after placing her on a bench in the glow +of the light, went off to look after the eight McGillicuddys, the +little Lawrence boy, and the After-Clap, none of whom could have got on +without her. Colonel Fortescue, coming out of the headquarters +building, and going to his own house, passed Mrs. Lawrence, sitting on +the bench. The Colonel, who knew her well enough by sight, raised his +cap and, stopping a moment, asked courteously after her health. +</P> + +<P> +"I am better," replied Mrs. Lawrence, "and I want to thank you for your +kindness in letting me stay in the quarters. I will not trespass any +longer than I can help." +</P> + +<P> +"May I ask," said the Colonel, kindly, "if you have any friends with +whom I could help you to communicate?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Lawrence smiled as she answered: +</P> + +<P> +"I have relatives, if that is what you mean. But I do not care to +communicate with them. Please understand me that I do not, for a +moment, admit that my husband is a deserter." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I could think he was not," said Colonel Fortescue, "but +unfortunately, his misconduct——" +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue caught himself; he had done what he seldom did—used +the wrong word. Mrs. Lawrence struggled feebly to her feet, the divine +obstinacy of a loving woman shining in her melancholy eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Stop!" she cried, "I can't allow any one, even the Colonel of the +regiment, to disparage my husband before my face." +</P> + +<P> +"I beg your pardon," said Colonel Fortescue, "I regret the word I used." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Lawrence, inclining her head, sank, rather than sat, upon the +bench. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I should not have spoken so," she said, in a composed voice, +"as my husband was only a private, and you are the Colonel; but I think +you understand that I was neither born nor reared to this position." +</P> + +<P> +"I do understand," replied Colonel Fortescue, "and some one has done +you a very great wrong in bringing you to this post; but you may depend +upon it that neither you nor your child shall suffer for the present, +and I hope you will soon be well." +</P> + +<A NAME="img-137"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-137.jpg" ALT=""Neither you nor your child shall suffer for the present."" BORDER="2" WIDTH="325" HEIGHT="515"> +<H4> +[Illustration: "Neither you nor your child shall suffer for the present."] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"It is my heart that is more ill than my body," replied Mrs. Lawrence, +and the Colonel passed on. +</P> + +<P> +The tragedy of a desertion is very great, and as Colonel Fortescue +said, tragedies grow more intense in the fierce cold of winter, and +Mrs. Lawrence and the beautiful little boy were, in themselves, living +tragedies. Sergeant McGillicuddy, too, had a tragic aspect. In spite +of all the Colonel could say, the Sergeant still accused himself of +being the cause of Lawrence's desertion. McGillicuddy's bronzed face, +like a hickory nut, grew so haggard, his self-reproaches so piteous, +that Colonel Fortescue thought it well to give him a positive order to +say nothing of the circumstances that led up to Lawrence's striking +him. The Sergeant begged to be allowed to tell the chaplain about it; +to this Colonel Fortescue consented, and McGillicuddy had a long +conversation with the chaplain. +</P> + +<P> +"The Colonel says, sir," McGillicuddy declared mournfully to the +chaplain, "as it is the damned climate,—excuse me, sir,—that makes +everybody queer." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll excuse you," replied the chaplain, who had the same opinion of +the Arctic cold as Colonel Fortescue. "I think the cold gets on men's +nerves and makes them queer." +</P> + +<P> +However, the chaplain had the power to console, and McGillicuddy became +a trifle more resigned, and even had a faint hope of Lawrence's return, +caught from Mrs. McGillicuddy's report of Mrs. Lawrence's fixed belief +that Lawrence would come back and give himself up. One great +consolation to the Sergeant was, to spend a large part of his pay in +comforts for Mrs. Lawrence and clothes and books and toys for the +little Ronald. Mrs. McGillicuddy, who had reasoned out a very good +solution of McGillicuddy's troubles, encouraged him in his kindness to +Mrs. Lawrence and the boy, so that the old rule of God making the devil +work for Him was again illustrated; much good came to those whom +Lawrence had deserted. +</P> + +<P> +The chaplain thought it a good time to preach a sermon on loyalty, and +on the very Sunday after Colonel Fortescue had talked with Mrs. +Lawrence, the congregation that crowded the chapel heard an exposition +of what loyalty meant, especially loyalty to one's country. Among the +most attentive listeners was Kettle, whose honest black face glowed +when the chaplain proclaimed that every man owed it to his country to +defend it, if required. When the congregation streamed out of the +chapel, Mrs. Fortescue stopped a moment to congratulate the chaplain on +his sermon. Behind her stood Kettle, who was never very far away from +Miss Betty. +</P> + +<P> +"I listen to that sermon, suh," said Kettle, earnestly, to the +chaplain, "and it cert'ny wuz a corker, suh." +</P> + +<P> +"That is high praise," answered the chaplain, "I would rather an +enlisted man should tell me that a sermon of mine was a corker, than +for the archbishop of the archdiocese to write me a personal letter of +praise." +</P> + +<P> +Just then the chaplain, who was accused of having eyes in the back of +his head, saw something directly behind him. No less than four of the +seven McGillicuddy boys were altar boys, wearing little red cassocks +and white surplices in church. They were supposed to leave the +cassocks and surplices in the sacristy, but Ignatius McGillicuddy, aged +ten, had sneaked out of the sacristy, still wearing his red cassock, +and, seeing the chaplain passing out of the gate, thought it safe to +begin an elaborate skirt dance, in his cassock, and making many fancy +steps, with much high kicking, while the skirt of his cassock waved in +the air. In the midst of his final pirouette, he caught the chaplain's +stern glance fixed on him. Instantly Ignatius appeared to turn to +stone, and the vision of a switch, wielded by Mrs. McGillicuddy's +robust arm, passed before his eyes. He was immensely relieved when the +chaplain said, grimly: +</P> + +<P> +"Ten pages of catechism next Sunday." +</P> + +<P> +Kettle went home and was very solemn all day. Not even the +After-Clap's pranks could make him smile, nor were the After-Clap's +orders always orders to him that day. In the late afternoon Mrs. +Fortescue, seeing Kettle seated in a corner of the back hall, and +evidently in an introspective mood, asked him: +</P> + +<P> +"What's been the matter with you all day, Kettle?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm a-seekin', Miss Betty," Kettle replied solemnly. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you seeking?" Mrs. Fortescue inquired. +</P> + +<P> +"Seekin' light, Miss Betty," answered Kettle. "I'm seekin' light on my +duty to my country, arter the chaplain done preached to-day." +</P> + +<P> +"Glad to hear it," responded Mrs. Fortescue. "Your duty at present is +to look after the baby and me." +</P> + +<P> +"Gord knows I does the bes' I kin," replied Kettle, raising his eyes, +full of faith and love and simplicity, to Mrs. Fortescue's. "But the +chaplain, he say we orter fight for our country; maybe at this heah +very minute I orter be a-settin' on a hoss, a-shootin' down the enemies +of my country." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Kettle," said Mrs. Fortescue, laughing, "as you can't ride and +you can't shoot, I don't think you will ever do much damage to the +enemies of your country." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue passed on, laughing. But some one else had heard +Kettle. This was Sergeant Halligan, a chum of Sergeant McGillicuddy, +who had stopped at the Commandant's house on an errand. Sergeant +Halligan, seeing no one around in that part of the house, winked to +himself, and went up to "the naygur," as he, like Sergeant McGillicuddy +called Kettle. +</P> + +<P> +"I say," said the sergeant, in a whisper, "you're right about the +chaplain's sermon. It's the duty of every man who can carry a gun to +fight for his country. I saw the chaplain looking straight at you, and +he was as mad as fire. A white-livered coward stands a mighty poor +chanst of salvation, is what the chaplain thinks." +</P> + +<P> +"Does you mean that?" anxiously asked Kettle. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't I?" responded Sergeant Halligan, confidently. "Maybe you think +it's hard lines to have to drill all day and walk post all night, but +it's a merry jest compared with burning in hell fire. I'd ruther drill +and walk post all my life than find myself in the lake of brimstone and +sulphur that's a-waitin' for cowards." +</P> + +<P> +"Tain't the drill and the walkin' post as skeers me," said Kettle, "but +I ain't noways fond of guns. If it wasn't for them devilish guns I'd +enlist, pertickler if they'd let me stay with Miss Betty and the baby." +</P> + +<P> +"Sure they would," replied the artful Halligan with a wink. "The +Colonel wouldn't disoblige his lady. You'd be detailed to work around +the house here, and you'd look grand in uniform." +</P> + +<P> +"You think so?" said Kettle, with a delighted grin, "I always did have +a kinder honin' after them yaller stripes down my legs." +</P> + +<P> +"And a sabre and a sabretache," continued the Sergeant. Times were +sometimes dull at Fort Blizzard, and the men in the barracks could get +a good many laughs out of Kettle as a soldier. +</P> + +<P> +The yellow stripes down his legs and the sabre and sabretache were +dazzling to Kettle, But an objection rose on the horizon. +</P> + +<P> +"How 'bout them hosses?" he asked, "I ain't never been on no hoss sence +the time when I wuz a little shaver, and the Kun'l—he wasn't nothin' +but a lieutenant then—wuz courtin' Miss Betty, and he pick me up and +put me on a hoss he call Birdseye. Lord! It makes me feel creepy now, +to tink 'bout that hoss!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you needn't bother about horses," answered the Sergeant, +cheerfully. "The Colonel could manage that, and you can wear your +uniform just the same." +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon I could ride a gentle hoss," ventured Kettle. +</P> + +<P> +"'Course," replied the Sergeant confidently, "I think I can manage it +with the orficer in charge of mounts. I could get the milkman's hoss +for you. She is twenty-three years old and as quiet as an old maid of +seventy-five; she wouldn't run away or kick, not even if you was to +build a fire under her." +</P> + +<P> +This seemed to dispose of the great difficulty in Kettle's mind, when +the Sergeant suggested that he would see the milkman that very evening, +and at nine o'clock the next morning, he would go to the officer in +charge of mounts, and by ten o'clock Kettle, as soon as he had finished +washing up the breakfast things and had taken the After-Clap for his +airing in the baby carriage, could step down to the recruiting office +and enlist. +</P> + +<P> +Everything looked rosy to Kettle. That night, at dinner, Kettle was +radiant and informed Mrs. Fortescue, between the fish and the roast, +that he had "done found his duty and was a-goin' to do it." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue had some curiosity to know what this new duty of +Kettle's was, but Kettle maintained a mysterious silence, only +admitting that it would not take him away from "Miss Betty and the +baby." +</P> + +<P> +Next morning, however, in the cold light of day, the proposition had +lost something of its charms for Kettle. The yellow stripes down his +legs did not appear quite so overwhelmingly fascinating. He remembered +that Sergeant McGillicuddy was afraid to ride in the buggy behind the +milkman's horse. Sergeant Halligan did not give Kettle any time to +repent of his decision, and promptly appeared at ten o'clock and +escorted Kettle to the recruiting office. The recruiting sergeant was +on hand and Sergeant Halligan explained Kettle's martial enthusiasm. +Something like a wink passed between Sergeant Halligan and Gully, the +recruiting sergeant, who agreed to enlist Kettle, under the name of +Solomon Ezekiel Pickup, as a unit in the army of the United States. +</P> + +<P> +A sudden illumination came to Kettle. "Yon c'yarn' enlist me in no +white regiment," cried Kettle to Sergeant Halligan, "I'm a nigger and +you have to put me in a nigger regiment." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, that's all right," responded Sergeant Halligan, airily, "we can +get you in all right, and we'll be proud to have you. Won't we, Gully?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly," replied Sergeant Gully, "we can fix that up. It's fixed +up already." +</P> + +<P> +The rapidity of the proceedings rather startled Kettle. +</P> + +<P> +"But doan' the doctor have to thump me, and pound me, and count my +teeth?" he asked. Kettle had not spent twenty years at army posts +without finding out something. +</P> + +<P> +"No, indeed," answered Sergeant Gully, who was a chum of Sergeant +Halligan, "not with such a husky feller as you. I can thump and pound +and count your teeth." +</P> + +<P> +With that Gully made a physical examination of Kettle, and declared +that no surgeon who ever lived would turn down such a magnificent +specimen of robust manhood as Kettle. +</P> + +<P> +All this was very disheartening to Kettle but seemed of great interest +to Sergeant Halligan and his side partner, Sergeant Gully, and also to +the orderly, who grinned sympathetically with the two sergeants. +</P> + +<P> +"I say," said Sergeant Gully, "there's nothing doing here this morning +and I'll just leave the orderly in charge and step in with you and +introduce Private Pickup to the drill sergeant. The sergeant is a +honey, but the bees don't know it." +</P> + +<P> +Then, with Sergeant Halligan on one side of him and Sergeant Gully on +the other, Kettle started across the plaza in the clear morning light +for the great riding hall. By this time Kettle was thoroughly alarmed. +</P> + +<P> +The sight of the class in riding, smart young privates, marching gaily +into the drill hall, made Kettle feel very uneasy about the riding. +</P> + +<P> +"How 'bout the milkman's hoss?" asked Kettle anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"The milkman's horse? The milkman's horse?" sniffed Sergeant Halligan, +"D'ye think I'm an infernal fool to put such a proposition up to the +orficer in charge of mounts? He'd kick me full of holes if I did." +</P> + +<P> +"But I say," replied Kettle, spurred by fear, "you is a deceiver, +suh—a deceiver, and I'm a'goin to tell the Kun'l on you and he'll do +for you—that he will." +</P> + +<P> +"Look-a-here, Solomon Ezekiel Pickup," shouted Sergeant Halligan +savagely, "it's against the regulations to talk to your superior +orficers so damned impudent, and I'm a going to prefer charges against +you, and you can face three months in the military prison for it. And +I'm a-thinkin' that Briggs, the drill sergeant, will put you on the +kickingest horse in the regimental stables. Sergeant Gully here says +the drill sergeant is a honey, but he's awful mistaken. I've known +Briggs ever since we was rookies together, and he's a cruel man, and +has caused the death of several rookies by his murderin' ways." +</P> + +<P> +Just then the three came face to face with Sergeant McGillicuddy. In +those days McGillicuddy's honest face was gloomy and he had not much +spirit for jokes, but he laughed when Sergeant Halligan explained to +him that Sergeant Gully had enlisted Kettle and had passed him both +mentally and physically, and that he was then on his way to take his +first lesson in riding. +</P> + +<P> +Sergeant McGillicuddy went his way, laughing, for once in a blue moon, +and Kettle, marching between the two sergeants, felt like a prisoner on +his way to execution. +</P> + +<P> +Arrived at the great drill hall, now dim and silent except for a batch +of recruits, and Briggs, the drill sergeant, a trooper brought in +Corporal, a handsome sorrel, and the model of a trained cavalry +charger. The trooper at the same time handed the Sergeant a long whip. +Corporal, the charger, understood as well as any trooper in the +regiment what the crack of the whip meant, from walk, trot, to gallop. +As Kettle appeared, almost dragged in by the two sergeants, a grin went +around among the young recruits, ruddy-skinned and clear-eyed +youngsters, well set up and worthy to wear the uniform of their country. +</P> + +<P> +A whispered conversation followed among the three sergeants and +although Kettle was not in uniform as the other recruits were, Sergeant +Briggs, for a reason imparted to him by Sergeant Halligan, called out +to Kettle: +</P> + +<P> +"Here, Pickup, you get up, and you stay up, and if you don't you'll get +a whack up!" +</P> + +<P> +This passed for a witticism to the recruits, who made it a point to +laugh at all the drill sergeant's jokes. Kettle, with much difficulty, +managed to climb on Corporal's back and crouched there in a heap. +Corporal turned his mild intelligent eyes toward Sergeant Briggs, as +much as to say: +</P> + +<P> +"What kind of a fool have I got on my back now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Take the reins and let her go, Gallagher!" said the sergeant with a +crack of his whip. +</P> + +<P> +Corporal, seeing his duty, did it. He started off in a brisk walk +around the tanbark, and in twenty seconds he heard another crack, and +still another, which sent him into a hard gallop. As the horse +quickened his pace, Kettle dropped the reins, and grasping Corporal +around the neck, hung on desperately as the horse sped around the great +ellipse. At a word from Sergeant Briggs, the horse stopped and walked +sedately to the middle of the hall. Kettle slipped off and staggered +to his feet. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-149"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-149.jpg" ALT="Kettle dropped the reins, and grasping Corporal around the neck, hung on desperately." BORDER="2" WIDTH="381" HEIGHT="463"> +<H4> +[Illustration: Kettle dropped the reins, and grasping Corporal <BR> +around the neck, hung on desperately.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"Good Gord A'mighty," he groaned, to Sergeant Briggs, "I k'yarn' ride +that air hoss, Mr. Briggs, and I ain't a goin' to, neither. Miss +Betty, she tole me the way to surve my country wuz to look after the +baby and her, so I'm jes' goin' to resign from the army and go home, +'cause it's scrub day." +</P> + +<P> +"You go to the orficer of the day, and report yourself under arrest," +promptly replied Briggs. "His office is in the headquarters building +and he'll straighten you out, I'm thinkin'." +</P> + +<P> +Kettle started off cheerfully enough, but instead of going to the +headquarters building he made a bee line for the C. O.'s house, where +he at once took off his coat and went down on his knees to scrub the +pantry. Two hours afterward, when the drill sergeant's work was done +in the riding hall and he discovered that Kettle had not reported +himself to the officer of the day, the sergeant walked over to the C. +O.'s house and sent in a respectful request to see the commanding +officer. +</P> + +<P> +"Come in, Sergeant," called out Colonel Fortescue, sitting at his desk. +</P> + +<P> +"Beg your pardon, sir," said the Sergeant, once inside, "but I have +come to you privately, to tell you about your man, known as Kettle. He +came into the riding hall this morning, and Sergeant Gully and Sergeant +Halligan said he enlisted. Of course, I know, sir, they couldn't +enlist him, but I'm afraid I helped 'em on with the joke. Anyhow, I +made him get on a horse, and it would have broke your heart, sir, to +see such riding! Then he got sassy, and I told him, just to get rid of +him, to report himself under arrest, but nobody hasn't seen him since." +</P> + +<P> +At that moment, the new recruit was seen passing the window, and +wearing blue over-alls, in which he did scrubbing. The Colonel tapped +on the window and Kettle came in by the office entrance. +</P> + +<P> +"What's this, Solomon, about your being saucy to Sergeant Briggs?" +asked Colonel Fortescue, sternly. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, suh, I enlisted," answered Kettle, promptly, "an' I done +resigned. I tole that there Briggs man so, and lef' the drill hall and +come home, 'cause it was scrub day." +</P> + +<P> +"Three days in the guardhouse," thundered the Colonel, in a voice +terrible to Kettle. +</P> + +<P> +Sergeant Briggs, touching his cap, walked out, Kettle following him. +At the door stood Mrs. McGillicuddy holding in her arms the After-Clap, +in all his morning freshness, his little white fur cap and coat showing +off his eyes and hair, so dark, like his mother's. The After-Clap gave +a spring which he meant to land him in Kettle's arms, but Kettle, +bursting into tears, would not take him. +</P> + +<P> +"I k'yarn' take you now, honey," cried Kettle, wiping his eyes, "I'm a +goin' to the guardhouse, my lamb, for three days and maybe I never see +you no mo'." +</P> + +<P> +The baby seemed to think this might be true, and set up a series of +loud shrieks. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mean to say as you've tried to enlist?" cried Mrs. +McGillicuddy, struggling with the baby and her astonishment and +indignation all at once. "The idea of you being a soldier! It beats +the band, it does!" +</P> + +<P> +Sergeant Briggs, without giving Kettle time to explain further, marched +him off, and Mrs. McGillicuddy went to report to Mrs. Fortescue, while +Sergeant McGillicuddy appeared to report to Colonel Fortescue. +</P> + +<P> +"I believe, sir," said the Sergeant confidentially, "as it's a crooked +business about the naygur's wantin' to enlist. Gully and Sergeant +Halligan was jokin', but it's mighty risky jokin' with the regulations." +</P> + +<P> +So thought Sergeant Halligan and Sergeant Gully, when confronted with +the Colonel. As they were two of the best sergeants in the regiment, +the Colonel satisfied himself with a stern reprimand, which was not +entered against them. But having sentenced Kettle to three days in the +guardhouse for insolence to Sergeant Briggs, Colonel Fortescue thought +it well to let the sentence stand. +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue, in spite of being the commanding officer at one of +the finest cavalry posts in the world, and whose word was law, could +yet be made to feel domestic displeasure. The family at once divided +itself into two camps, one on the Colonel's side and one on Kettle's. +Anita, of course, sided with her father, and declared he had done +perfectly right about Kettle, as he did about everything. Sergeant +McGillicuddy was also a faithful adherent of the Colonel's in the +wordless warfare that prevailed in the commanding officer's house for +the three days in which Kettle enjoyed the hospitality of the +guardhouse. +</P> + +<P> +"Served the naygur right for sassing a sergeant," was Sergeant +McGillicuddy's view. On the other side was arrayed, of course, Mrs. +Fortescue, who outwardly observed an armed neutrality, but who called +the Colonel "John" during the entire three days of Kettle's +imprisonment. Colonel Fortescue retaliated by calling Mrs. Fortescue +"Elizabeth." +</P> + +<P> +There were frequent references, in the Colonel's hearing, to "Poor +Kettle," and the After-Clap was not rebuked in his insistent demand for +"my Kettle, I want my Kettle! Where is my Kettle?" +</P> + +<P> +At intervals, from the time he waked in the morning until Mrs. +McGillicuddy put him in his crib at night, the After-Clap was screaming +for Kettle, and as the baby was extremely robust, his shrieks and wails +for Kettle were clearly audible to the Colonel, sitting grimly in his +private office, or at luncheon, or having his tea in the drawing-room. +Colonel Fortescue, however, spent most of his time during those three +days at the headquarters building or the officers' club. As for Mrs. +McGillicuddy, she was openly on the side of Kettle and against the +Colonel, and shrewdly surmised exactly what had happened about the +enlistment, and also that Sergeant McGillicuddy was implicated with the +other two sergeants in the outrage. Mrs. McGillicuddy boldly +propounded this theory to Mrs. Fortescue while the latter was dressing +for dinner on the first evening of Kettle's incarceration. The +Colonel, in the next room, going through the same process of dressing, +could hear every word through the open door. +</P> + +<P> +"It's Patrick McGillicuddy that had a hand in it, mum," said Mrs. +McGillicuddy wrathfully. "He's been takin' rises out of the naygur, as +he calls Kettle, for twenty years, and he seen Sergeant Gully and +Sergeant Halligan draggin' poor Kettle along to the riding hall. I +seen Kettle when he run out, and McGillicuddy was a standin' off, +a-laffin' fit to kill himself, and I know that Gully and Halligan has +been jokin' Kettle and makin' him believe he has enlisted in the +aviation corps and will have to go flyin', and Kettle's scared stiff." +</P> + +<P> +"Poor Kettle," said Mrs. Fortescue softly, clasping her pearls about +her white throat. "It's been a sad day to all of us, except the +Colonel. Of course, I never attempt to criticise Colonel Fortescue's +professional conduct, but I do feel lost without Kettle." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, mum," replied Mrs. McGillicuddy, "I haven't been a sergeant's +wife for twenty years without findin' out that nobody can't say a word +about the orficers, but I do think, mum, as three days in the +guardhouse for poor Kettle, who was bamboozled by Tim Gully and Mike +Halligan, is one of the cruelest things a commandin' orficer ever done. +Not that I'm a-criticisin' the Colonel, mum—I wouldn't do such a thing +for the world." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor would I," replied Mrs. Fortescue meekly, and fully conscious of +the Colonel's presence in the next room, shaving himself savagely, "but +three days for such a little thing does seem hard." +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue ground his teeth and gave himself such a jab with his +razor that the blood came. +</P> + +<P> +This subtle persecution of the Colonel went on, with variations, for +three whole days. +</P> + +<P> +On the Friday when Kettle's time was up he was released and his return +was hailed with open delight by his partisans, Mrs. Fortescue, Mrs. +McGillicuddy and the After-Clap, and with secret relief by the Colonel, +Anita and Sergeant McGillicuddy. +</P> + +<P> +Kettle, on reporting to the Colonel, said solemnly, "Kun'l, I ain't +never goin' ter try an' enlist no mo', so help me Gord A'mighty. An' I +ain't a'goin' to pay no more 'tention to the chaplain's sermons, 'cause +'twuz that there chaplain as fust got me in this here mess, cuss him!" +</P> + +<P> +This last was under Kettle's breath, and the Colonel pretended not to +hear. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE PLEADING EYES OF WOMEN +</H3> + + +<P> +It was May before the winter loosened its grasp on Fort Blizzard. Once +more, the fort was in touch with the outside world for a few months. The +mails came regularly and there were two trains a day at the station, ten +miles away. In May Anita had a birthday—her eighteenth. +</P> + +<P> +"You can't call me a child any longer, daddy," she said to Colonel +Fortescue, on the May morning when she was showered with birthday gifts. +Nevertheless, Colonel Fortescue continued to call her a child, but a +glance at her reading showed that Anita was very much grown up. She +still read piles of books and pamphlets concerning the Philippines and +knew all about the stinging and creeping and crawling things that made +life hideous in the jungles, the horrors of fever, the merciless heat, +and the treacherous Moros who stabbed the sleeping soldiers by night. No +word had come from Broussard across the still and sluggish Pacific. +</P> + +<P> +The chaplain did not fail to remind Anita that it was a Christian act to +continue her visits to Mrs. Lawrence, who still remained weak and +nerveless and ill, and Anita was ready enough to do so. Mrs. Lawrence +never mentioned Broussard's name and, in fact, spoke little at any time. +A mental and bodily torpor seemed to possess her, and she was never able +to do more than walk feebly, supported by Mrs. McGillicuddy's strong arm, +to a bench, sit there for an hour or two, and return to her own two +rooms. Occasionally she asked if she should give up her quarters, but as +the surgeon and the chaplain and Mrs. McGillicuddy all united in telling +Colonel Fortescue that Mrs. Lawrence was really unable to move, the +Colonel silently acquiesced in her occupation of the quarters, which were +not needed for any one else. +</P> + +<P> +Once or twice a week, Anita would go to see her, and read to her, and +take the sewing or knitting out of her languid hand and do it for her. +Mrs. Lawrence, who appeared to notice little that went on around her, +observed that Anita's eyes always sought the photograph of Broussard on +the mantel, but his name was never uttered between them, nor did Mrs. +Lawrence ever ask Anita to write another letter. +</P> + +<P> +On Anita's birthday, in the afternoon, she went to see Mrs. Lawrence, +ostensibly to carry her some of the fruit and flowers that were so +abundant at the Commanding Officer's house, where the great garden was +blooming beautifully. Mrs. Lawrence accepted Anita's gifts with more +animation than usual, and buried her face in the lilac blossoms. From +her lap a letter dropped and Anita picked it up; it was in Broussard's +handwriting, which Anita knew. A vivid blush came into Anita's face; +however silent she might be about Broussard, her eyes and lips were +always eloquent when anything suggested him. Mrs. Lawrence made no +comment on the letter and presently Anita went away. The Colonel and +Mrs. Fortescue, sitting in the drawing-room at tea, saw her pass the wide +window and go into the beautiful walled garden, which was, next her +violin, Anita's chief delight. It was a wonderful garden for a couple of +years of growth and it had developed amazingly under Anita's hand. +</P> + +<P> +Sergeant McGillicuddy was a good amateur gardener, and at that very +moment, wearing a suit of blue overalls, was digging away industriously. +The Sergeant had lost a good deal of his cheerfulness in those later days +of winter, but the garden seemed to inspire him, as it did Anita. The +girl went up to him and the two were in close conference concerning a bed +of cowslips the sergeant was making. Through the open window the sunny +air floated, drenched with perfume. Anita was laughing at something the +Sergeant said;—they had usually been serious enough while working +together in the garden. +</P> + +<P> +Presently Anita came into the drawing-room, carrying in her thin, white +skirt, as if it were an apron, a great mass of blossoms. Colonel +Fortescue held out a letter to her. +</P> + +<P> +"This was enclosed in a letter to me from Mr. Broussard," said the +Colonel. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-161"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-161.jpg" ALT=""This was enclosed in a letter to me from Mr. Broussard," said the Colonel." BORDER="2" WIDTH="402" HEIGHT="598"> +<H4> +[Illustration: "This was enclosed in a letter to me from Mr. Broussard,"<BR> +said the Colonel.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +Anita, although eighteen years old that day, acted like a child. She +dropped the corners of her skirt and the flowers fell to the floor. One +moment she stood like a bird poised for flight, and then taking the +letter, tripped out of the room and up the stairs. +</P> + +<P> +Both Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue in the still May afternoon heard her turn +the key in the lock of her little rose-colored room. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue gathered up the blossoms, the Colonel with moody eyes +looking down. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, the jealousy of fathers," said Mrs. Fortescue, after a minute. "You +think we mothers are jealous, but it is nothing compared with the +jealousy of fatherhood. I have already made up my mind to be all +graciousness and kindness to Beverley's future wife, but you have already +made up your mind to hate your future son-in-law, whoever he may be." +</P> + +<P> +"How can a man love the man who robs him of his child? That's what +actually happens," replied Colonel Fortescue. +</P> + +<P> +"Then the only thing you can do," replied Mrs. Fortescue, "is to +concentrate all of your love upon your wife, for then you have no other +man for a rival." +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue agreed to this proposition, and also that his +objections to Broussard were purely fanciful and that he would contrive +to pick flaws in any man to whom Anita was inclined. +</P> + +<P> +"But she thinks and dreams too much about Broussard," said the Colonel. +"Probably he looks upon her as a pretty child, just as Conway does." +</P> + +<P> +"One can't control the thoughts and dreams of youth," replied Mrs. +Fortescue, "Anita must study the lesson-book of life and love like other +women." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you see her face when I gave her the note?" asked Colonel Fortescue. +</P> + +<P> +"You are an old goose," was all the reply Mrs. Fortescue would make to +this question. +</P> + +<P> +Locked in her own room, Anita read her precious note. It was very short +and perfectly conventional, thanking her for writing to him for Mrs. +Lawrence. Broussard knew of Lawrence being among the missing men. +</P> + +<P> +"Lawrence, as you may have heard," said the letter, "was a playmate of +mine in my boyhood and, although he has had hard luck, I have a deep +interest in him and his wife and child." +</P> + +<P> +Then came a sentence that, to Anita, contained a sweet and hidden +meaning: "Although Gamechick is no longer mine, I shall always love the +horse because of something that happened last Christmas at the music +ride." +</P> + +<P> +Anita was late for dinner that evening, and at the table, as she took her +lace handkerchief from the bosom of her little blue evening gown, +Broussard's note came out with the handkerchief, and fell upon the floor. +Her father and mother in kindness looked away, but Kettle, with +well-meant but indiscreet good will, picked the letter up, saying: +</P> + +<P> +"Hi! Miss 'Nita, here's your letter you carry in your bosom." +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue suddenly grew cross; this thing of having a man's +daughter carrying around next her heart a letter from another man is very +annoying to a father of Colonel Fortescue's type. And Anita was more +tender and devoted than ever, keeping up a brave show of loyalty, +although she had already surrendered the citadel. +</P> + +<P> +As the winter at Fort Blizzard was like the frozen regions which the old +Goths believed to be the Inferno, so the summer was like a blast from the +eternal furnace. The hot winds swept over the arid plains and the sun +was more vengeful than the biting cold. The energies of many drooped, +and the sergeants grew short with the men. But cheerfulness prevailed at +the Commandant's house. In July Beverley Fortescue, named for the fine +old Virginia Colonel, Mrs. Fortescue's grandfather, was to come home, in +all the glory of his twenty-one years, wearing for the first time the +splendid cavalry uniform instead of the grey and gold and black of a +military cadet. More than that, he was to be assigned to duty at Fort +Blizzard. When Mrs. Fortescue heard this, she trembled a little; it was +almost too much of joy; this last crowning gift of fate made her almost +afraid. And Beverley was to see, for the first time, the After-Clap, who +was so much like Beverley that the Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue could +hardly persuade themselves he was their last born, and not their first +born. +</P> + +<P> +On the great day, Beverley came. In the soft July evening, at the +threshold, stood Mrs. Fortescue, holding by the hand the After-Clap, a +sturdy little chap for his two-and-a-half years. The mother was smiling +and blushing like a girl. Behind her stood Kettle, his face shining as +if it had been varnished, and next him was Sergeant McGillicuddy, who had +taught Beverley to ride and to shoot and to skate and to box, and all the +manly sports of boyhood. Mrs. McGillicuddy, ruddy and beaming, towered +over the little Sergeant. +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue and Anita stood on the lowest of the stone steps. +Presently, a motor whirled up and Beverley stepped out, looking so +handsome in his well-fitting civilian clothes, with his new straw hat, in +which he felt slightly queer. The Colonel wrung his hand saying: +</P> + +<P> +"Boy! Boy! How glad we are to have you once more!" +</P> + +<P> +Anita covered Beverley's face with kisses, but Mrs. Fortescue stood like +a queen, smiling and gracious, to receive her boy's reverence. Beverley +caught her in his strong young grasp; she looked so young, so lovely, so +full of radiant life, that she seemed like an older Anita. Then Mrs. +Fortescue raised the After-Clap and put him in Beverley's arms. +Accustomed to much adulation, the After-Clap was, in general, coolly +supercilious to strangers, but he seemed much pleased with Beverley's +appearance, and called him "Bruvver," as he had called Broussard, who had +been long since forgotten by the After-Clap. +</P> + +<P> +"What a jolly little rascal!" cried Beverley, whose experience with small +children was nil. +</P> + +<P> +The After-Clap returned the compliment, by rapturously hugging Beverley. +In fact, they became such chums on the spot that much difficulty was +experienced in persuading the After-Clap to go to bed when Mrs. +McGillicuddy was ready for him. +</P> + +<P> +There was a joyous dinner. Beverley, like Colonel Fortescue, was +surprised to find that Anita was grown up, like other girls of eighteen. +Also, that his father was almost as young and handsome as his mother. +</P> + +<P> +"I say, Colonel," said Beverley, "you're the handsomest Colonel in the +army." +</P> + +<P> +The Colonel smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"For your age, that is." +</P> + +<P> +The Colonel scowled. +</P> + +<P> +"Your father's touchy about his age," Mrs. Fortescue explained, "and so +am I, so please, Beverley, keep away from the unpleasant subject." +</P> + +<P> +Beverley Fortescue had three months' leave before taking up his duties as +an officer at the post and it was a halcyon time at the Commandant's +house. In spite of the torrid heat, there were parties of pleasure and +little dances, and all the round of gaieties that prevail at army posts. +The Colonel was proud of his well-set-up stripling, although, of course, +a boy could never be of so much value in a family as a girl, according to +Colonel Fortescue's philosophy. With Mrs. Fortescue it was the other +way. Dear as was Anita to her, the mother's heart was triumphant over +her soldier son. As for the After-Clap, he frankly repudiated his whole +domestic circle, except Kettle, for Beverley, who was as tall and strong +as his father and could do many more things amusing to a +two-and-half-year-old than a stern and dignified Colonel. Anita and +Beverley were as intimate and passionately fond of each other as when +they were little playmates. Beverley asked some questions of his mother +concerning Anita. +</P> + +<P> +"All the fellows like to dance with her and ride with her, but she treats +them all as she does old Conway." +</P> + +<P> +"Old Conway," Colonel Fortescue's aide, was barely turned thirty; but to +the twenty-one-year-old Beverley, Conway seemed an aged veteran. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't understand it," plaintively responded Mrs. Fortescue. +"Sometimes I think Anita has no coquetry in her. Again I think she is +the worst type of coquette—she treats all men alike. You remember my +writing you about Anita being thrown at the music ride last Christmas +Eve, and Broussard jumping his horse over her?" +</P> + +<P> +"I should think so," answered Beverley. "I wish you could have seen the +letter the Colonel wrote me about it. I felt more sorry for what the +poor old chap must have suffered than for you, mother." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't call your father 'the poor old chap,'" said Mrs. Fortescue +positively. "And don't make jokes about the After-Clap being the child +of his old age. Your father doesn't like it. It's perfectly disgusting +the way young people now speak of their elders, who are barely +middle-aged, as if they were centenarians. Well, I think, and your +father thinks, that Anita had a fancy for Broussard. He was a very +attractive man. Your father thought him a prodigal with his money, but, +of course, some fault must be found with every man who looks at Anita." +</P> + +<A NAME="img-169"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-169.jpg" ALT=""Don't call your father 'the poor old chap,'" said Mrs. Fortescue positively." BORDER="2" WIDTH="405" HEIGHT="480"> +<H4> +[Illustration: "Don't call your father 'the poor old chap,'" <BR> +said Mrs. Fortescue positively.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"But Anita is so young—a chit, a child." +</P> + +<P> +"She is not quite three years younger than you," replied Mrs. Fortescue. +"This notion that Anita is a child and must be treated as such is +ridiculous. Why, when I was Anita's age, I had had a dozen love affairs." +</P> + +<P> +"Did no one ever tell you, mother, that you are a born coquette, and you +will be coquettish at ninety, if you live to bless us so long?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue laughed the soft, musical laugh that was a part of her +armory of charms, and made no reply. +</P> + +<P> +At dinner that night Beverley suddenly began to ask questions about +Broussard, praising his horsemanship, but wanting to know what kind of a +fellow he was. The Colonel spoke guardedly and damned Broussard with +faint praise, as he would any man whom he thought likely to rob him of +his one ewe lamb; yet the Colonel thought himself a just man. +</P> + +<P> +The eloquent blood leaped into Anita's cheeks, and there was something +like resentment in her eyes at the Colonel's cool commendation. After +dinner she took Beverley into the garden, and the brother and sister +walked up and down in the moonlight, and Anita, thinking she was keeping +her secret, revealed everything to Beverley. Broussard was the finest +young officer, the most beautiful horseman, he could sing Körner's Battle +Hymn as no one else could, and when she played a violin obligato to his +songs of love—— +</P> + +<P> +Anita stopped short, and turned her long-lashed eyes full on Beverley. +</P> + +<P> +"Daddy doesn't do justice to Mr. Broussard," she said, "but you ought to +have seen the way he grasped Mr. Broussard's hands after the music ride." +</P> + +<P> +Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue, sitting in the cool, dim drawing-room, heard +Beverley's laughter floating in from the garden. Beverley saw the case +at a glance. +</P> + +<P> +The torrid summer slipped by, and in November it was winter again, and +the earth was snowbound once more. In all those months Mrs. Lawrence +remained, feeble and nerveless, in the two little rooms she was still +permitted to occupy. By that time she was a shadow. Mrs. McGillicuddy +was more kind than ever to her, and Sergeant McGillicuddy grew more +sombre every day, thinking that his words had brought Lawrence to ruin +and his unfortunate wife close to the boundaries of the far country. The +chaplain took the Sergeant in hand, and so did the Colonel, but the +Sergeant, who had a tender heart under his well-fitting uniform, was not +a happy man. Anita went regularly to see Mrs. Lawrence, and as the young +are appalled at the thought of life going out, she watched with +palpitating fear what seemed a steady journey toward the land where +spirits dwell. But always on those visits to the woman who seemed +slipping from life into the great ocean of forgetfulness, there was a +thrill of joy for Anita; she could see Broussard's picture. Young and +imaginative souls live and thrive on very little. +</P> + +<P> +The introspective life that Anita led was strongly expressed in her +music. Never had Neroda a pupil who was willing to work so hard as +Anita, and the result charmed him. On this afternoon Anita was at her +lesson in the great drawing-room, the red sunset pouring in through the +long windows and flooding the room with crimson lights and purple +shadows. Anita, wearing a little, nun-like black gown that outlined her +slim figure, played, with wonderful fire and finish, a wild and gorgeous +Hungarian dance by Brahms. +</P> + +<P> +There was a delicate melody winding through all of the rich harmonies, as +it ran up the scale, like a bird soaring into the blue sky, and then +descended with splendid double notes, into the sombre and passionate G +string, the string that touches the soul. It grew more of a miracle to +Neroda than ever to watch Anita's slender bow-arm flashing back and +forth, drawing out, with amazing force, the soul of the violin, her +slender figure erect and poised high, vibrating with the strings, and her +eyes darkening and lightening as the music grew deeply passionate or +brilliantly gay. When she finished, and stood, smiling and triumphant, +still holding the violin and bow, Neroda said to her: +</P> + +<P> +"Are you not tired, Signorina?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not a bit," cried Anita. "I feel that I could play as long as you did, +in the days of which you told me when you first came to America and would +play the violin all night long for dancers on the East Side in New York." +</P> + +<P> +"I believe you could, almost," replied Neroda, smiling. "I, who had been +a concert master in Italy, was only too glad to get three dollars for +fiddling from eight in the evening until three in the morning; but they +were happy nights, because I was young and strong and full of hope and +loved my fiddle. Sometimes, when I am leading the band in my fine +uniform, I long to take the instrument away from one of the bandsmen and +play it as I did in those days, without any baton to hold me back; but +the violin is a man's instrument and requires much strength. Now, where, +Signorina, in your girlish arms and little hands, did you get such +strength?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is here," said Anita, smiling and tapping her breast. "I have a +strong heart, my blood circulates well, and I am not afraid of the +violin, like most girls. I am its master, and it shall do my will." +</P> + +<P> +At that she tapped her violin sharply with the bow, saying to it: +</P> + +<P> +"Do you hear me? You are my slave, and I shall make you do what I wish +you to do. If I wish you to talk Brahms, you shall talk Brahms; if I +wish you to be sad, I will make you sad with funeral marches. You shall +speak Italian, German, French or English, as I tell you." +</P> + +<P> +Neroda laughed with delight. He loved the imaginative nature of the +girl, who treated her violin as if it were a living thing, and whispered +her secrets into the ear of her riding horse, and told love stories to +her birds. +</P> + +<P> +"In Italy," said Neroda, "a fiddler, if he really knows how to play dance +music, can dance as well as play. In those nights on the East Side, in +New York, when I played for the workmen and working girls in their cheap +finery, I went among the dancers myself while I played, and they always +gave me a round of applause and danced harder themselves." +</P> + +<P> +Anita suddenly swept the strings with her bow and dashed into another +Hungarian dance of Brahms, herself taking pretty dancing steps and +pirouetting as she played, sinking upon one knee and then rising, the toe +of her little slipper pointing skyward. She felt an unaccountable gaiety +of heart that day. Why, she knew not, only that some strong current of +emotion inspired her arms, her hands, her little, twinkling feet, as she +danced the length of the drawing-room and back again. Suddenly the music +stopped with a crash. She looked up and saw Broussard standing in the +door. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, thank you!" said Broussard, advancing and bowing and smiling. +"I have seen it all. When you dance and play at the same time, you can +master the heart of a man, as well as that of a violin." +</P> + +<P> +Anita stood still for a moment, thrilled with the shock of joy at seeing +Broussard. She laid her violin and bow down on the piano, and gave him +her hand, which trembled in his. Broussard's first thought was that +Anita was grown into a woman. Anita's first glance at Broussard showed +her that he was thin and sallow, and that his clothes hung loosely upon +him, and that, in spite of his smile and playful words, his mind was not +at ease. +</P> + +<P> +Neroda, standing near, saw the glow in the eyes of Anita and Broussard, +and as they had evidently forgotten his existence, he slipped, without a +word, out of the room. The next moment Colonel Fortescue walked in. +</P> + +<P> +All at once, Anita and Broussard assumed strictly conventional attitudes; +poetry became prose, music became silence. Broussard hastened to explain +his presence, after exchanging greetings with Colonel Fortescue. +</P> + +<P> +"I came on private business, sir," he said, "very important. Not finding +you at the headquarters building, I ventured to come to your house, as I +wished to see you immediately." +</P> + +<P> +"Will you come into my office?" said the Colonel, in a business-like +voice, which seemed to reduce Anita to the age of the After-Clap, and +classify Broussard with the poker that stood by the fireplace. +</P> + +<P> +The two men crossed the hall and entered the private office and sat down. +Then Colonel Fortescue noticed that Broussard looked haggard and worn, +and his dark skin had turned darker. His face and manner assumed a +gravity which made Colonel Fortescue feel that Broussard's errand was not +one of pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +"I am on sick leave," said Broussard. "We were in the jungles eight +months and every one of us had fever. I was the last to come down, and I +had a bad case. The doctors sent me home for three months, and when I go +back—for I didn't mean to let the infernal climate out there get the +better of me—I shall be in Guam. That's paradise compared with the +interior." +</P> + +<P> +"So I know," answered the Colonel, remembering the snakes and mosquitoes +and the flies and the beetles and the hideous swamps and sickening +forests, the slime, the mud, the marshes and all the horrors of the +tropics. +</P> + +<P> +"I should like to spend my leave at Fort Blizzard," Broussard continued, +"I thought the climate here was what I needed." +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue nodded courteously; nobody could stay at Fort Blizzard +without the permission of the C. O. But Broussard felt that the Colonel +saw through him and beyond him. As Colonel Fortescue would not encourage +him by so much as a word, Broussard kept on: +</P> + +<P> +"In the Philippines, I heard some news that was enough to kill a well +man, much less a man just out of jungle fever. You perhaps remember, +sir, the man Lawrence, who, I heard in the Philippines, had deserted?" +</P> + +<P> +"He was supposed to have deserted," corrected the Colonel, who was always +the soul of accuracy. +</P> + +<P> +He glanced at Broussard's face and saw there deep agitation and distress. +</P> + +<P> +"Lawrence has come back," continued Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +Then he stopped, as if unable to keep on, and taking out his +handkerchief, wiped away drops upon his forehead, so deadly white under +his black hair. +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue remained silent. He saw that Broussard had something +to tell that racked his soul. Broussard sighed heavily, and after a +pause spoke again: +</P> + +<P> +"I found Lawrence in San Francisco; he was trying to work his way back to +Fort Blizzard. I gave him the money to come and came here with him. He +wishes to give himself up and is willing to take his punishment. He got +frightened at striking McGillicuddy and deserted." +</P> + +<P> +"Do I understand that Lawrence was returning voluntarily?" asked the +Colonel. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir—voluntarily. He saw my arrival in the San Francisco +newspapers and came straight to my hotel. If I ever saw a man crazy with +remorse, it was Lawrence. His sobs and cries were terrible to hear. He +knew nothing of his wife and child, and that, too, was helping to drive +him to madness." +</P> + +<P> +"His wife and child are still here," said Colonel Fortescue. "Lawrence's +disappearance has nearly killed his wife; that's always the way with +these faithful souls who do no wrong themselves. But somebody else +always does wrong enough for both. Where is Lawrence now?" +</P> + +<P> +"At the block house, a mile away," replied Broussard. "I wished to see +you before Lawrence gives himself up." +</P> + +<P> +Broussard's strange agitation was increasing. Colonel Fortescue took up +a newspaper and glanced at it, to give Broussard a chance to recover +himself. In a minute or two Broussard managed to speak calmly. +</P> + +<P> +"You remember, sir," he said, "that I asked you to take my word there was +nothing wrong in my association with Lawrence and his wife." +</P> + +<P> +"I remember quite well," answered Colonel Fortescue, "I never doubted +your word." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," said Broussard. Once more he wiped the cold drops from his +forehead, and continued in a low voice, tremulous and often broken. +</P> + +<P> +"I told you that Lawrence and I had been playmates in our boyhood, +although he is much older than I. Sir, Lawrence is my half-brother—the +son of my mother. She was an angel on earth, and she is now an angel in +Heaven. If heavenly spirits can suffer, my mother suffers this day that +her son should have deserted from his duty." +</P> + +<P> +Never had Colonel Fortescue felt greater pity for a man than for +Broussard then. The shame of confessing that his mother's son had +forfeited his honor was like death itself to Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +"But there is joy in Heaven over a penitent sinner," said Colonel +Fortescue, who believed in God, and was neither afraid nor ashamed to say +so. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard bowed his head. +</P> + +<P> +"My mother—God bless her—was the very spirit of honor. She was the +daughter of an officer. When I was a little chap and said I wanted to be +a soldier, she would tell me the stories of the Spartan mothers, who hade +their sons return with their shields or on them. Thank God, she was +taken away before dishonor fell upon her eldest son. She thought him +dead, and so did I, until last January, when Lawrence told me, the night +before I left this post, who he really was. When I met him in San +Francisco I told him I would come with him here to give himself up, that +I would acknowledge him for my half-brother, that I would sit by him at +his court-martial and go to the door of the military prison with him. He +begged me to keep our relationship secret for the sake of our mother's +memory." +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue held out his hand, and grasped that of Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +"You speak like a man," he said, "but Lawrence is right in keeping the +relationship a secret, and it shows that he understands the height from +which he has fallen. Does his wife know of the relationship?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir," Broussard replied. "I thought it best to tell her. But she +kept the secret well. My brother's wife is worthy of my mother." +</P> + +<P> +"There are many heroic women in the world," said Colonel Fortescue. +</P> + +<P> +"True," answered Broussard. "My sister-in-law was glad when my brother +enlisted. She said it was a good thing for him, and he undoubtedly did +better at this post than he had done for a long time. And his wife, who +was born and bred to luxury, stood by my brother and tried to save him. +She worked and slaved for him harder than any private's wife I ever saw. +She never uttered a reproach to him. Each day she mounted a Calvary. I +could kiss the hem of that woman's gown, in reverence for her." +</P> + +<P> +"So could I," said Colonel Fortescue. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," continued Broussard, "I told her and wrote her that neither +she nor her child should ever suffer. I have sent her money—all that +was needed, as I have something besides my pay." +</P> + +<P> +The Colonel, recalling the motors, the oriental rugs, the grand piano, +and other articles <I>de luxe</I>, which Broussard had once possessed, thought +Broussard had a trifle too much beside his pay. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think she has had much use for money since her husband +deserted," said Colonel Fortescue. "She has been constantly ill. My +wife and daughter and the other ladies at the post have done everything +possible for her, and Sergeant McGillicuddy took the boy. McGillicuddy +feels himself responsible for Lawrence running away. He said something +exasperating to Lawrence, who struck him in a fit of rage, and then ran +away." +</P> + +<P> +"So my sister-in-law wrote, or rather Miss Fortescue wrote for her." +</P> + +<P> +"The army is the place for good hearts," said the Colonel, well knowing +what he was talking about. +</P> + +<P> +As Colonel Fortescue spoke, a man was seen, in the fast falling dusk, to +pass the window. The next moment a tap came at the door, and when +Colonel Fortescue answered, the door opened and Lawrence walked in. +</P> + +<P> +The Colonel, who had watched Lawrence closely, saw a subtle change in +him. He held his head up, and his face, always handsome, had lost the +dissipated, reckless look that dissipated and reckless men readily +acquire. His hair and mustache, which a year before had been coal black, +were now quite grey; he seemed another man than he had once been. He +saluted the Colonel, and said quietly: +</P> + +<P> +"I have come, sir, to give myself up—I am the man, John Lawrence, who +struck Sergeant McGillicuddy last January, and deserted." +</P> + +<P> +"You were a great fool," replied the Colonel, "I think it was a clear +case of a fool's panic." +</P> + +<P> +"All I have to say, sir," said Lawrence, after a moment, "is, that I had +no intention of deserting until I struck the Sergeant and got frightened. +And I've been trying to get back for the last two months. Mr. Broussard +can tell you all about it." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Broussard has told me all about it," said the Colonel. "Consider +yourself under arrest until nine o'clock tomorrow morning, when you will +report at the headquarters building. Meanwhile, go to your wife; she is +a million times too good for you." +</P> + +<P> +"I know it, sir," replied Lawrence. +</P> + +<P> +"And my wife is a million times too good for me," added the Colonel, +reflectively. +</P> + +<P> +Lawrence went out and Broussard rose to go. +</P> + +<P> +"You have not asked me to consider this talk as confidential," said the +Colonel, "nevertheless, I shall so consider it. As your Colonel, I +advise and require that you should say nothing about Lawrence's +relationship to you. This much is due your mother's memory." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, sir," replied Broussard, a great load lifted from his heart. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard did not wish to go at once to Mrs. Lawrence; she should have +one hour alone with her husband. Nor did he care to go to the officers' +club at that moment. He walked toward the quarters of the +non-commissioned officers, scarcely noticing where his steps led. As he +passed the McGillicuddy quarters, the door opened, and little Ronald ran +out bareheaded. He recognized Broussard, and Broussard, feeling strongly +and strangely the call of the blood, took the boy in his arms and covered +his little face with kisses much to the lad's surprise, and sent him to +the house. The next minute, Broussard came face to face with Sergeant +McGillicuddy. +</P> + +<P> +The Sergeant, who did not often smile in those days, smiled when he saw +Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +"But, Mr. Broussard, you don't look quite fit," said the Sergeant. "The +Philippines, drat 'em, ain't good for the complexion." +</P> + +<P> +"I know I look like the devil," replied Broussard, "but I'm on sick leave +and I hope Fort Blizzard is the right kind of a climate for me. By the +way, the man Lawrence, who deserted in January, has come back. We +travelled from San Francisco together. He has already given himself +up—voluntarily, you know." +</P> + +<P> +In the gloom of the November twilight Broussard could not see the +Sergeant's face clearly. There was a bench close by, on the edge of the +asphalt walk, and the Sergeant dropped rather than sat upon it. +</P> + +<P> +"Excuse me, sir," he said to Broussard, "but the news you give me takes +all my nerve away, and yet it's the best news I ever heard in my life. +You know, sir, it was some words of mine—and God knows I never meant to +harm Lawrence—that made him strike me, and then he got scared and——" +</P> + +<P> +"I know all about it," replied Broussard, sitting down on the bench by +the Sergeant. "Of course, you felt pretty bad about it. Any man would." +</P> + +<P> +Something between a sob and a groan burst from the Sergeant. +</P> + +<P> +"I've worn chevrons for twenty-seven years, sir," he said. "I was made a +sergeant when I was twenty-five. I've handled all sorts of men and +licked 'em into shape and I ain't got it on my conscience as I ever tried +to make a man's lot any harder, or to discourage him, and I never spoke +an insultin' word to a soldier in my life, and I hope I'll be called to +report to the Great Commander before I do. But I said something +chaffin'-like to that poor devil and he struck me, and I didn't hit him +back—I didn't hit him back, thank God, nor threaten to report him. But +I had to tell the truth to the Colonel and take part of the blame on +myself." +</P> + +<P> +"That's right," answered Broussard with deep feeling. The Sergeant +little knew how great a stake Broussard had in the business. +</P> + +<P> +"And the chaplain, he seen something was wrong with me and so did Missis +McGillicuddy—she's a soldier, sir, is Missis McGillicuddy. I made a +clean breast of it to the chaplain and he helped me a lot. I've been +goin' to church on Sundays ever since I was married—to tell you the +truth, sir, Missis McGillicuddy marched me off every Sunday without +askin' me if it was agreeable, any more than she'd ask Ignatius or +Aloysius. But since my trouble, I've gone of my own will, and I've +headed the prayin' squad, I can tell you, Mr. Broussard." +</P> + +<P> +"And you took good care of the boy, you and Mrs. McGillicuddy," said +Broussard, who had learned of it from the letter written by Anita at Mrs. +Lawrence's request. The Sergeant took off his cap for a moment, baring +his grey head to the biting cold. +</P> + +<P> +"The best we could, so help me God. There wasn't nothin' me and Missis +McGillicuddy could do for the kid as we didn't do. The chaplain told us +we done too much, we was over-indulgent to the boy. But we taught him to +do right, although we give him better food and better clothes than any of +our own eight children ever had, and now——" +</P> + +<P> +The Sergeant stood in silence for a moment, his cap once more in his +hand, his head bowed. Broussard knew he was giving thanks. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard, under cover of the darkness, took his way to the quarters +which Mrs. Lawrence had never left. He knocked and, receiving no answer, +entered the narrow passage-way and walked into the little sitting-room. +Lawrence lay back in the arm chair in which his wife had spent so many +hours of helpless misery. His face was paler than ever and his lank hair +lay damp upon his forehead. Mrs. Lawrence, who had been suffering from +the cruel malady known as a shamed and broken heart, sat by her husband, +speaking words of cheer and tenderness. As Broussard entered she rose to +her feet with new energy, no longer tottering as she walked, and placed +both arms about Broussard's neck. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, my brother! The best of brothers," she cried and could say no more +for her tears. +</P> + +<P> +Presently they were sitting together, all externally calm, but all filled +with a tense emotion. +</P> + +<P> +"Try to persuade her," said Lawrence to Broussard, "to go away before the +court-martial sits. It will be too much for her." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Lawrence turned her dark eyes, once tragic but now brimming with +light, full on Broussard. Broussard said to Lawrence: +</P> + +<P> +"These angelic women are very obstinate." +</P> + +<P> +"Would your mother, of whom my husband has told me so much, go away if +she were in my place?" +</P> + +<P> +Both Broussard and Lawrence remained silent. +</P> + +<P> +"Then," said Mrs. Lawrence, "can you blame me if I act as your mother +would act?" +</P> + +<P> +Broussard took her hand and kissed it; the marks of toil upon it went to +his soul. +</P> + +<P> +"But the boy must be sent away," cried Lawrence. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, he may go," replied Mrs. Lawrence, "but I shall stay." +</P> + +<P> +It was nearly seven o'clock, the hour for dinner at the officers' club, +before Broussard left the Lawrences' quarters. All the men at the club +were delighted to see Broussard, and all of them told him he looked seedy +and every one who had served in the Philippines and had caught the jungle +fever proposed a different regimen for him, but all agreed that Fort +Blizzard was a good place to recuperate and that the "old man," as the +commanding officer is always called, was rather a decent fellow, and +might let him stay, and then they plunged into garrison news and gossip. +Broussard was thoroughly glad to be back once more at the handsome mess +table, with the bright faces of the subalterns around him and the cheery +talk and honest laughter, but his heart was full of other things—Anita +Fortescue, for instance, and Lawrence and his wife and the little boy. +Some questions were asked him about Lawrence. Broussard replied briefly +that he found the man in San Francisco trying to get back to Fort +Blizzard; he wanted to give himself up at the scene of his crime and +Broussard had paid for his railway ticket. +</P> + +<P> +"And brought him with you to keep him from getting away," said Conway, +"very judicious thing to do with men like Lawrence." +</P> + +<P> +"I think he would have given himself up anyway," Broussard replied +quietly. +</P> + +<P> +Military justice is short and simple and severe. Within forty-eight +hours the court-martial sat. As Lawrence marched into the courtroom +between two soldiers, guarding him, his wife, dressed in black, as +always, and with Mrs. McGillicuddy sitting near her, rose from her seat +and took another one as close to her husband as she could get and smiled +encouragement at him. Lawrence, watching her tender gaze, burst into +tears. +</P> + +<P> +It was all done very quickly. Sergeant McGillicuddy was one of the two +witnesses, Broussard being the other. The Sergeant testified as if he +were the criminal and not Lawrence. Broussard was the second witness and +merely told of Lawrence coming to him in San Francisco, saying he wished +to get to Fort Blizzard and give himself up. He could have done so at +San Francisco but he wanted to see his wife and child and believed he +would get more mercy at Fort Blizzard than any where else. +</P> + +<P> +Then the prisoner was called to tell his story. He did it quietly and in +a few words. He had no thought of deserting until he struck the +Sergeant. Then he was frightened and ran away and, making the railway +station, hid in a freight car and got away. He worked his way East, and +found employment as a miner and was earning good wages, but his +conscience troubled him, especially after he received a letter from his +wife. He had got as far as San Francisco, which took all his savings, +when he saw Mr. Broussard's name in the newspapers and went to see him. +He asked the mercy of the court. +</P> + +<P> +The court was merciful, and gave him the shortest possible prison +sentence, to be served out at the military prison of Fort Blizzard. All +the officers kept their eyes turned from the pale woman in black, sitting +close to the prisoner. They wished to do justice and not to be turned +from it by a woman's pleading eyes. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +LOVE, THE CONQUEROR +</H3> + + +<P> +Broussard meant to spend his three months' leave in the pursuit of +happiness at Fort Blizzard, where he could see Anita every day if he +wanted—and he always wanted to see Anita. She was now nearing her +nineteenth birthday and could hardly be considered the infant which +Colonel Fortescue continued to proclaim her to be. +</P> + +<P> +The day after Broussard's arrival was Sunday and on Sunday afternoons. +Broussard knew he should find Anita at home. It was the pleasant custom +in the C. O.'s house for Mrs. Fortescue to receive the young officers, +for whom she always had a tender spot in her heart. Broussard was one of +the later arrivals. Already through the great windows the blue peaks of +ice were seen, touched with a moment's golden glory from the setting sun, +and the purple shadows were softly descending upon the snow-white world. +</P> + +<P> +The first member of the Fortescue household who met Broussard gave him a +rapturous greeting. This was Kettle, who opened the massive doors to +visitors. +</P> + +<P> +"Hi! Mr. Broussard, I cert'ny is glad to see you, and Miss 'Nita, she is +right heah in the drawin'-room, and I spect she jump fer joy when she see +you!" shouted Kettle, who was a child of nature and spoke the truth as he +saw it. +</P> + +<P> +"And I'm glad enough to get back to snow and ice after snakes and +mosquitoes and Moros," replied Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +Immediately a small financial transaction passed between Broussard and +Kettle, accompanied with the usual wink from Broussard and grin from +Kettle. +</P> + +<P> +"She doan' take no notice of none of 'em," whispered Kettle +confidentially, "she jes' smile at 'em all and goes 'long thinkin' about +you!" +</P> + +<P> +This was most encouraging and Broussard considered it well worth a +quarter. +</P> + +<P> +As he entered the drawing-room, bright with a glowing wood fire, Anita, +who was entrenched behind a little tea table, rose to greet him. She +wore a little white gown and like another white gown of hers it had a +train—Anita was very anxious to appear as old as possible. As Broussard +spoke to Mrs. Fortescue, who received him with her usual graceful +cordiality, they could hear from the plaza the band playing the solemn +hymn which precedes the retreat on Sunday afternoons. Suddenly the +sunset gun roared out, showing that the flag was descending from the +flagstaff. At once, every one in the room rose and stood respectfully at +attention until the flag came down. Broussard, in the friendly shadow of +the tea table, held on a moment to Anita's hand. She looked straight +away from Broussard, her red lips smiling at an infatuated second +lieutenant on the other side of her, but her cheeks, already of a +delicate rose color, hung out the scarlet flag which means, in love, a +surrender. Broussard even felt a faint returning pressure of the +fingers, so well screened that only they themselves knew of the meeting +of the hands. +</P> + +<P> +Then they all sat down again and the pleasant talk began once more, Anita +taking her part with a subdued current of gaiety unusual in her, for, as +Mrs. Fortescue was essentially L'Allegro, so Anita was by nature, Il +Penseroso. +</P> + +<P> +Once more, when the color-sergeant brought the flag in, and placed it in +a corner of the fine drawing-room, all present stood up; then there was +much merry chatter and tea and chaff and that universal kindliness which +seems to develop around a friendly tea table. One thing surprised +Broussard—not only that Anita appeared quite grown up but that she could +talk of many things of which he had never before heard her speak. As for +the Philippines, she had all the lore about them at her finger tips. +Broussard, watching her out of the tail of his eye, saw that she was no +longer the adorable child, who lived with her birds and her violin, but +an adorable woman, who had learned to think and feel and speak as a +woman. How was it that she had read so many books on the Philippines? +</P> + +<P> +"When did you begin your study of the Philippines?" asked the wily +Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +"Only since January," answered Anita; and realizing that she had +unconsciously revealed a great secret she lowered her lashes and turned +her violet eyes away from Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +That night, over his last cigar in his room at the officers' club, +Broussard began to plan a regular campaign for Anita against Colonel +Fortescue. But ever in the midst of it would come those sweet +inadvertent words of Anita's and Broussard would fall into a delicious +reverie with which Colonel Fortescue had no part. But then Broussard +would come back to the real business of the matter—outgeneralling +Colonel Fortescue—for everybody knew how devoted Anita was to her father +and Broussard considered the C. O. as a lion in his path. Of course, the +old curmudgeon, as Broussard in his own mind called the Colonel, would +rake up a lot of imaginary objections—he always was a martinet, and +would be a stiff proposition to master in the present emergency. +Broussard was tolerably certain of Mrs. Fortescue's assistance, who was +an open and confessed sentimentalist, and was generally understood to be +the guardian angel of all the love affairs at Fort Blizzard. Beverley +Fortescue might be reckoned as a neutral, being himself in the toils of +Sally Harlow, who was Anita's age. Then, Kettle and the After-Clap could +be reckoned upon as auxiliaries—Broussard swore at himself for not +remembering the After-Clap's existence that afternoon; Anita was +ridiculously fond of the little chap. +</P> + +<P> +But Colonel Fortescue would be a hard nut to crack—Broussard threw the +stump of his cigar into the fire and thought all fathers of adorable +daughters highly undesirable persons. After long and hard thinking +Broussard concluded to begin at once an earnest and devoted courtship of +Colonel Fortescue as the best way to win Anita. +</P> + +<P> +"Because I'll have to court the old fellow anyhow, cuss him!" was +Broussard's inner belief. "Anita will expect any man she marries to be +as much in love with the Colonel as she is—so here goes!" +</P> + +<P> +The very next morning Broussard began his open attentions to the Colonel +and his secret wooing of Anita. He had plenty of opportunities for both. +It was easy enough to see Anita every day. Often they rode together in +the gay riding parties that were among the constant amusements of the +young things at the post. Then, there was the weekly dance in the great +ball-room and many little dances and dinners, and Broussard always +contrived to be with Anita the best part of the evening. He was always +willing to sing and Anita was always ready to play the violin obligatos +for him. Broussard developed wonderful knowledge of song birds and +entirely abandoned game chickens, and was astonishingly regular in his +attendance at the chapel, which induced Anita to think him a model of +Christian piety. If Broussard had been a conceited man he would have +seen that Anita's heart was his long before he asked for it; but being a +modest fellow and thinking Anita was but a little lower than the angels, +Broussard paid her the delicate and tender court which women love so well. +</P> + +<P> +The regimen of love and leisure did wonders for Broussard. His thin face +filled up, his color returned, he was soon able to dance and ride and +shoot with the best of his comrades. He did not forget the man in the +military prison or the wife that watched and waited and prayed and hoped. +But there was reason to hope: Lawrence was, from the beginning, a model +prisoner, and the chaplain, who had lost, in the course of years, some of +his confidence in repentance, began once more to believe that it was +possible to regenerate a man's soul. Most prisoners are a trifle too +ready to accept the theory of the forgiveness of sins. Not so Lawrence. +Often, he had paroxysms of despair, accusing himself wildly and doubting +whether the good God could forgive so evil a sinner as he. Sometimes, he +would refuse to see his wife, declaring he was not fit for her to speak +to; again, he would weep and ask for a sight of his child, now far away +and in good hands. All these things, and more, the chaplain knew, from +long experience, meant that Lawrence's soul was struggling toward the +light. Regularly Broussard went to see him at the prison and the two +men, the high-minded officer and the disgraced private, were drawn +together by the secret bond between them. Often, they talked in whispers +of their dead mother and Broussard would say to Lawrence: +</P> + +<P> +"Our mother's spirit and your wife's love ought to save you." +</P> + +<P> +Another visitor Lawrence had was Sergeant McGillicuddy. The Sergeant's +merciful soul could not accept the chaplain's theory that the blow +provoked by McGillicuddy had been Lawrence's salvation. +</P> + +<P> +"I never knew a man who was helped by being a deserter, sir," was the +Sergeant's answer to the chaplain's kindly sophism, "but Lawrence is a +penitent man—that I see with my own eyes. I don't need no chaplain to +tell me that, sir." +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile, Broussard kept up a steady courtship of Colonel Fortescue. +Whatever views the Colonel advanced, Broussard promptly endorsed. He +gave up cock fighting, motors, superfluous clothes and high-priced +horses, and, if his word could be taken for it, he had adopted Spartan +tastes and meant to stick to them. Colonel Fortescue rated Broussard's +newly-acquired taste for the simple life at its true value, and was +sometimes a trifle sardonic over it. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish," said Colonel Fortescue savagely one night in his office, where +he always smoked his last cigar, Mrs. Fortescue sitting by, "I wish +Broussard would let up a little in his attention to me. I know exactly +what it means and it is getting to be an awful nuisance." +</P> + +<P> +"Cheer up," answered Mrs. Fortescue encouragingly, "he'll let up on his +devotion to you as soon as he marries Anita—for I have seen ever since +the night of the music ride that Anita has a secret preference for him, +and it's very natural—Broussard is an attractive man." +</P> + +<P> +"Can't see it," growled the Colonel. +</P> + +<P> +"If you would just limber up a little and not be so stiff with him," +urged Mrs. Fortescue, "let him see he can have Anita." +</P> + +<P> +"How can I limber up and tell him he can have Anita?" roared the Colonel. +"The fellow hasn't asked me for Anita." +</P> + +<P> +"He's asking you all the time," answered Mrs. Fortescue, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue looked up at her with sombre eyes. He had seen Anita +become the target for the flashing eyes of junior officers. He realized +that Mrs. Fortescue, woman-like, did not share and could not understand +the pangs of his soul at the thought of parting with Anita. He had often +observed that mothers willingly gave their daughters in marriage, but he +had never seen a father give up his daughter cheerfully to another man. +Mrs. Fortescue saw something of this in Colonel Fortescue's face and +leaned her cheek against his. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear," she said, "I believe most fathers suffer as you do at the thought +of giving up a daughter and some day I shall suffer the same at giving up +my son to another woman. So, after all, since our children will take on +a new love, we must return to our honeymoon days and not let anything +matter so long as we are together. Then, the After-Clap—I always feel +so ridiculously young whenever I look at that baby." +</P> + +<P> +At this the Colonel's heart was soothed and he did not hate Broussard +quite so much. +</P> + +<P> +There was, however, no let-up in Broussard's ardent wooing of the +Colonel, who took it a trifle more graciously. One afternoon, late in +December, Broussard, passing the headquarters building, saw Colonel +Fortescue's orderly holding the bridle reins of Gamechick, who was +saddled. Broussard was in his riding clothes and was himself waiting for +the horse lent him for the afternoon by a brother officer. He stopped +and began to pat Gamechick's beautiful neck and the horse, who was, like +all intelligent horses, a sentimentalist, rubbed his nose against +Broussard's head, and said, as plainly as a horse can say: +</P> + +<P> +"Dear master, I love you still." +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue, coming out of the gate, saw Broussard, and his heart +softened as he recalled the last time he had seen Broussard riding +Gamechick. It was now nearly a year ago. +</P> + +<P> +"Good afternoon, Mr. Broussard," said the Colonel, "I see you are dressed +for riding. Perhaps you would like to ride that old charger again; if +so, I will send for my own horse. Gamechick belongs to my daughter and I +only ride him to keep him in condition, because sometimes she is a little +lazy about exercising him." +</P> + +<P> +"Ladies are seldom judicious with horses," answered Broussard, agreeing +as always with Colonel Fortescue. "I shall be glad to ride the old horse +once more, and thank you very much." +</P> + +<P> +In a few minutes, the Colonel's own horse was brought and the two men, +mounting, rode off and away from the post for an hour's brisk ride in the +late winter afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard, whose tongue was usually frozen to the roof of his mouth when +he was in the Colonel's presence, felt a sudden sense of freedom and +talked naturally and therefore intelligently. His description of +military affairs in the East was wonderfully illuminating, and the +Colonel plied him with questions. They were so interested in their talk +that they reached the spur of the mountain ranges before they knew it. +The crisp air had got into their blood and into that of their horses, +which took the mountain road sharply, and at an eager trot. They had +climbed a good mile along the steep winding road, the snow under their +feet frozen as hard as stone, the rocks ice-coated, and the fir trees +like great trees of crystal. Gamechick was so sure-footed that Broussard +gave him the reins but Colonel Fortescue watched his horse carefully. +</P> + +<P> +Ahead of them was a sudden turn in the road under the great overhanging +cliff, and on it, a magnificent fir tree reared itself, glittering with +icicles, in the rose-red light of the sunset. +</P> + +<P> +"Look," said Colonel Fortescue, pointing to the tree. "Was there ever +anything more beautiful?" +</P> + +<P> +As the words left his lips he saw, and Broussard saw, a huge boulder +suddenly start down the mountain side and strike like a cannon ball the +splendid tree. There was a fearful breaking and splintering and all at +once it was as if the cliff crumbled and trees and boulders and ice and +snow came thundering and crashing down into the roadway. One moment the +crystal air had been so still that the click of the iron hoofs of their +horses seemed to be the only sound in the world. The next minute the +roar of breaking trees and falling rocks echoed like an earthquake and a +white cloud of misty snow and flying icicles hid the steel-blue heavens. +</P> + +<P> +It was done in such a fragment and flash of time that Broussard hardly +knew what had happened. He found himself standing on his feet, entangled +in the frozen branches of a fir tree. A little way off he heard +Gamechick, whinnying with fear, while under a fallen boulder Colonel +Fortescue's horse lay, his neck broken. Close by Colonel Fortescue lay +stark upon the ground. Broussard ran to him; he was lying upon his back +and said as coolly as if on dress parade: +</P> + +<P> +"I had a pretty close shave, but I don't think I'm hurt, except my ankle." +</P> + +<P> +Broussard, having had experience with injured men, thumped and punched +the Colonel only to find that he was not injured in any way except the +broken ankle; but a man with a broken ankle, six miles away from the +fort, with night coming on, and the thermometer below zero, presents +problems. +</P> + +<P> +"What a pity neither of us has a pistol," said Colonel Fortescue, when +Broussard had got him up from the frozen earth and arranged a rude seat +from the branches of the fir tree for him. "We could kill my poor horse +and end his sufferings." +</P> + +<P> +"He's already dead, thank God," replied Broussard, going over and looking +at the horse, lying as still and helpless as the rock that lay upon his +neck. Gamechick, the broken rein hanging upon his neck, stood trembling +and snorting with terror. +</P> + +<P> +"I think you had better ride back to the post and get help," said Colonel +Fortescue. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard walked toward Gamechick, but the horse, stricken with panic, +backed away and before Broussard could catch him, he whirled about wildly +and galloped down the mountain road at breakneck speed. The sound of his +iron hoofs pounding the icy road as he fled, driven by fear and anguish, +cut the silence like a knife. The two men listened to the clear metallic +sound borne upon the clear atmosphere by the winter wind. +</P> + +<P> +"He's a good messenger," said Broussard, "he is making straight for the +post." +</P> + +<P> +"If he gets there before he breaks his neck," replied the Colonel coolly, +taking out his cigar case and striking a light. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard listened attentively until the last echo had died away in the +distance. +</P> + +<P> +"He has got down all right and is now on the open road, and will get to +the fort in thirty minutes," he said. +</P> + +<P> +Then Broussard, gathering the broken branches of the fir tree, made a +fire which not only warmed them, but the blue smoke curling upward was a +signal for those who would come to search for them. He took the saddle +and blanket from the dead horse and arranged a comfortable seat for the +Colonel, who declared that a broken ankle was nothing; but his face was +growing pale as he spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"You remember," he said to Broussard, "that story about General Moreau, +something more than a hundred years ago, who smoked a cigar while the +surgeons were cutting off his leg." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir," replied Broussard. "You are not as badly off as General +Moreau, and I think I can help you, sir." Broussard proceeded to take +off the Colonel's boot and stocking. He rubbed the broken ankle with +snow and then, with his handkerchief and a splinter of wood, made a +bandage and splints, as soldiers are taught to do. +</P> + +<P> +Then Broussard accepted the cigar offered him by the Colonel, and smoked +vigorously. A lieutenant does not lead the conversation with a Colonel, +and so Broussard said nothing more and devoted himself to keeping the +fire going. +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue bore the pain, which was extreme, in grim silence, but +Broussard noticed that he stopped smoking and threw away his cigar. It +could not soothe him as it did General Moreau. Broussard immediately +threw away his cigar, too, which annoyed the Colonel. +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you keep on smoking?" asked the Colonel tartly. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't care about it particularly," shamelessly answered Broussard, +who was an inveterate smoker. +</P> + +<P> +"When we got out of tobacco in the jungle I kept the men quiet by singing +the old song ''Twas Off the Blue Canaries I Smoked My Last Cigar.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Music has always had a soothing influence over me," said Colonel +Fortescue, after a moment. "Suppose you sing that song. It may help +this infernal ankle of mine." +</P> + +<P> +Broussard obeyed orders immediately, and the old song was sung with all +the feeling that Broussard could infuse into his fine, rich voice. When +it was over, the Colonel said sternly: +</P> + +<P> +"Sing another song. Keep on singing until I tell you to quit." +</P> + +<P> +Broussard, being a sly dog, did not sing any of the modern songs that he +was wont to troll out at the club, or on the march, but chose for his +second number a song that subalterns sang to pianos, to banjos and +guitars, and even without accompaniment, the favorite song of the +subaltern, "A Warrior Bold." Broussard's clear baritone, sweet and +ringing, echoed among the icy cliffs in the wintry dusk. At the end, +Colonel Fortescue nodded his head in approval. +</P> + +<P> +"I used to sing that song," he said, "when I was a youngster, but I never +had a fine voice like yours. Tune up again." +</P> + +<P> +Broussard tuned up again, and this time it was a sweet old sentimental +ballad. He went conscientiously through his repertory of old-fashioned +ballads, not smiling in the least, Colonel Fortescue listening gravely to +these songs of love. The purple twilight was coming on fast and the +ruddy glare of the fire threw a beautiful crimson light upon the +snow-draped cliffs and ice-clad trees. During the intervals between the +songs, the two men listened for the sound of coming help. With a good +fire, plenty of cigars, and Broussard's cheerful singing, their plight +was not so bad. But a disturbing thought came to both of them. +</P> + +<P> +"The horse running back riderless, will alarm my wife and daughter," said +Colonel Fortescue after a while. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard made no reply; he hoped that Anita would be a little frightened +about him. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE REVEILLE +</H3> + + +<P> +Half an hour after Colonel Fortescue and Broussard rode away, Anita, +walking into her mother's room, said to Mrs. Fortescue: +</P> + +<P> +"Mother, let us ride this afternoon. It is so gloriously clear and +cold." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue turned from the desk where she was writing and hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +"I saw your father go off on Gamechick. You can ride Pretty Maid, but +your father objects so much to my riding Birdseye." +</P> + +<P> +"But there are plenty of mounts besides Birdseye," said Anita. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue glanced out of the window at the winter landscape and +shivered a little. +</P> + +<P> +"It is very cold," she said, "and rather late; the sun will be gone in +a little while." +</P> + +<P> +Anita came behind her mother and put her hands under Mrs. Fortescue's +pretty chin. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear mother," she said, "I want so much to ride this afternoon; I feel +that I must. Won't you go out, if it is only for half an hour?" +</P> + +<P> +Anita's eloquent eyes and pleading voice were not lost upon Mrs. +Fortescue, who found it difficult always to resist pleadings. +</P> + +<P> +"Well then," she said, "call up the stables and tell them to bring the +horses around as soon as possible, and some one to go with us, perhaps +McGillicuddy." +</P> + +<P> +Ten minutes later, Mrs. Fortescue and Anita, in their trim black habits +and smart little hats fastened on with filmy veils, came out on the +stone steps. The trooper was leading the horses up and down, and +Sergeant McGillicuddy, as escort, put both ladies into their saddles +and then himself mounted. Just as Mrs. Fortescue settled herself in +saddle and gave her horse a light touch with her riding-crop, a strange +sound was borne upon the sharp wind, the unmistakable sound of a +runaway horse. Sergeant McGillicuddy and Anita heard the sound at the +same moment, and stood motionless to listen. It grew rapidly near and +nearer and stray passers-by turned toward the main entrance, from which +direction came the wild clatter of iron-shod hoofs in maddened flight. +Suddenly through the open main entrance dashed Gamechick without a +rider. +</P> + +<P> +A riderless horse fleeing in terror, is one of the most tragic sights +on earth. The horse came pounding at breakneck speed, blinded in his +fright, as runaway horses are, but instinctively taking the straight +path across the plaza. It was as if the frantic hoof-beats awakened +the whole post. Soldiers ran out and officers stepped from their +comfortable quarters, while the officers' club emptied itself into the +street. The horse was recognized in a moment as Colonel Fortescue's +mount, and he made straight for the commandant's house. It was not +necessary for the trooper to seize the reins hanging loose on +Gamechick's neck. He came to a sudden halt, his sides heaving as if +they would burst, and he was dripping wet as if he had been in a river. +He stood, quivering, his sensitive ears cocking and uncocking wildly. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fortescue's face grew pale, but she said to McGillicuddy calmly: +</P> + +<P> +"Some accident has happened to Colonel Fortescue. Send word at once to +Major Harlow and to my son." +</P> + +<P> +Major Harlow, next in command, was on the spot almost as Mrs. Fortescue +spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"It is all right, Mrs. Fortescue," said Major Harlow, cheerfully. "The +Colonel probably dismounted and the horse got away. We will find him +in a little while." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," replied Mrs. Fortescue, "and Anita and I will ride with you." +</P> + +<P> +Anita looked with triumphant eyes at her mother. +</P> + +<P> +"I felt that we must be on horseback," she said, "I didn't understand +why a few minutes ago, but now I know why." +</P> + +<P> +A messenger was sent for Beverley Fortescue, but he was not to be +found. Some one in the group of officers remembered having seen him +riding off with Sally Harlow. Major Harlow did not attempt to keep up +with his daughter's cavaliers. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll find the Colonel all right," said Major Harlow, confidently, +"the horse will show us the way." +</P> + +<P> +Major Harlow rode in front with Sergeant McGillicuddy, who led +Gamechick, his head hanging down, looking the picture of shame but +carefully retracing his steps. Behind them rode Mrs. Fortescue and +Anita, and then came a small escort. Gamechick, walking wearily in +advance over the frozen snow, suddenly lifted his head and gave a loud +whinnying of joy, and at the same moment his tired legs seemed to gain +new strength, and he started off in a brisk trot. +</P> + +<P> +"He has caught the trail, Mrs. Fortescue," called back Major Harlow, +turning his head and meeting Mrs. Fortescue's glance; her face was pale +and so was Anita's, but the eyes of both were undaunted. +</P> + +<P> +Gamechick trotted ahead, sometimes faltering and going around in a +circle, the escort waiting patiently until he once more found his own +tracks. They were still a mile away from the entrance of the mountain +pass when Anita, looking up into the clear dark blue sky where the +palpitating stars were coming out, saw the blue smoke curling upward +from the pass. +</P> + +<P> +"Daddy and Mr. Broussard have made a fire," she cried. +</P> + +<P> +"Is Mr. Broussard with the Colonel?" asked Major Harlow, in surprise. +Until then, no one had spoken Broussard's name, or knew he was with +Colonel Fortescue. +</P> + +<P> +"I think so," replied Anita, "I was watching my father as he rode +toward the main entrance and I saw Mr. Broussard join him and they rode +off together." +</P> + +<P> +When they reached the rugged mountain road, the horses, with rough-shod +feet, scrambled up like cats. Now the searching party could not only +see the blue smoke floating above their heads, but they perceived a +delicate odor of burning fir branches. When they reached a spot in the +pass where a bridle path diverged Gamechick halted, putting his nose to +the ground as he stepped about and then throwing back his head in +disappointment. +</P> + +<P> +In the midst of the stillness came the sound of a voice; Broussard was +trolling out a ballad in Spanish which he had learned in the far-off +jungles of the Philippines. Mrs. Fortescue glanced at Anita. A +brilliant smile and a warm blush illuminated the girl's face. The +mother smiled; she knew the old, old story that Anita's violet eyes +were telling. +</P> + +<P> +Major Harlow raised a ringing cheer in which Sergeant McGillicuddy and +the officers and troopers joined. An answering cheer came back. It +was unnecessary then for Gamechick to show the way by galloping ahead. +</P> + +<P> +Within five minutes the pass was full of cavalrymen. Mrs. Fortescue, +down on her knees in the snow, was examining Colonel Fortescue's broken +ankle. Anita, for once losing the quiet reserve that was hers by +nature, was sitting by the Colonel, her arm around his neck, her cheek +against his, and the tears were dropping on her cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, daddy," she was whispering, "I knew that something had happened to +you and that I must come to you, and that was why I begged and prayed +my mother to come with me, and now we have found you, we have found +you!" +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue drew the girl close to his strong beating heart for a +brief moment. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a very neat splint," said Mrs. Fortescue, rising to her feet and +bestowing one of her brilliant smiles on Broussard. "Mr. Broussard is +a capital surgeon." +</P> + +<P> +"And a capital soldier," said the Colonel, quite clearly. +</P> + +<P> +A smile went around, of which Broussard's was the brightest and the +broadest. Everybody present knew that the stern Colonel was melting a +little toward Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +Then Colonel Fortescue insisted upon mounting Gamechick. +</P> + +<P> +"You are so obstinate," murmured Mrs. Fortescue, in his ear. "You are +as bent on riding that horse as you say I am on riding Birdseye." +</P> + +<P> +The Colonel nodded and smiled; the little differences which arose +between Mrs. Fortescue and himself were not settled in the presence of +others. +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Fortescue was helped on Gamechick's back and a trooper +dismounted and gave his horse to Broussard, the trooper mounting behind +a comrade; and without asking anybody's leave, Broussard rode beside +Anita. As the cavalcade took its way down the road, the darkness of a +moonless night descended suddenly, and the difficult way out of the +pass was lighted only by the large, bright stars, that seemed so +strangely near and kind. Often, in guiding Anita's horse along the +rocky road, Broussard's hand touched Anita's. Sometimes he dismounted +to lead her horse; always he was close to her, and when they spoke it +was in whispers. The rest of the party, including even Colonel +Fortescue, in sheer good nature left them to themselves and their +happiness. +</P> + +<P> +Soon the party reached the broad, white plain from which a great crown +of lights from the fort shone brilliantly in the dusk of the evening. +Half way across the plain they met Beverley Fortescue, riding in search +of them. He glanced at Anita, who blushed deeply, and at Broussard, +who smiled openly, and the two young officers exchanged signals, which +meant that the Colonel had been outgeneralled, out-footed and "stood on +his head," as Beverley undutifully expressed it at the officers' club +an hour later. +</P> + +<P> +"How did you manage the C. O.?" asked Beverley of Broussard, as they +exchanged confidences in the smoking-room. +</P> + +<P> +"I sang to him, like David did to Saul, and got the evil spirit out of +him. You ought to have seen him, sitting before the fire, grinding his +teeth with the pain of his ankle, and listening to 'Love's Old Sweet +Song.' I gave him a genteel suffering of sentimental songs, I can tell +you, and never cracked a smile, and no more did the old man"—this +being the unofficial title of all commanding officers. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think it would work on Major Harlow?" anxiously inquired +Beverley, "because this afternoon Sally and I——" +</P> + +<P> +Here the conference was reduced to whispers, as plans were made to +conquer Major Harlow. Only daughters are highly prized by doting +fathers. +</P> + +<P> +A broken ankle at fifty does not heal in a day, and until Christmas Eve +Colonel Fortescue was a prisoner in his chair, doing his administrative +work; and when that was done being cheered and soothed by the +tenderness in which he had been lapped since the day when, as a young +lieutenant, he married Betty Beverley in an old Virginia church. Never +was anything seen like Anita's devotion to her father. It seemed as if +she were never out of sound and reach of him and gave up all the +merry-making of the Christmas time to be with him. This prevented +Broussard from seeing Anita very often, and never alone, but they had +entered the Happy Valley together, and basked in the delicate joy of +love unspoken, but not unfelt. Anita knew that Broussard was only +biding his time, and Broussard knew that Anita was waiting, in smiling +silence. The Colonel wrote Broussard a very handsome note of thanks +and Mrs. Fortescue greeted him with grateful thanks. Then, Christmas +was coming, the claims of the After-Clap and the eight McGillicuddys +became insistent. Broussard did not forget the prisoner in the grim +military prison, nor the woman so faithful to the prisoner. Sergeant +McGillicuddy spent a small fortune in such comforts as Lawrence was +allowed to receive at Christmas time, and his knotty, weather-beaten +face grew positively cheerful over the way Lawrence was really +reforming. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard knew that Anita would not come to the Christmas Eve ball, +because in the evening her father liked her to read to him. But +Broussard went to the ball, and for the first time found a Christmas +ball dull. Flowers were scarce at Fort Blizzard, but by the +expenditure of much time and money Broussard succeeded in getting a +great box of fresh white roses for Anita on Christmas Day. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard went to the early service at the chapel in the darkness that +comes before the dawn. The little chapel shone with lights and echoed +with the triumphant Christmas music. It was quite full, but Anita sat +alone in the C. O.'s pew. She was all in black, except a single white +rose pinned over her heart. When the service was over, and the people +had streamed out, and the brilliant lights were replaced by a radiance, +faint and soft, Anita remained on her knees, praying. Broussard +remained on his knees, too, thinking he was praying, but in reality +worshipping Anita. Presently, she rose and passed out into the cold, +gray dawn. Broussard went out, too, meaning to intercept her and walk +home with her. But at the door Kettle appeared, carrying in his arms +the After-Clap, now nearly three years old, and capable of making a +great deal of noise. At once, he sent up a shout for "'Nita!" and +Anita, cruelly oblivious of Broussard's claims, took the After-Clap by +the hand and ran off to see his Christmas tree—that being the +After-Clap's day. Kettle, however, lagged behind to administer +consolation to Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +"Doan' you mind, Mr. Broussard," said Kettle, confidentially, "Miss +'Nita, she's jes' cipherin' on you all the time. She makes the Kun'l +tell her all 'bout them songs you done sing him that night in the +mountains, an' she and Miss Betty laffed fit ter kill when the Kun'l +tell 'em he made you sing like the devil to keep him from groanin' over +his ankle." +</P> + +<P> +For six mortal days, Broussard sought his chance to be alone with +Anita, but that chance eluded him in a maddening manner. Either the +Colonel or the After-Clap was perpetually in his way, and neither +Beverley Fortescue nor Kettle, who were his open allies, nor Mrs. +Fortescue, who was secretly on his side, could help him. Broussard, +however, swore a mighty oath that he would have Anita's promise before +the new year began. +</P> + +<P> +Late in the afternoon of the last day of the year, Broussard, who kept, +from the officers' club, a pretty close watch on the Commanding +Officer's house, saw Anita come out in her dark furs and the little +black gown and hat in which she looked most charming, and take her way +to the chapel. There was a back entrance, screened from the plaza by a +stone wall and a projection of the chapel, and Broussard thought there +could not be a better place for the words he meant to speak to Anita. +He seized his cap and ran out, ignoring the jeers of his comrades, who +had seen Anita pass and suspected Broussard's errand. In two minutes +he had entered the little walled-in spot, and there, indeed, stood +Anita. Within the chapel he could hear voices—the chaplain's voice +directing some changes; Kettle and a couple of men moving seats and +arranging things at the chaplain's directions. But as long as they +remained in the chapel they mattered little to Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +Anita's cheeks hung out their red flags of welcome. +</P> + +<P> +"At last!" said Broussard, clasping her hand, "I have watched and +waited for this chance!" +</P> + +<P> +In the little secluded spot, with a small, crescent moon stealing into +the sunset sky and the happy stars shining down upon them, Broussard +told Anita of his love. He knew not what words he spoke, for Love, the +master magician, speaks a thousand languages, and is eloquent in all. +Nor did Anita know what reply she made. After a deep and rapturous +silence they returned to earth, only to find it still Heaven. +</P> + +<P> +"I love you better than anything on earth except my honor," said +Broussard, holding Anita's little gloved hand in his. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," answered Anita softly, "next your honor." +</P> + +<P> +"And I have loved you for a long time," Broussard continued, "for a +whole year." In their brief, bright lives, a whole year seemed a long +time. "But you were so young—last year you were but a child, and I +was ashamed of myself for what I said to you the night of the music +ride—it isn't right to speak words of love to a girl who is not yet a +woman. Will you forgive me?" +</P> + +<P> +Anita's forgiveness shone in her eyes and smiled upon her scarlet mouth +when Broussard laid his lips on hers. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly, a wild shriek resounded. The After-Clap, who had been in +hiding behind Anita, and was unseen by Broussard, and forgotten by +Anita, emerged and set up a violent protest. Being now a sturdy +three-year-old, he was well able to express himself. +</P> + +<P> +"You go 'way!" screamed the After-Clap, raising a copper-toed foot, and +kicking Broussard's shins. +</P> + +<P> +"You let my 'Nita 'lone, you bad man!" +</P> + +<P> +The After-Clap's shrieks brought the chaplain and Kettle and a couple +of soldiers quickly out of the chapel. Meanwhile, with what Broussard +thought superhuman and intelligent malice, the After-Clap dragged the +iron gate open that led to the plaza, and rushed straight into the arms +of Colonel Fortescue, returning from his first walk, aided by a stick +in one hand and Mrs. Fortescue's arm on the other side. +</P> + +<P> +"Daddy! Daddy! You come here and beat Mr. Broussard. He kissed +'Nita! He kissed 'Nita!" shrieked the After-Clap. +</P> + +<P> +Broussard and Anita, standing in the circle of eyes, were much +embarrassed; Kettle, grabbing the After-Clap, shook him well, saying: +</P> + +<P> +"Heish yo' mouth! you didn't see no sich a thing!" +</P> + +<P> +This only increased the After-Clap's indignation, and he bawled louder +than ever: +</P> + +<P> +"I see Mr. Broussard kiss 'Nita! I see him kiss my 'Nita." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I kissed Anita," responded Broussard, recovering his native +impudence, "but she is my Anita and not your Anita any longer." +</P> + +<P> +This produced another attack on Broussard's shins by the After-Clap. +</P> + +<P> +"I think," said Mrs. Fortescue demurely, "Kettle had better take the +After-Clap home." +</P> + +<P> +"So do I," said Broussard, "he has been very much in my way ever since +he began yelling." +</P> + +<P> +The Colonel and the chaplain began to make conversation, as Kettle +carried the After-Clap off, still proclaiming he had seen Broussard +kiss Anita. The two soldiers grinned silently at each other. The +whole party started off to the C. O.'s house, Mrs. Fortescue walking +between the Colonel and the chaplain, while Broussard and Anita brought +up the rear. +</P> + +<P> +When they reached the house, Colonel Fortescue went straight to his +office. Mrs. Fortescue and the chaplain made little jokes on the +lovers, but the Colonel had looked as solemn as the grave. The hour +had come when his little Anita was no longer his. +</P> + +<P> +"Come," said Broussard to Anita, "let us face the battery now." +</P> + +<P> +Hand in hand they entered Colonel Fortescue's office. The Colonel +behaved better than anybody expected. When he had given his formal +consent, Anita slipped behind his chair and said to him softly: +</P> + +<P> +"Daddy, I made up my mind when I was a little girl, a long time ago, +that I would never marry any man that was not as good as you, my +darling daddy!" +</P> + +<P> +Fond fathers are generally won by these tender pleas. Broussard turned +his head away as the Colonel drew his daughter to him; the passion of +father-love was too sacred even for the eyes of a lover. On the way +out they met Sergeant McGillicuddy, who tried to look unconscious. +</P> + +<P> +"Congratulate me!" cried Broussard. +</P> + +<P> +"I do, sir," replied the Sergeant, solemnly, "and if I may make bold to +say it, the Colonel will make a father-in-law-and-a-half, sir." +</P> + +<P> +This was enigmatic, but Broussard was too happy then to study enigmas. +</P> + +<P> +That night, when the Colonel, limping a little, entered the ballroom he +leaned upon Beverley's strong young arm, while on the other side was +Mrs. Fortescue, always particularly radiant in evening dress. +Broussard and Anita walked behind them. The news, as rashly announced +by the After-Clap, that Mr. Broussard had kissed Anita, had spread like +wildfire through the post. Everybody knew it, and everybody smiled +upon Broussard and Anita; even second lieutenants who envied +Broussard's luck; good wishes and kind congratulations were showered +upon them. +</P> + +<P> +It was a very gay ball; as Colonel Fortescue held, the sharp cold, the +radiant arc lights, always going, the wall of ice by which the fort was +surrounded, gave an edge to joy as well as to pain. To mark this last +ball of the year the young officers introduced some of the prankish +features of their happy cadet days. +</P> + +<P> +At five minutes to midnight, when the great floor was a whirl of dainty +young girls, their heads crowned with roses or with flashing ornaments +that matched their sparkling eyes, and with dashing young officers, +glittering in gold and blue, the band, with Neroda leading, stopped +suddenly. A handsome young bugler appeared and in the midst of the +tense silence the wonderful melody of "Taps," the last farewell, was +played for the dying year. Then Anita, as the commanding officer's +daughter, had the honor of turning off the lights. To-night she looked +her sweetest, wearing a little white dancing gown that showed her +satin-slippered feet. With Broussard escorting her, Anita walked the +length of the long ballroom to the point where, with one touch of the +hand every light went out in an instant of time, and the ballroom was +plunged into the blackness of darkness and the stillness of silence. +</P> + +<P> +The band then played softly the delicious waltz "Auf Wiedersehen," with +its sweet promise of eternal meeting. +</P> + +<P> +On the stroke of twelve came a great roar and reverberance from the +outside and a dazzling flash of light blazed in at the window from a +<I>feu de joie</I> on the plaza. At the same moment, the young bugler +played the splendid fanfare that welcomes the dawn, the reveille. +Broussard and Anita, looking into each others' smiling eyes, began the +new year of their perfect happiness with the joyous echo of the silver +trumpet proclaiming the coming of the sunrise. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<hr class="full" noshade> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BETTY AT FORT BLIZZARD***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 18022-h.txt or 18022-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/0/2/18022">http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/0/2/18022</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Betty at Fort Blizzard + + +Author: Molly Elliot Seawell + + + +Release Date: March 20, 2006 [eBook #18022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BETTY AT FORT BLIZZARD*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 18022-h.htm or 18022-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/0/2/18022/18022-h/18022-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/0/2/18022/18022-h.zip) + + + + + +BETTY AT FORT BLIZZARD + +by + +MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL + +Author of "Betty's Virginia Christmas," "Papa Bouchard," "The +Jugglers," "Little Jarvis," Etc. + +With Illustrations in Color and from Pen Drawings by Edmund Frederick + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: Anita walked down the stairs and came face to face with +Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence. (missing from book)] + + + + + +Philadelphia & London +J. B. Lippincott Company +1916 +Copyright, 1916, by John Wanamaker +Book News Monthly +Under title "Colonel Fortescue's Betty" +Copyright, 1916, by J. B. Lippincott Company +Published September, 1916 +Reprinted October 20, 1916 + + + + +TO + +ELEANOR T. WOOD + +THE GENTLE LADY + + +WHOSE PATH THROUGH LIFE IS RADIANT + +WITH GOOD DEEDS + + +THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED + +BY + +THE AUTHOR + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + + I. "MISS BETTY" IN A NEW ROLE + II. A PRETTY MAID AND A GAMECHICK + III. THE HEART OF A MAID + IV. "GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART, GOOD-BYE" + V. UNFORGETTING + VI. SOME LETTERS AND KETTLE'S ENLISTMENT + VII. THE PLEADING EYES OF WOMEN + VIII. LOVE, THE CONQUEROR + IX. THE REVEILLE + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +IN COLOR + +Anita Walked Down the Stairs and Came Face to Face + with Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence . . . . . . Frontispiece + +Broussard Lifted Gamechick by the Bridle and the Next + Moment Cleared Both Mare and Girl + +The Last Glimpse Broussard Had of Anita Was, As She + Stood, Her Arm About Gamechick's Neck + +"This Was Enclosed in a Letter to Me From Mr. Broussard," + said the Colonel + + +FROM PEN DRAWINGS + +The Black Mare Suddenly Threw Her Head Down and Her Heels Up + +"Miss Anita is in there with Mr. Broussard, an' He got + on His Courtin' Breeches, an' They's Just as Quiet as + a Couple of Sleepin' Babies" + +"Never Mind, Dear, Darling Daddy, I Love You Just the Same" + +Mrs. McGillicuddy Sat Majestically Upright in the Buggy, + While the Sergeant Bestrode the Peaceful and Amiable Dot + +"Neither You nor Your Child Shall Suffer for the Present" + +Kettle Dropped the Reins, and Grasping Corporal + Around the Neck Hung on Desperately + +"Don't Call Your Father 'the Poor old Chap,'" Said + Mrs. Fortescue Positively + + + + +BETTY AT FORT BLIZZARD + + +CHAPTER I + +"MISS BETTY" IN A NEW ROLE + +Colonel John Hope Fortescue, commanding the fine new cavalry post of +Fort Blizzard, in the far Northwest, sat in his comfortable office and +gazed through the big window at the plaza with its tall flagstaff, from +which the splendid regimental flag floated in the crystal cold air of +December. Afar off was a broad plateau for drills, an aviation field, +and beyond all, a still, snow-bound world, walled in by jagged peaks of +ice. It seemed to Colonel Fortescue, who was an idealist and at the +same time a crack cavalry officer, that the great flag on the giant +flagstaff dominated the frozen world around it, and its stars were a +part of the firmament. When the sun rose and the flag was run up, then +indeed it was sunrise. And when the sun descended in majesty, so the +flag descended in glory. + +As the last pale gleam of splendor touched the flag, the sunset gun +cracked out suddenly. Colonel Fortescue and his right-hand man for +twenty years, Sergeant Patrick McGillicuddy, rose to their feet and +stood at "attention," as the flag fell slowly. Then it was reverently +furled, and the color sergeant, with the guard, started toward the +Colonel's quarters, all whom they passed making way for them and +saluting the furled colors. + +Colonel Fortescue continued to look out of the window, while Sergeant +McGillicuddy, getting some belated mail together, passed out of the +office entrance of the fine new commandant's quarters. Two +horsewomen--Mrs. Fortescue, she who had been Betty Beverley, and her +seventeen-year-old Anita--followed by a trooper as escort, were coming +through the main entrance. Colonel Fortescue's eyes softened as he +watched his wife and daughter, Mrs. Fortescue as slim as when she was +Betty Beverley of old in Virginia, and riding as lightly and gracefully +as a bird on the wing. + +There were two other watchers besides the Colonel. These two stood at +the drawing-room window. One was tall and black and kind-eyed, with +the unquenchable kindness of the colored race. His official name was +Solomon Ezekiel Pickup, but ever since Mrs. Fortescue, as Betty +Beverley, had taken him, a little waif, forlorn and homeless and +friendless, he had been simply Kettle, being as black as a kettle. He +had watched and adored the baby days of "Marse Beverley," the straight +young stripling now training to be a soldier at West Point, and Anita, +the violet-eyed daughter, the adored of her father's heart, but Kettle +had not come into his own until the two-year-old baby, John Hope +Fortescue II, had arrived in a world which did not expect him, but +welcomed him the more rapturously on that account. The new baby had +taken everybody by surprise, and immediately acquired the name of the +After-Clap. He coolly approved of his father and mother, and thought +Anita an entertaining person when she got down on the floor to play +with him. Naturally he was indifferent to his twenty-year-old brother, +whom he had never seen, but Kettle--his own Kettle--was the beloved of +the After-Clap's heart. Next to Kettle in his affections was Mrs. +McGillicuddy, the six-foot-two wife of Sergeant McGillicuddy, who had +eight children, of assorted sizes, and still found time to do a great +deal for the After-Clap. + +Mrs. Fortescue, riding briskly across the plaza, and seeing Kettle, so +black, holding in his arms the laughing baby, so white, smiled and +waved her hand at them. Then, catching sight of the Commanding +Officer, standing at the window of his office, she smiled at him. But +Colonel Fortescue was not smiling; on the contrary, he was frowning as +his eyes fell upon Mrs. Fortescue's mount, Birdseye, a light built +black mare, with a shifty eye and a propensity to make free with her +hind feet. More than once Colonel Fortescue had reminded Mrs. +Fortescue that it was somewhat beneath the dignity of a Commanding +Officer's wife to ride a kicking horse. But Mrs. Fortescue had a +sneaking affection for Birdseye and much preferred her to Pretty Maid, +the brown mare Anita rode, and who was considered as demure as Anita, +and Anita was very demure, and very, very pretty. At least, so thought +Lieutenant Victor Broussard, watching her out of the tail of his eye, +as he passed some distance away. It was not so far away, however, that +Anita could not see the handsome turn of his close-cropped black head, +and his eyes full of laughter and courage and impudence. As some +things go by contraries, the glimpse of Broussard made Anita dismount +quickly from Pretty Maid and flit within doors to avoid the sight of +him. Once indoors, Anita ran where she could catch a last look of +Broussard's young figure, his cavalry cape thrown back, before he +turned the corner and was gone. + +Colonel Fortescue, at the office window, returned a salute, without a +smile, to Mrs. Fortescue's greeting from afar. His teeth came together +with a snap. + +"It's the last time," he said aloud--meaning that Mrs. Fortescue would +have to submit to his judgment in horses and let Birdseye alone. + +What happened next turned the Colonel's resolution to adamant. A +trooper was leading Pretty Maid away and another trooper was about to +do the same for Birdseye when the black mare suddenly threw her head +down and her heels up. Mrs. Fortescue kept her seat, while the mare, +backing, and kicking as she backed, knocked over a couple of the +passing color guard, and only by adroitness the color sergeant saved +the flag from being dropped to the ground. Meanwhile, the two +troopers, falling backward, collided with the chaplain, a small, meek +man, as brave as a lion, who stopped to look and was ignominiously +bowled over. Sergeant McGillicuddy, just coming out of the office +entrance, made a dash forward and grabbed Birdseye by the bridle. The +mare, still unable to unseat Mrs. Fortescue or to break away from the +wiry little Sergeant, yet managed to scatter all the official mail in +the Sergeant's hand on the snow. Kettle, who could not have remained +away from "Miss Betty" under such circumstances to save his life, +dropped the baby on the drawing-room floor and rushed out. This the +After-Clap resented, shrieking wildly. + +[Illustration: The black mare suddenly threw her head down and her +heels up.] + +The combination of the kicking mare, the fallen troopers, the prostrate +chaplain, and the screaming baby at once determined Colonel Fortescue +to remain in his office; what he had to say to Mrs. Fortescue would not +sound well in public. Unlike Kettle, Colonel Fortescue had no fear +whatever for Mrs. Fortescue, and watched calmly from the window as +Sergeant McGillicuddy brought Birdseye to her four feet. Mrs. +Fortescue sprang to the ground and apologized gracefully to the +chaplain, assuring him that Birdseye was the best disposed horse in the +world, except when she was in a temper and her temper was merely +bashfulness and stage fright. + +"Whatever it is," answered Chaplain Brown, smiling while he rubbed a +bruised shin, "it hurts. It hurts pretty badly, too." + +Next, Mrs. Fortescue apologized profusely to the troopers who had been +knocked down by the bashful Birdseye. After their kind, they preferred +a kicker to a non-kicker, and accepted, with delighted grins, Mrs. +Fortescue's sweet words. But it was another thing when Mrs. Fortescue +had to face a frowning husband. + +Mrs. Fortescue tripped into the Colonel's office, and going up to +Colonel Fortescue gave him two soft kisses and a lovely smile, and this +is what she got in return, in the Colonel's parade-ground voice: + +"I supposed I had made myself perfectly clear, Elizabeth, in regard to +your riding that kicking mare." + +"But, darling," replied Mrs. Fortescue, "I thought you wouldn't mind. +And please don't call me Elizabeth. It breaks my heart." + +"I must ask--in fact, insist--that you shall not ride that mare again," +answered the Colonel sternly, without taking any notice of Mrs. +Fortescue's breaking heart. + +"And her name is Birdseye," plaintively responded Mrs. Fortescue. +"Don't you remember, the first horse you ever put me on was your first +Birdseye." + +Mrs. Fortescue accompanied this information with a little pinch of the +Colonel's ear. The Colonel remained coldly unresponsive; he had +steeled his heart; the kisses and the pinch were hard to resist, but +hardest of all the look of wide-eyed innocence in the dark eyes +uplifted to his. Mrs. Fortescue would never see forty again, and her +rich hair had a wide streak of silver running from her right temple; +but she was the same Betty Beverley of twenty years before. The Betty +Beverleys of this world are dowered with immortal youth and change but +little, even under strange stars. + +Mrs. Fortescue had never in her life been at the end of her resources +for placating men. She withdrew her arms from about her husband's +neck, and running lightly into the drawing-room took the After-Clap +from Kettle's arms, and, throwing him pick-a-back on her shoulders, +tripped with her beautiful man-child into the Colonel's office. Mrs. +Fortescue and the baby were the only persons who ever took liberties +with Colonel Fortescue. + +The baby, charmed with his father's uniform, seized a shoulder strap +with one hand and grabbed the Colonel's carefully trimmed mustache with +the other, and lifted a pair of laughing eyes, wonderfully like his +mother's, into his father's face. Mrs. Fortescue, at first as demure +as any C. O.'s wife in the world, suddenly smiled the radiant smile +that began with her eyes and ended with her lips. The woman's cunning +was too much for the man's strength. Colonel Fortescue put his arm +around his wife, as she laid the baby's rose-leaf face against his +father's bronzed cheek. Husband and wife looked into each other's eyes +and smiled. With this baby their lost youth was restored to them. +Once more the Colonel was a slim young lieutenant, and Mrs. Fortescue +was holding in her arms another dark-eyed, rose-leafed baby, now a +young soldier in the gray uniform of a military cadet. They, +themselves, could scarcely realize the flitting of the years. This new +baby was a glorious surprise in their later married life. The baby's +little hand had led them backward to the splendid sunrise of their +married happiness. + +"It is because I love you so that I can't--I won't let you ride that +black devil, Betty dear," said the Colonel. + +"How ridiculous!" replied Mrs. Fortescue. "You know I can ride as well +as you can--can't I, After-Clap?" + +"Goo-goo-goo-goo!" replied the baby, positively. + +"And I never could understand why you should take the trouble to get +angry with me," Mrs. Fortescue kept on, "when you can't stay angry with +me to save your life." + +Colonel Fortescue made a last stand. + +"But if I didn't get angry with you sometimes, Betty----" + +"'Betty' sounds cheerful," interrupted Mrs. Fortescue, and then there +was peace between them. + +Mrs. Fortescue and the Colonel went up-stairs to dress for dinner, and +Kettle, on watch in the hall, took charge of the After-Clap, who +commanded to be taken back into the office. Kettle, as always, +promptly obeyed, and putting the baby on Sergeant McGillicuddy's desk, +allowed the After-Clap to wreck everything in sight. + +It had not been originally designed that Kettle should be the +After-Clap's nurse. The colored mammy who had nursed Beverley and +Anita with tender devotions having gone to her well-earned rest, Mrs. +Fortescue had determined to be very modern with the After-Clap. A +smart young trained nurse, in a ravishing cap, was his first nurse. +But the baby showed such marked preference for Kettle, and Kettle +dogging the baby by day and night and thrusting superfluous services +and advice upon the nurse, she decided she would not stand being +"bossed by a nigger," and took a train for the East. Then, Mrs. +Fortescue determined to return to first principles and imported from +Virginia, at great cost and trouble, a colored mammy, most capable and +experienced. But the complications with Kettle grew more acute, and +the mammy, in a blaze of indignation, took even stronger ground than +the trained nurse, and declared she "warn't goin' to be bossed by no +black nigger." When she had shaken the snow of Fort Blizzard from her +feet, there was nothing left but to hand the baby over to Kettle and +Mrs. McGillicuddy, as coadjutor. After tending her own brood and +keeping a sharp eye on Anna Maria McGillicuddy, her eldest daughter, +who had reached the stage of beaux, and cooking the best meals for the +Sergeant that any sergeant could ask, Mrs. McGillicuddy still had time +to lend a helping hand with the After-Clap. + +Kettle and Mrs. McGillicuddy had been good friends ever since the time, +nineteen years before, when she had become the little Sergeant's +two-hundred-pound bride. But in the twenty years, during which Kettle +had never left "Miss Betty" and Sergeant McGillicuddy had been Colonel +Fortescue's factotum, there had been a continual guerilla warfare +between Kettle and the Sergeant. The Sergeant alluded scornfully to +Kettle as "the naygur," while with Kettle the Sergeant was always "ole +McGillicuddy." Mrs. McGillicuddy was invariably on Kettle's side, and +one blast upon her bugle horn was worth ten thousand men in what Kettle +called his "collusions," with the Sergeant. Sergeant McGillicuddy had +performed prodigies of valor in fights with Indians; he had been +mentioned in general order, along with Colonel Fortescue, and was +commonly reputed to fear neither the devil nor the doctor. But he was +under iron discipline with Mrs. McGillicuddy, and Kettle, like +everybody else, knew it. + +While the After-Clap was disporting himself with the articles on the +Sergeant's desk, under the full glare of the electric light, a shadow +passed the window. The next minute Sergeant McGillicuddy entered, the +lion in him aroused by the sight of the liberties taken with his desk. + +"I say, you naygur," snorted the Sergeant wrathfully, "you take that +baby off my desk and out of this office. The C. O's office ain't no +day nursery." + +"You go to grass," replied Kettle boldly. + +The reason for Kettle's boldness was in sight. Mrs. McGillicuddy's +majestic figure was seen approaching from the region back of the +dining-room, and she had heard the Sergeant's remark about the C. O.'s +office being a day nursery. + +"And it's you, Patrick McGillicuddy," cried Mrs. McGillicuddy, sailing +into the office, "the father of eight children, complaining of this +sweet blessed lamb." + +"D' ye mean the naygur?" asked McGillicuddy. + +Mrs. McGillicuddy, scorning to reply, seized the baby, and with Kettle +following marched out. It was not really judicious for the After-Clap +to be taken into the C. O.'s office. + +The Sergeant began meekly to straighten up his desk, and Colonel +Fortescue, coming in later to glance over the evening newspaper, found +McGillicuddy gazing meditatively at the Articles of War, lying in a +volume on the table. + +The Sergeant was not the modern educated non-com, with an eye to a +commission, but an old-timer, unlearned in books, but an expert in +handling men and horses. + +"What is it, Sergeant?" asked the C. O. + +"Just this, sir," replied the Sergeant respectfully, "I was thinkin' a +man ought to be mighty keerful when he picks out a wife." + +"Certainly," replied the Colonel, gravely, who had exercised no +forethought at all, after once falling under the spell of Betty +Beverley's laughing eyes. + +"When I got married I didn't act rash at all, sir, because I'm by +nature a timid man," continued the Sergeant, who was a valiant man, and +free. "I went to a palmist and paid him a dollar for my horrorscope. +I told him I wanted a little woman, about my size, who would follow me +around like a poodle dog. The palmist, he said, sir, he seen a little +woman in my hand as would follow me around like a poodle dog. Then I +went to a reg'lar fortune teller, and she told me the same thing, for a +dollar. And I went to a mind reader, the seventh daughter of a seventh +daughter, and she promised me the little woman, too. I bought a dream +book and there was the same little woman again, sir. Within a +fortnight after all this I met Araminta Morrarity, as is now Missis +Patrick McGillicuddy, and she is six-foot-two-and-three-quarters inches +in height, and tipped the scale then at a hundred and ninety-six +pounds--and I'm the lightest man in the regiment. Missis McGillicuddy +has been a good wife, sir--I ain't sayin' a word about that, sir." + +"I should think not," replied Colonel Fortescue, to whom the Sergeant's +married life was known intimately for nineteen years, "Mrs. +McGillicuddy keeps all the soldiers' wives satisfied and is a boon to +the regiment." + +"That's so, sir," the Sergeant agreed, "and the chaplain, he +compliments her on the way she marches them eight children and me to +the chapel every Sunday, rain or shine, me havin' the right of the +line, Missis McGillicuddy herself bein' the rear guard, the line +properly dressed, no stragglers, everything done soldier-like. But +Missis McGillicuddy don't follow me around like a poodle dog, as the +palmist, and the mind reader, and the dream book said she would. She's +hell-bent--excuse me sir--on havin' her own way all the time." + +Just then a vision flitted past the door. It was Anita, dressed for +dinner, in a filmy gown of pale blue and white, the colors of the +Blessed Damozel. A light came into Colonel Fortescue's eyes as they +rested on this darling of his heart. The Sergeant had a pretty +daughter, Anna Maria by name, who was just Anita's age and of whom the +Sergeant was extravagantly fond. The two fathers, the Colonel and the +Sergeant, exchanged intelligent glances. Often, in their twenty years +of daily association, they talked together about things of which they +never spoke to any other man. + +"Anna Maria is a fine girl," said the Colonel. + +"Yes, sir," answered the Sergeant, "if she'd just get over the fancy +she has for Briggs, the artillery corporal. That man is bound to be +killed by a wheel runnin' over him. You know, sir, if there is +anything on earth that skeers me stiff it is a horse hitched to any +kind of a vehicle. I don't mind ridin' 'em because then the horse's +heels is behind me. But in a vehicle the horse's heels is in front of +me, and it makes me nervous. I have told Anna Mariar that she shan't +so much as look at Briggs unless he exchanges into the cavalry, so the +horse's heels will be behind him, and not in front of him." + +The entrance bell rang, and Kettle went to the front door. Colonel +Fortescue could neither hear nor see the visitor, but the step and the +sound of a military cloak thrown on a chair indicated the arrival of a +junior lieutenant. Colonel Fortescue looked annoyed. The junior +officer running after Anita bothered him even more than Briggs, the +artillery corporal, bothered Sergeant McGillicuddy. Anita was but a +child--only seventeen; the Colonel had proclaimed this when he brought +Anita to the post. Colonel Fortescue did all that a father and a +Colonel could do to keep the junior lieutenants away from Anita, but no +method has yet been found to keep junior officers away from pretty +girls. + +There were still twenty minutes before dinner, and the scoundrel, as +Colonel Fortescue classified all the juniors who, like himself, adored +Anita, seemed determined to stay until the musical gong sounded, and +later, if he were asked. This particular scoundrel, Broussard, was the +one to whom the Colonel most objected of all the slim, good-looking +scoundrels who wore shoulder straps, for Broussard had too much money +to spend, and spent it wildly, so the Colonel thought; he, himself, had +something handsome besides his pay, but he had also a sensible father +who held him down. Broussard had too many motors, too many horses, too +many dogs, too many clothes, too many fighting chickens, and, above +all, was too intimate with a certain soldier, a gentleman-ranker who +was disapproved, both of officer and man. A gentleman-ranker is a man +serving in the rank who might be an officer. This one, Lawrence by +name, was a bad lot altogether. The Colonel could add quite a +respectable number of demerits to Broussard's credit. And to make +matters worse, Broussard was a dashing fellow, the best rider in his +troop, and had a way with him that made Anita's eyes soften and her +tea-rose cheeks brighten when he came within her presence. + +Meanwhile, Broussard was walking up the long and handsome drawing-room +toward the little glass room at the end, which had been fitted up for +Anita's birds, her doves and her canaries. + +Anita, leaning backward in the cushioned window seat, held to her +breast a fluttering white dove. She did not see Broussard until he was +quite in the little room, and had closed the glass door after him. As +Anita gave Broussard her hand, a great wave of delicate color flooded +her face. This quickened the beating of Broussard's heart--Anita did +not blush like that for everybody. She had a gentle aloofness +generally toward men which was a baffling mystery to her mother. + +Broussard, being frankly in love with Anita, lost all his importance +and presumption in her sweet presence, and was as gentle and modest as +the white dove that Anita still held to her breast. As he longed to +sit near her and ask her poignant questions, Broussard sat a long way +off and talked common-places, chiefly about birds, of which he showed a +surprising knowledge, gleaned that afternoon from the encyclopaedia, in +anticipation of his visit. Also, Broussard had, very artfully, secured +a traitor in the enemy's camp because it was well understood at Fort +Blizzard that Colonel Fortescue was the enemy of every subaltern at the +post who dared to raise his sacrilegious eyes to the Colonel's daughter. + +This traitor was Kettle, into whose hand Broussard never failed to +place a quarter whenever they met, and at the same time to wink +gravely. Kettle knew the meaning both of the quarter and the wink. + +Across the hall Kettle was arranging the dinner table, it being Mrs. +McGillicuddy's duty to put the After-Clap to bed. The dining-room door +was ajar, and Kettle kept an eye open to Broussard's advantage. + +Presently, Mrs. Fortescue came down-stairs, dressed for dinner in a +gown of a jocund yellow, which Colonel Fortescue liked. As she passed +the open door of the handsome dining-room, Kettle beckoned to her +mysteriously. Mrs. Fortescue walked into the room and Kettle closed +the door after her. + +"Miss Betty," whispered Kettle earnestly, "doan' you go into that there +apiary," by which Kettle meant the aviary. "Miss Anita is in there +with Mr. Broussard, an' he got on his courtin' breeches, an' they's +jest as quiet as a couple of sleepin' babies." + +[Illustration: "Miss Anita is in there with Mr. Broussard, an' he got +on his courtin' breeches, an' they's jest as quiet as a couple of +sleepin' babies."] + +A look of annoyance came to Mrs. Fortescue's expressive eyes. The +Colonel had imbued her with disapproval of the man of too many motors +and horses and dogs and clothes and fighting chickens. + +Mrs. Fortescue waved Kettle away and marched into the hall, where she +met Colonel Fortescue coming out of his office. + +"It's Broussard," she whispered to the Colonel. + +Together they entered the long drawing-room. Broussard and Anita were +leaning forward; Anita's face was still deeply flushed. Her beloved +white dove fluttered, unnoticed, about her white-shod feet. When the +glass door opened and Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue entered the little +glass room, both Anita and Broussard started violently--a sign of +captive love. + +Mrs. Fortescue was gracious, merely because she could not help it, and +the Colonel treated Broussard with the elaborate courtesy which a +Colonel shows to a subaltern and which makes the subaltern look and +feel the size of the head of a pin. Naturally, Broussard hastened his +leave-taking and received no invitation to remain, except from Anita's +eyes, shy and long-lashed. + +When the Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue and Anita were sitting at the +softly-shaded round table in the dining-room, Anita's chair was close +to her father's--the two were never far apart when they could be close +together. Mrs. Fortescue wore around her white throat a locket with a +miniature in it of her boy soldier. He was to her what Anita was to +the Colonel, but being a stout-hearted woman she had sent her son away +to be a soldier and had worn a smile at parting. There was a strain of +the Spartan mother in this smiling daughter, wife, and mother of +soldiers. + +"Did you have a pleasant visit from Mr. Broussard?" asked Colonel +Fortescue. + +"Very pleasant, daddy dear. He knows so much about birds." + +"I think," replied the Colonel, darkly, "Mr. Broussard's knowledge +comes chiefly from the study of fighting chickens." + +"I hear he has cockfights on Sunday, in the cellar of his quarters," +said Mrs. Fortescue, willing to give Broussard a slashing cut under the +fifth rib. + +"Cocking mains, my dear," corrected the Colonel, and then kept on, +earnestly, to Anita. + +"Yon can scarcely imagine the horrors of a cockpit. The poor +gamecocks, with cruel spurs upon their feet, tearing each other to +pieces, and blood and feathers all over the place." + +"You seem wonderfully familiar with cockpits," remarked Mrs. Fortescue. +"It seems to me, when we went to our first post after we were married, +that you were sometimes missing on Sunday morning, and used to tell me +afterward about the grand time you had, and the superior fighting +qualities of the Savoys over the Bantams." + +The Colonel scowled. + +"I don't recall the circumstances, Elizabeth," he said. + +"But I do, John," tartly responded Mrs. Fortescue. + +Anita knew that when it was Jack and Betty the skies were serene, and +when it became John and Elizabeth there were clouds upon the horizon. + +At this point Kettle, who was serving dinner, felt that his duty as +Broussard's ally was to speak. + +"Miss Betty," said he with solemn emphasis, "Mr. Broussard doan' keep +them chickens in his cellar fur to fight; he keeps 'em to lay aigs fur +his breakfus'." + +"That's queer," said the Colonel, "all of Mr. Broussard's chickens are +cock chickens." + +This would have abashed a less ardent partisan, but it only stimulated +Kettle. + +"Come to think of it, Miss Betty," Kettle continued stoutly, "them +chickens is cock chickens, but Mr. Broussard, he keep 'em for fryin' +chickens and bri'lers; he eats a cock chicken ev'ry mornin' fur his +breakfus', day in and day out." + +"Oh, Kettle!" said Anita, in a tone of soft reproach. She disliked the +notion of a cockpit, but she was a lover of abstract truth, which +Kettle was not. + +"Well, Miss Anita," Kettle began argumentatively, "the truth is, Mr. +Broussard, he jes' keep them chickens to' 'commodate the chaplain. The +chaplain, he's a gre't cockfighter, an' he say, 'Mr. Broussard, the +Kun'l is mighty strict, an' kinder queer in his head, an' he ain't no +dead game sport like me an' you, so if you will oblige me, Mr. +Broussard, jes' keep my fightin' chickens in your cellar, an' if the +Kun'l say anything to you, tell him them chickens is yourn. You +wouldn't mind a little thing like that, would you, Mr. Broussard?' +That's what I hee'rd the chaplain say." + +"Kettle!" shouted the Colonel, and Mrs. Fortescue remarked candidly: + +"You are a big story-teller, Kettle, there isn't a word of truth in all +you have been telling." + +"That's so, Miss Betty," announced Kettle, brazenly. "Truth is, Mr. +Broussard ain't got no chickens at all in his cellar, he keeps ducks, +Miss Betty, 'cause the water rises in the cellar all the time." + +Kettle's active help did not end with wholesale lying as a means of +helping Broussard. Within a week every time the After-Clap caught +sight of Broussard he would shout for "Bruvver." This, Kettle +carefully explained, was the baby's way of saying Broussard, but it +brought a good many quarters from Broussard's pocket into Kettle's palm. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +A PRETTY MAID AND A GAMECHICK + +The December days sped on, and Christmas was nearing. As the great, +splendid fort was a shut-in place, the people in it made great +preparations for Christmas, if only to forget that they were shut in. +The Christmas Eve exhibition drill and music ride was to be the +principal event of the season, and, wonder of wonders, Anita was to +ride with Broussard at the music ride. This was not accomplished +without pleadings and even tears from Anita. Mrs. Fortescue took no +part in this affair between the Colonel and the adored of his heart; +Anita and the Colonel had always settled their problems between +themselves solely. Sergeant McGillicuddy had something to do with +wringing from the Colonel his consent that Anita should ride with +Broussard. + +"Accordin' to my way of thinkin', Mr. Broussard is the best rider of +all the young orficers, sir," said McGillicuddy to the Colonel, in the +seclusion of the office. "Miss Anita, she'd look mighty pretty ridin' +with him, and Pretty Maid is as quiet as a lamb, sir, under the saddle. +I wouldn't answer for her in shafts, sir. Lord! There's nothin' too +devilish for a horse to do in shafts, or hitched to a pole. Missis +McGillicuddy can't see it in this light, judgin' from the Christmas +gift she's preparin' to give me." + +"What is it, McGillicuddy?" asked the Colonel. + +"It's a buggy, sir," answered the Sergeant despondently. "When I +wanted to enlist in the aviation corps that woman, sir, forbid it; she +said to me, 'Patrick McGillicuddy, I never did believe one word about +your bein' afraid av horses in wheeled vehicles.' An' ivery time I go +up in a flyin' machine, just for the fun av it, Missis McGillicuddy, +she says to me 'Patrick, if they was to lop off the f from that flyin' +machine, it would fit you to a t, bedad!' And that's the way she talks +to me when I spent seven dollars and fifty cents in gettin' +prognostications that I was goin' to marry a woman as would follow me +around like a poodle dog!" + +"Women have a good many burrs in their convolutions," said the Colonel, +lighting a cigar and handing a handful to the Sergeant. + +"They has, sir," replied McGillicuddy, accepting the cigars with +doleful gratitude, "and Missis McGillicuddy threatens to take me out in +that buggy on Christmas day. Well, sir, I've made my will and settled +up my account at the post trader's, and the aviation orficer has +promised to tak' me on a fly Christmas Eve morning. It may be the last +fly I'll take until I get wings, for I hardly expects, sir, to escape +the dangers of that buggy." + +In talking with Mrs. Fortescue about the music ride Colonel Fortescue +dwelt upon the superiority of a quiet horse like Pretty Maid over a +constitutional kicker like Birdseye. + +"It's the quiet ones, horses and women, that need watching," replied +Mrs. Fortescue, who had never been accused of being a quiet one. + +For two weeks before Christmas the exhibition drill and music ride was +the great subject of attention at Fort Blizzard. The most interesting +part of the show was the music ride, in which the girls of the post +were to ride, each girl having her attendant cavalier. When it was +known that Anita was to ride with Broussard all the other +sublieutenants who had hoped to sit in Broussard's saddle promptly +provided themselves with other charming young ladies of the post. Next +to Anita, the best rider was Sally Harlow, the daughter of her who had +been Sally Carteret. Mrs. Harlow followed the example of Mrs. +Fortescue, whose bridesmaid she had been, and had married within a year +the dashing young officer with whom she "stood up" at Mrs. Fortescue's +wedding. Mrs. Harlow, like Mrs. Fortescue, showed a marked inability +to grow old and was as gay and drank the wine of life as joyously as +did her daughter, Sally the Second. + +For a fortnight before Christmas the practice rides took place every +afternoon in the great riding hall, in which four troops of cavalry +could manoeuvre. + +As the daughter of the C. O., Anita, with Broussard, was to lead the +girl riders and their cavaliers. Broussard called punctually at the +Colonel's quarters for Anita, on the red December afternoons, when the +air was like champagne and Broussard felt as if his veins ran wine +instead of blood. The After-Clap, under Kettle's secret instructions, +became valuable ally of Broussard's. Kettle managed that the baby's +afternoon ride in his wicker carriage should coincide with Broussard's +arrival. The dark-eyed baby, in his little white fur coat and cap and +white fur blanket, looked like a snowdrop by the side of Kettle, who, +except his shiny teeth, was so black it seemed as if he had been coated +with shoe polish. The After-Clap always hailed Broussard with a +vigorous shout of "Bruvver! Bruvver!" and Kettle invariably explained: + +"He's a-tryin' to say 'Mr. Boosard.'" + +At this Broussard would laugh and agree with Kettle that the After-Clap +was the knowingest baby in the world, and Anita would blush +beautifully. Colonel Fortescue's heart sank when he saw Broussard and +Anita walking off together; Broussard so trim and soldierly in his +riding uniform and Anita so amazingly pretty in her blue habit and cap, +cunningly imitating the cavalry uniform, a fetching dress adopted by +all the young ladies who were to take part in the music ride. + +The drill and ride were to begin at eight o'clock on Christmas Eve, and +afterward there was to be a big ball, for at Fort Blizzard the young +girls and young officers ended everything with a ball, where they could +"chase the glowing hours with flying feet." + + +A great silver moon and a mighty host of palpitating stars put the +electric lights to shame on Christmas Eve. When Broussard called for +Anita, a little before eight, she was waiting, already dressed in the +pretty imitation of an officer's uniform--a costume that would make +even a plain girl enchanting, and how much more so the violet-eyed +Anita? Mrs. Fortescue, in a beautiful ball gown, looked quite as +handsome as her daughter. The regimental tailor had been busy all day +letting out Colonel Fortescue's full dress uniform and the Colonel +fondly hoped that a couple of inches he had gained in girth were +concealed by the tailor's art. But Mrs. Fortescue's quick eye +discerned it. + +"I declare, Jack," she cried, showing off her own figure, as slim as a +girl's, "I shall have to put you on a diet of lemon juice and slate +pencils if you keep on getting stout!" + +At which the Colonel glowered darkly and Anita, putting her arms about +his neck, whispered: + +"Never mind, dear, darling daddy, I love you just the same." + +[Illustration: "Never mind, dear, darling daddy, I love you just the +same."] + +Mrs. Fortescue, who would have been affable to the Evil One himself, +smiled at Broussard. The Colonel was polite but not effusive, having +developed a rooted dislike to junior unmarried officers as soon as he +found out that Anita had to grow up, like other human beings. + +Broussard felt himself in Paradise when he was walking with Anita along +the moonlit plaza toward the riding hall. Outside, troopers were +leading the restless horses up and down. Pretty Maid did not belie her +name, and was the best behaved, as she was the handsomest, of all the +mounts of the young ladies. Broussard's Gamechick, a perfectly trained +cavalry charger, with an eye and ear of beautiful intelligence, had not +his superior among the horses. Sergeant McGillicuddy, who was the best +man with horses at Fort Blizzard, was sauntering about, looking at the +horses approvingly and saying to all who cared to hear: + +"As good a lot of nags as ever I see, and every blarsted one of 'em has +got four legs. It's mighty seldom nowadays, you see a four-legged +horse; most of 'em has only three legs and some of 'em ain't got as +much as two and a half." + +The riders, all wearing the same uniform as Broussard and Anita, +appeared by twos and fours; bright-eyed young officers and merry girls. +Their part was not to come for an hour, but they declared the night was +too lovely to go into the waiting-room, and they strolled about and +talked horses and dancing and balls and all the happy things that fall +out "when youth and pleasure meet." + +In the midst of the chatter of the riders and stamping and champing of +the blanketed horses, as they were led up and down, Kettle suddenly +appeared carrying in his arms a white bundle, which turned out to be +the After-Clap. He should have been asleep in his crib for hours, but +instead he was wide awake, laughing and crowing and evidently meant, +with Kettle's assistance, to make a night of it. + +"What do you mean, Kettle, by bringing the baby out this time of +night?" asked the surprised Anita. + +"I got him all wropped up warm," answered Kettle, apologetically, +pointing to the After-Clap's white fur coat and cap. "But that chile +knowed there wuz a hoss show on--it's mighty little he doan' know, and +after the Kun'l and Miss Betty lef', he begin' to cry for 'Horsey! +Horsey!' an I jes' had to take him up an' dress him an' bring him here. +An' that's Gord's truth, Miss Anita," a phrase Kettle habitually used +when making doubtful statements. + +The baby was so obviously happy in this breach of all nursery +discipline that Anita had not the heart to send him home. Anita was a +soft-hearted creature. Sergeant McGillicuddy, however, explained +disgustedly to the waiting troopers and horses how the After-Clap was +permitted to begin his career of dissipation. + +"I'll bet you a million of monkeys," the Sergeant proclaimed, "as +Missis McGillicuddy wasn't on hand when that there baby begun to yell +'Horsey! Horsey!' if he ever did it at all. With eight children av +her own and Anna Mariar's beau, Missis McGillicuddy must sometimes stop +at home. Lord help the naygur if Missis McGillicuddy should favor this +evint with her prisince!" + +The sympathies of the soldiers were entirely with the After-Clap, who +loved soldiers, knowing them to be his true friends, and was never +happier than with his big, kind, blue-coated playmates, the troopers, +with their rattling sabres and clanking spurs. + +Sergeant McGillicuddy, being himself under Mrs. McGillicuddy's iron +rule, did not approve of Kettle's breach of discipline and hatched a +scheme to catch him. With a countenance as inscrutable as the Sphinx, +he stepped to the telephone booth, shut the door carefully, and held a +short conversation over the wire with Mrs. McGillicuddy. When the +Sergeant came out of the telephone booth his face was not inscrutable +but expressed pure human joy and triumph. + +"It's Missis McGillicuddy as 'll do for ye," said the Sergeant with a +grin, going up to Kettle, holding the delighted After-Clap in his arms. + +"Go 'long, man," answered Kettle, "Mrs. McGillicuddy ain't my boss. +She's yourn." + +This language, uttered toward a man with chevrons and three stripes on +his sleeve, naturally incensed the Sergeant. He had learned, however, +in twenty years of warfare with Kettle, that it was very hard to get +him punished. + +"The naygur never has found out that orders is orders," remarked the +Sergeant to the lookers on. "But Missis McGillicuddy can wallop him +with one hand tied behind her back, and she'll do it, too, when she +finds out about the kiddie bein' out this time of night." + +This was no idle threat. Fifteen minutes later, when Kettle and the +After-Clap were at the height of their enjoyment, Mrs. McGillicuddy, +with only a shawl over her head, in the keen December night, was seen +stalking across the plaza and toward the group of men and horses +outside the drill ball; the riders had trooped into the waiting-room +for coffee and sandwiches before the ride began. The troopers, who +knew and admired Mrs. McGillicuddy, made way for her respectfully as +she swooped down on Kettle, to his complete surprise. + +"Solomon!" shouted Mrs. McGillicuddy. + +Whenever Mrs. McGillicuddy used Kettle's baptismal name it meant the +same thing as when Colonel Fortescue called Mrs. Fortescue +"Elizabeth,"--there was trouble brewing. + +"And it's you," continued Mrs. McGillicuddy, in a voice like a bassoon +in a rage, "as the Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue trusted their innocent +lamb, and when they are peacefully watchin' the show you take this pore +baby out of his warm bed and brings him out here to catch his death of +cold, and Patrick McGillicuddy, you'll laugh on the wrong side of your +face when I get you home, and the Colonel shall know this, if my name +is Araminta McGillicuddy." + +With that Mrs. McGillicuddy tore the After-Clap from Kettle's arms. +Like Kettle and McGillicuddy and the admiring crowd of troopers, the +baby knew enough to maintain silence when Mrs. McGillicuddy had the +floor. + +"Right 'bout face and march," screamed Mrs. McGillicuddy to Kettle, who +meekly obeyed her, "and McGillicuddy 'll hear from me when he comes +home to-night!" + +Mrs. McGillicuddy then, with Kettle walking in advance, his head +hanging down, followed with the After-Clap and took the way to the C. +O.'s quarters, where the baby, much to his disappointment, was again +laid in his crib and Kettle was promised terrors to come like those of +the Day of Judgment. + +McGillicuddy, standing in the moonlight among the riderless horses and +grinning troopers, forestalled criticism by handing out a card on which +a legend was inscribed in large letters. + +"Boys," said the Sergeant, solemnly, "there's my rule for all married +men in the service and out av it. It's the Golden Rule of married +life, boys, and it ought to be added to the Articles of War and the +Regulations. Here it is, boys, 'Doant munkey with the buzz saw.'" + + +Meanwhile, within the vast riding hall the splendid pageant was taking +place. The lofty roof was hung with flags of all nations entwined with +ropes and wreaths of Christmas greens and crimson and gold electric +lights. In the middle of the roof, dark and high, hung a great silken +flag of the United States, with the electric lights so arranged as to +throw a halo of glory upon it. The galleries were full of officers and +ladies in brilliant ball costumes for the ball that was to follow. +Under the galleries the soldiers and their families were massed. Over +the wide entrance door was the musicians' gallery, where the regimental +band, and Neroda, their leader, a handsome Italian, with their gleaming +instruments, made a great splash of vivid color against the sombre +wall. Opposite the entrance was the Commanding Officer's box, +beautifully draped with flags and wreaths of holly. In the box sat the +Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue, both looking wonderfully young and +handsome. The Colonel caught sight of the chaplain peering in at a +window below; the chaplain knew a horse from an automobile, and loved +horses too much for the good of his soul, so he thought. In a moment a +messenger came with the Colonel's compliments and the request for the +chaplain's company, and the chaplain obeyed with alacrity and a joy +almost unholy. + +Above the murmur of conversation and laughter the band dominated, +playing soft Italian music. Suddenly and silently, as if in a dream, +the great entrance doors drew apart, the band changed into a great +military fanfare, and a splendid troop of cavalry charged in, the lithe +young troopers and the sleek horses with muscles of steel under their +satin skins, horse and man moving as one. After a dash around the +hall, they proceeded to show what troopers and horses could do. The +soldiers rode bareback and upside down, got on and off the horses in +ways incredible, made pyramids of troopers, the horses galloping at +full speed, stopped like machines, dismounted, the horses lay down and +the troopers, at full length, pounded out deadly imaginary volleys into +unseen enemies. + +When this was over and the troopers had trotted out amid thunders of +applause, the great doors again slid open as if by magic and a battery +of light artillery rushed in, the band thundering out "For He Is a Son +of a Gun." The drivers, with four horses to each gun, sat like +statues, as did the three artillerymen, erect, with folded arms, as +straight and still as men of steel, and their backs to the horses, as +the guns sped around the hall and turned and twisted marvellously, +never a wheel touching, but always within three inches of disaster. +Loud applause greeted the wonderful spectacle of gunners, horses and +gun carriages inspired by an almost superhuman intelligence. + +When the battery had passed out and the doors were closed there was a +short pause. The next and last event was the music ride by the +officers and girls, the prettiest sight in the world. Middle-aged +matrons and gray-mustached officers smiled in anticipation of seeing +their rosebud daughters, on beautiful horses, admired and applauded of +all. + +In the C. O.'s box, Mrs. Fortescue, opening her fan, leaned over and +smiled into the Colonel's face. + +"She'll do it," whispered the Colonel confidently, meaning that Anita +would do her act more gracefully and brilliantly than any girl who ever +rode a horse. + +The band once more struck up, the great doors drew wide apart, this +time with a clang, and the procession of youth and beauty and valor +dashed upon the tanbark. The officers were resplendent, while the +girls, in their daring imitation of the uniform and with cavalry caps +upon their pretty heads, looked like young Amazons riding to war. +Broussard and Anita, who led the cavalcade, were the best riders where +all were good. Pretty Maid and Gamechick seemed on the best of terms +and their stride fitted perfectly. + +The procession circled around the hall at a canter, and as Anita and +Broussard, leading the procession, reached a point in front of the C. +O.'s box, they both saluted, Anita raising her little gauntleted hand +to her cavalry cap. Colonel Fortescue stood up and returned the salute +as the riders passed, two by two. Next began the scene of beautiful +horsemanship, pure and simple, winding up with the Virginia reel, done +by the riders on horseback, as the band played the old reel, "Billy in +the Low Grounds." + +Then came the last feature of all; the ride formed again, and, suddenly +quickening their pace to a full gallop, started upon the circuit of the +hall. They swept around the circle at a sharp gallop, the clanking +spurs and rattling sabres keeping time to the roar of the music. Anita +was riding like a bird on the wing and Pretty Maid, who had behaved +with her usual grace and decorum, opening and shutting her stride like +a machine. Just as she got in front of the C. O.'s box the mare +suddenly lost her head. She hesitated, bringing her four feet together +in a way that would have thrown over her head a rider less expert than +Anita. Behind her the line of riders was thrown into slight confusion +with the unexpected halt. + +The movements of animals are so much quicker than those of men that the +eye can scarcely follow them. One instant Anita was in her saddle; the +next Pretty Maid stopped, crouched, gave a wild spring, fell prone on +her knees, and rolled over, struggling violently. Anita, half thrown +and half slipped from her saddle, was on the tanbark, directly in front +of Gamechick. + +She straightened out her slim figure full length, and closed her eyes. +Broussard's horse was then not six feet away from her and coming on as +if the trumpeters were sounding the charge. + +A great groan rose from the floor and the galleries; the band played on +wildly, losing its perfect tempo and each musician playing for himself, +but still playing as a band should play on in terrible crises. The +line of riders was sharply checked, the perfectly trained horses coming +to a dead stop within ten seconds. In the C. O.'s box the chaplain was +on his feet, his hands clasped in silent supplication; Mrs. Fortescue, +braver than a brave soldier, put her arm about her husband's neck, as +Colonel Fortescue swayed about in his seat like a drunken man. Amid +the blare of the band and the riders and chargers almost upon the +struggling horse and motionless girl, lying on the tanbark, Broussard, +coolly, as if he were on the parade ground, lifted Gamechick by the +bridle, gave him a touch of the spur, and the next moment cleared both +mare and girl, with twenty inches between Gamechick's iron-shod hind +hoofs and Anita's beautiful blonde head. + +[Illustration: Broussard, lifted Gamechick by the bridle and the next +moment cleared both mare and girl.] + +It had all passed in twenty seconds by the clock, but to those who +watched it seemed a long hour of agony. The moment the leap was made, +Anita sprang to her feet and Broussard was on the tanbark. Wild +cheering almost drowned the crash of the band; some of the women were +weeping and others laughing hysterically, the men cheering like madmen. +Broussard smilingly picked up Anita's cavalry cap, which had fallen on +the tanbark, brushed it and put it on Anita's pretty head; some words, +unheard by others, passed between them. The mare then lay perfectly +quiet. Broussard, amid the roar of cheers and shouts and furious +handclapping and music, got the mare on her feet. She stood trembling, +frightened and ashamed; Anita patted her neck gently and rubbed her +nose reassuringly. Then Broussard, taking the girl's slender waist +between his hands, swung her into her saddle, himself mounted, and, the +riders falling in behind, it was as if Tragedy had not showed her awful +visage for one fearful moment. + +All the cheering and clapping and weeping and laughing and shouting +that had gone before were nothing to what followed after, while the +band played "For He Is a Jolly Good Fellow," and everybody who could +sing, or thought he could sing, joined in the refrain. Colonel +Fortescue, whiter than death, sat straight up in his place. Mrs. +Fortescue whispered in his ear: + +"Be brave,--brave as you were in battle." + +Colonel Fortescue had been in battle, but the screaming shells and +crash of machine guns brought with them no such wild and shivering +terror as when he saw Gamechick's forefeet in the air over Anita, lying +on the tanbark. + +The procession passed once more around the hall, Anita's face flushed +and smiling, Broussard outwardly calm, but the red blood showing under +his dark skin. When they reached the entrance doors and were about to +ride out Sergeant McGillicuddy stopped Broussard with a word. The +audience, watching and smiling, knew what would happen and all eyes +were fixed on the C. O.'s. box. In a minute Broussard, with his +cavalry cap in his hand, was seen mounting the stairs; Colonel +Fortescue rose and clasped Broussard's hand, while Mrs. Fortescue +frankly kissed him on both cheeks. The band broke loose again and so +did the people. Although Fort Blizzard was a great fort it was so far +away in the frozen northwest that those within its walls constituted +one vast family. Anita was known to all of them, officers and ladies, +troopers and troopers' wives and children, and the company washerwomen, +and the regimental blacksmiths; they felt as if Broussard had saved the +life of a child of their own. + +Colonel Fortescue was a soldier and recovered himself and walked +bravely with Mrs. Fortescue in the moonlight to their quarters, +Broussard and Anita riding ahead as if nothing had happened, when +everything had happened. At the door Broussard left Anita; both had to +dress for the ball. + +In the office, his City of Refuge, Colonel Fortescue sat in his chair +and trembled like a leaf. Mrs. Fortescue, with tender words and soft +caresses, comforted him. + +"Stay with me, dear wife," he said, "I tell you as truly as if I were +this moment facing a firing squad that I never knew what fear was until +this night, and yet I thought I knew it and could feel my heart +quivering as I cheered my men to the charge. Betty, I love our child +too much, too much!" + +"No," said Mrs. Fortescue, kissing his cheek, "you don't love her half +as much as you love me. Suppose I had been there in our child's place." + +The Colonel put his arm over his face. + +"Don't, Betty--I can't bear it," he cried. + +"But you must bear it; you must go to the ball in twenty minutes." + +The Colonel, with bewildered eyes, looked at her as if to ask what were +balls, and where? + +Mrs. Fortescue said no more. Presently they heard Anita's light step +on the stairs. She flitted into the office and looked, in her ball +gown of shimmering white, as pure and sweet as one of her white doves. + +"I'm ready for the ball, dad," she said, smiling and kissing the +Colonel and her mother, "I am a soldier's daughter, and I can't let a +little thing keep me from my duty--which is, to go to the ball." + +Colonel Fortescue caught her in his arms. + +"What a spirit!" he cried brokenly, "You have the making of ten +soldiers in you, my daughter, my little daughter!" + +Mrs. Fortescue rose and drew her beautiful evening cloak around her. +Colonel Fortescue noticed for the first time how pale she was, but +there was a smile on her lips and the fine light of courage in her eye; +it was partly from her that Anita inherited her brave spirit. + +Colonel Fortescue rose, too; he could not be less brave than his wife +and daughter. Anita kissed him tenderly; a soft-hearted deserter +always takes an affectionate leave of his comrades when he is about to +desert. + +At the ball Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue were composed, smiling, +graceful; Anita was less shy, more laughing than usual. When Broussard +entered the ball-room he was greeted with a great roar of applause, and +when he danced the first dance with Anita once more there was applause +and something in the eyes of the smiling, handclapping crowd that +brought the ever-ready color into Anita's delicately lovely face. It +was a beautiful ball, as all military balls are, and lasted late. When +the C. O. and Mrs. Fortescue and Anita got home it was Christmas +morning, and the stars that led the Magi to the crib at Bethlehem were +shining gloriously in the blue-black sky. + + +At daybreak began the hullabaloo which attends Christmas morning in a +house where there is an adored child, and only one. The After-Clap, +with the preternatural knowledge claimed for him by Kettle, knew that +it was Christmas morning and a day of riot and license for him. + +At an early hour he began to storm the earth and stun the air. There +was a Christmas tree for him and for the eight McGillicuddies, and the +day was so full that Mrs. Fortescue found it hard to get time in which +to give Kettle the necessary wigging for taking the baby from his bed +and carrying him out of doors at eight o'clock in the evening because +he waked up and said "Horsey." In vain Kettle pleaded "fo' Gord--" +always a forerunner of a tarradiddle--that he "didn't have no notion on +the blessed yearth as Miss Betty would mind," and also wept copiously +when Mrs. Fortescue frankly told him that he was a tarradiddler, and +made, for the hundredth time, a very awful threat to Kettle. + +"But I can tell you this much," she said, with great severity, "that if +you keep on doing everything the baby tells you to do, I will buy you a +ticket back to Virginia and send you home. Do you understand me?" + +At this, a smile rivalling a rainbow suddenly overspread Kettle's face +and his mouth came open like an alligator's. + +"Lord, yes, I understand you, Miss Betty," Kettle replied, with a +chuckle. "I knows when you is bullyraggin' me an' say you is goin' to +sen' me back to Virginia, you is jes' jokin'. You done tole me that +too oftin, Miss Betty, an' you ain't never give me no ticket yet, an' +'tain't nothin' but a sign you is comin' roun', Miss Betty." + +Kettle's grin was so seductive and his reasoning so correct that Mrs. +Fortescue suddenly laughed, too; there was no way short of putting +Kettle in handcuffs and leg-irons to keep him from obeying the +After-Clap, whose orders were _orders_ to Kettle. + +In the afternoon Colonel Fortescue, sitting in his office, from which +not even Christmas Day exempted him, saw, a long way off, down by the +non-coms' quarters, a pitiful sight. Mrs. McGillicuddy had carried out +her menace to put a buggy in the Sergeant's Christmas stocking. The +buggy was at the Sergeant's door, and in it sat Mrs. McGillicuddy, +elaborately dressed, a picture hat and feathers on her carefully +frizzed hair and her voluminous draperies nearly swamping the little +Sergeant cowering in the corner of the buggy. To it was hitched the +milkman's mare, which was about as big as a large rabbit and owned up +to twenty-three years of age and the name of Dot. The equipage passed +out of sight but in an hour was seen returning. Mrs. McGillicuddy sat +majestically upright in the buggy, while the Sergeant bestrode the +peaceful and amiable Dot. + +[Illustration: Mrs. McGillicuddy sat majestically upright in the buggy +while the Sergeant bestrode the peaceful and amiable Dot.] + +Presently the Sergeant, looking much wilted and depressed, entered the +Colonel's office. + +"Did you enjoy your drive in the new buggy, Sergeant?" asked the +Colonel. + +"No, sir," replied the Sergeant, earnestly, "this has been a awful +Christmas day to me. I didn't think as Missis McGillicuddy would play +me such a low trick as to give me the buggy and then make me ride in +it. She said as the milkman told her he had owned the mare fir +thirteen years, and she wasn't young when he bought her; but I reminded +her as thirteen was a unlucky number. But Missis McGillicuddy acted +heartless and give orders as I was to mount that buggy. I pleadid with +her, sir, not to risk my life, for the sake of the eight children, even +if she didn't have no love or affection for me. I reminded her as +she'd stand a divil of a chanst of gettin' married again, havin' all +them eight children. I told her the aviation orficer had promised to +take me flyin' with him to-morrow mornin', and if I lost my life in a +wheeled vehicle there'd be no more flyin' fir me because I don't look +to be a angel immediate I get into the next world. All she says to me +was, like she was a Sergeant Major and I was a recruity, 'You get into +this buggy, Patrick McGillicuddy.' So, as orders is orders, sir, I got +in, and I stayed in until my fears of that horse's hind feet right +under nay nose got the better of my duty to Missis McGillicuddy, as my +superior orficer. I begun to feel hollow inside, like a man feels when +he's ordered into action and the artillery is ploughing up the ground +with shells. Then, sir, I mutinied. I jumped out of that damned +buggy--excuse me, sir--and I got on the back of the mare and felt jist +as safe as if I was riding old Corporal, the horse we gives the +recruits to ride. I've escaped the dangers of that buggy and there +won't be no vacancy in my grade yet awhile from ridin' in wheeled +vehicles. An I'm goin' flyin' tomorrow in a nice safe aeroplane that's +got a man hitched to it and not a horse. This ain't been no merry +Christmas to me, sir. And if Missis McGillicuddy holds a reg'lar court +of inquiry on me, as she does seven nights in the week, I'm a' goin' to +stand on my rights and swear by the Jumpin' Moses I'll never set foot +again in that damned, infernal, hellish buggy, sir,--excuse me, sir." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE HEART OF A MAID + +When the wild and throbbing excitement of the evening was over, the +fear, the horror, the joy, the triumph, the exulting exhilaration, +Broussard, smoking his last cigar at one o'clock in the morning, felt a +little ashamed of himself. After all, Anita was little more than a +child, being but seventeen, and it was hardly fair to her that he +should try to chain her young feet and blindfold her young eyes before +she had seen the great moving picture of the world. Broussard did not +in the least remember what he said to Anita when he was putting her cap +on her head, nor even the words in which she had replied; he only knew +that they were burning words that came from the heart and spoke through +the eyes as well as the tongue. But a man was not always master of +himself. Broussard had a good many plausible excuses to urge for +himself, and was always a good barker for Victor Broussard, and Anita +was so charming, she had so much more sense than the average +seventeen-year-old fledgling, she was so obviously more developed +mentally and emotionally for her age, she had grown up in an atmosphere +of tenderness and happiness, for everybody knew that the Colonel and +Mrs. Fortescue were still like lovers, after twenty years of married +life. Broussard fell into a delicious reverie that lasted until he +heard the clang of the changing sentries at two o'clock in the morning. + +The Christmas gaieties went on for a fortnight, including another big +ball given by the officers. Colonel Fortescue brought upon himself +many maledictions from the junior officers by the way in which he +regulated these balls. The Colonel was neither bashful nor backward +with his young officers, and he liked them to dance, bearing in mind +the saying of a great commander that a part of every soldier's +equipment is gaiety of heart; but he was grimly particular about the +kind of dancing that took place at Fort Blizzard. Before every ball, +Colonel Fortescue's aide, Conway, a serious young lieutenant, delivered +the Colonel's orders that there was to be no tangoing or +turkey-trotting or chicken-reeling or "Here Comes My Daddy" business in +that ball-room. Moreover, Neroda, the bandmaster, had orders if any of +these dances, abhorred of the Colonel's heart, were started the music +was to stop immediately. Colonel Fortescue himself, by way of setting +an example, would do a sedate waltz with some matron of the post, or +select a rosebud girl for a solemn set of lancers quadrilles. Mrs. +Fortescue still held the palm as the prettiest waltzer at the post, +none the less gay for being dignified. However, the young people, +except Anita, revenged themselves on the C. O. by doing, in their own +drawing-rooms, all the prohibited dances. With Anita, nothing could +have induced her to do anything forbidden by the beloved of her +heart--a trait not without its dangers. + +Broussard was treated as a hero by everybody at the post and enjoyed it +extremely, in spite of his deprecation of all praise and declaring that +Gamechick was the real hero. + +Among the festivities was a big dinner given at the C. O.'s fine +quarters to the officers of high rank at the fort, and as a special +compliment Broussard was invited, the only bachelor officer except the +serious Conway, Colonel Fortescue's aide, who classified Anita with the +After-Clap in point of age. + +Broussard had met Anita and danced with her many times that fortnight +but, with native good taste, he avoided thrusting himself upon her. +She was so calm, so well poised, that Broussard concluded she had +forgotten all about the words spoken under the influence of the near +presence of love and death. In truth, Anita had forgotten nothing, but +had suddenly become a woman in those few days. Always Broussard had +wakened her girlish admiration by his charm of manner, his sly +impudence, his way of singing love songs; and her eyes followed him, +while she turned away from him. But she knew exactly what Broussard +had said to her while they stood on the tanbark and she blushed to +herself at the answer that came involuntarily to her lips. She knew no +more of actual love-making than the After-Clap, but she was an +inveterate reader of poetry and romance, and had not studied the poets +and romancists for nothing. Perhaps Broussard would say more to +her--at that thought a lovely light came into Anita's innocent eyes. +Perhaps he had forgotten everything. Then Anita's eyes were troubled. +The pride of maidenhood was born, as it should be, with love, and Anita +no longer ran to the window to see Broussard, but when he was present +he filled the room; when he spoke she heard no other voice than his. + +Colonel Fortescue had a theory which came amazingly true in his own +daughter. It was, that in high altitudes, with mountain ranges and +vast frozen rivers shutting out the rest of the world, the emotions +become preternaturally acute; that human beings grew more tragic or +more comic, according to their bent, and were closer to primeval men +and women than they knew. So it was at Fort Blizzard, standing grimly +watchful over the world of snow and ice and holding within its limits +all the struggle and striving and love, and laughter and dancing, and +the weeping and working and resting, and the hazards and the triumphs +of human life. On the aviation plain men daily played a fearful game +with destiny, the stakes being human lives, while the young officers, +when not flying toward the sun, were dancing every evening with the +dainty girls, in little muslin frocks that made them look like white +butterflies. + +Broussard, owing to a slight defect of vision, was not in the aviation +corps, but, like Sergeant McGillicuddy, he would fly whenever he had an +invitation from Lawrence, the gentleman-ranker with whom Broussard was +seen too often to please Colonel Fortescue. Lawrence had a pale, +fragile, handsome wife, like himself, of another class than the honest +soldiers and their buxom wives, and there was a little boy, Ronald, who +looked like a young prince--a beautiful boy, much noticed by all who +knew him. The soldiers forgot their grudge against Lawrence for what +they called his "uppish airs," and the soldiers' wives forewent their +objections to Mrs. Lawrence and her aloofness from them, when the boy, +Ronald, appeared. The officers, and their wives, too, had a kind word +for the little fellow, so handsome and well-mannered, and especially +was he a favorite with Broussard. It was, indeed, more than friendly +favor toward the child; Broussard was conscious of a strong affection +for the boy, about whom there was something mysteriously appealing to +Broussard, an expression in the frank young eyes, a soft beauty in the +boy's smile, that reminded Broussard of something loved and lost, but +he knew not what it was nor whence it came. Anita, although knowing +nothing of the gentleman-ranker and his wife and the handsome boy +except that, obviously, they were unlike their neighbors and fellows in +the married men's quarters, yet always observed them with curiosity. +Their unlikeness to their station in life was of itself a mystery, and +consequently of interest. Mrs. Fortescue, the soul of kindness to the +soldiers' wives and children, could make nothing of Mrs. Lawrence, who +withdrew into herself at Mrs. Fortescue's approach, and Mrs. Fortescue, +seeing that Mrs. Lawrence wished to hold aloof, respected her wishes, +and from sheer pity left her alone. Mrs. McGillicuddy was not so +considerate, and told thrilling tales of rebuffs administered by Mrs. +Lawrence to corporals' wives, and even sergeants' wives who were +willing to notice her and get snubbed for their good intentions. + +"Mr. Broussard is the only man Mrs. Lawrence gives a decent word to," +said Mrs. McGillicuddy in Anita's hearing, "When she meets him +anywhere, walkin' about, she stops and smiles and talks to him as if +she was the Colonel's lady--that she does, the minx! And she +pretending to be so meek and mild and not looking at any man, except +that good-for-nothing, handsome husband of hers! Just watch her, +stoppin' in the post trader's to talk with Mr. Broussard, she so +haughty-like, and carryin' her own bundles home, like she was doin' +herself a favor!" + +This sank deep into Anita's mind, as did every word referring to +Broussard. But she could make nothing of it; and Mrs. Lawrence, the +soldier's wife, became at once an object of interest, of mystery, +almost of jealousy, to Anita. The little boy she noticed, as did all +who saw him, and like everybody else, she was won by him. + +The morning of the great dinner at the Fortescues', Neroda, the Italian +band-master, came to give Anita her violin lesson. Mrs. Fortescue, +listening and delighted with Anita's progress, came in to the +drawing-room as Neroda was shouting bravos in rapture over the way his +best pupil caught the soul of music in her delicate hands and made it +prisoner. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Neroda," said Mrs. Fortescue in her pretty and +affable manner--Mrs. Fortescue would have been affable with an ogre--"I +must ask you to come this evening and play my daughter's +accompaniments. We are having a large dinner and I should like Anita +to play for us after dinner." + +"Certainly, madam," answered Neroda, who, like everybody else, was +anxious to do Mrs. Fortescue's smiling bidding, "I am proud of the +signorina's playing." + +"Mr. Broussard is coming to the dinner," continued Mrs. Fortescue after +a moment. "He sings so charmingly. It would be delightful to have him +sing and Anita to play a violin obligato." + +"Admirable! Admirable!" cried Neroda, "Mr. Broussard has a superb +voice--much too good for an amateur." + +Mrs. Fortescue laughed; Broussard's beautiful voice was one of the +Colonel's grave objections to him. Anita remained silent, but Mrs. +Fortescue noticed the happy smile on her lips, as she picked a little +air upon the strings; she longed to show off her accomplishments before +Broussard and to accompany his singing seemed a little incursion into +Paradise. + +It was arranged that Neroda should come at half-past nine and have the +violin tuned. Anita, dropping the violin, found a book of songs, some +of which she had heard Broussard sing. + +"Come," she cried eagerly, "I must play these obligatos over. You will +sing the songs." + +Neroda sat down once more to the piano and played and sang in a queer, +cracked voice, the songs, while Anita, her soul in her eyes and all her +heart and strength in her bow arm, played the violin part. She did it +beautifully, and Mrs. Fortescue kissed the girl's glowing cheek when +the music was through. Kettle, who was himself a fiddler, at that +moment poked his head in at the door. He had a fellow artist's +jealousy of Neroda but he was forced by his artistic conscience to say: + +"Lord, Miss 'Nita, you cert'ny kin make a fiddle talk!" + +It was noon before the lesson was over and Neroda left. Anita, +exultant in the thought of playing to Broussard's singing, could not +remain indoors, but putting on her long, dark fur coat and her pretty +fur cap, which accentuated her delicate beauty, went out for a walk +alone. + +Beyond the limits of the great post, was a long, straight promenade, +bordered with stately young fir trees, and as it led to nowhere, was in +general a solitary place. It was here that Anita loved to walk alone. +The only objection to the place was that it gave upon the aviation +field--a place abhorred by all the women at the fort, from the +Colonel's lady down to the company laundresses. Anita always turned +her face away from the aviation field when she was walking under the +pine trees. + +The short way to the walk led by the big red brick barracks of the +married soldiers. Anita knew many of these soldiers' wives, honest and +hard-working women, doing their duty as if they were themselves +soldiers. As Anita passed along many of them, standing in their +doorways or carrying laundry baskets along the street, gave her a +kindly greeting. In one doorway stood Mrs. Lawrence, tall, young, +darkly beautiful, and looking as if she might have been a C. O.'s +daughter instead of being a private soldier's wife. Mrs. Lawrence was +so at odds with her surroundings that Anita, unconsciously, looked +questioningly at her. She stood, shading her eyes from the glare of +the snow and the sun, gazing anxiously toward the aviation field. It +was a flying day, and the hearts of the women at Fort Blizzard had no +rest or peace on those days. Anita could not but see that Mrs. +Lawrence's hands, browned and hardened with work, were small and +delicately formed, and, that the poise of the head, the fine contours, +were not those of a woman bred to toil. + +It was not quite time for the ascent and the officers were not yet on +the field, although there were a dozen or two soldiers and civilian +employes standing about the sheds in the middle of the plain, and +working with the huge machines, dragged from their shelter. Afar off, +the voices of the soldiers, singing a service song, were borne upon the +crystal clear air. + +They were trolling out the song as if there were no more risks in +aviation than in tennis. + + We don't know what we're here for, + We don't know why we're sent, + But we've brought a few unlimbered guns + By way of com-pli-ment. + +Anita walked quickly out of the entrance, keeping her eyes well away +from the flying field. It was a good half mile along the fir tree +walk, and Anita made it twice. The music was throbbing still in her +veins and the thought of playing to Broussard's singing had in it an +intoxication for her innocent heart. She heard the whirring and +clapping of the great aircraft above her head as they flitted across +the face of the sun, but Anita would not look; she hated aircraft and +wished they had never been invented. But she was forced to look when +she heard cries and shouts, as one of the great machines began to reel +about wildly in the air, when it was only twenty feet from the earth, +and then came down, with a crash, upon the snow. She saw Broussard +standing on the ground, he was in uniform, with his heavy cavalry +overcoat around him, and he was working with the men to drag the +aviator from the machine. They got him out, and putting him on a +stretcher, began to run with their burden toward the hospital. Anita +turned her eyes away. She did not see Mrs. Lawrence run out of the +entrance toward the field, her head bare in the icy cold, and no cloak +around her delicate shoulders. Broussard turned to meet her, and +taking off his cavalry overcoat, put it around the shivering woman, and +half led and half carried her as they followed the stretcher. Then +Anita knew it was Lawrence who was hurt. + +Within the entrance there was an excited group of soldiers' wives. +Some said that Lawrence was only slightly hurt; others that every bone +in his body was broken. The chaplain, passing along, reassured them. + +"Nothing but a few bruises and scratches," he said. "I asked the +surgeon if I was needed and he told me there was nothing doing in my +line; I am going to the hospital though, to see the man's wife--it is +Mrs. Lawrence. Good afternoon, Anita. Now don't let this trifling +accident break your little heart. It's nothing, I tell you." + +Anita passed on, her face pale in spite of the chaplain's words. The +picture of Broussard folding his cape around Mrs. Lawrence's shoulders +was strangely photographed upon her mind. She wished she had not seen +it. + +Whenever there was an accident, however small, on the aviation field +the whole post was anxious and quivering. Colonel Fortescue and Anita +were both silent and preoccupied at luncheon, and Mrs. Fortescue, who +never lost her brave cheerfulness, tried to interest them in the dinner +that was to be given that evening, and Anita's music, but without much +success. + +"I declare, Jack," cried Mrs. Fortescue, "if I only knew the aviation +days in advance I would never arrange a dinner on one of those days. +You are as solemn as a mute at a funeral, and Anita always looks like a +ghost when she has been out to the aviation field. For my part, I do +not allow myself to see the aviation field nor even to think about it." + +"But you say a great many prayers on aviation days," replied Colonel +Fortescue, smiling. + +Mrs. Fortescue admitted this, but reminded her husband that she +believed in keeping a stiff spirit. + +"The man Lawrence is not much hurt," said Colonel Fortescue. "He +wanted to be taken to his quarters where his wife could nurse him, and +the surgeon allowed it, after dressing his cuts and bruises." + +Anita still looked so grave that Colonel Fortescue said to her: + +"How about a ride this afternoon, Anita? We can get back in time for +you to dress for the dinner." + +"Do go, Anita," urged Mrs. Fortescue plaintively, "it is such a relief +to have your father out of the house when I am arranging for a dinner +of twenty-four." + +It was one of the great treats of Anita's simple life to ride with her +father and the proposition brought a smile, at last, into her serious +face. + +"At four, then," said the Colonel, rising to return to the headquarters +building, while Anita ran to get his cap, and Mrs. Fortescue fastened +his military cape around him, and his gloves were brought by the +After-Clap, who had been drilled in this duty. The Colonel was well +coddled, and liked it. + +Anita practised on her violin nearly the whole afternoon, and, not +satisfied with that, sent a message to Neroda asking him to come at six +o'clock, when she would have returned from her ride, and rehearse with +her once more the obligatos she was to play to Broussard's singing. + +Anita's spirits rose as she rode by her father's side in the biting +cold of the wintry afternoon. They both loved these rides together and +the long talks they had then. The time was, when Colonel Fortescue +felt that he knew every thought in Anita's mind, but not so any longer. +He began to speak of Broussard, to try and search Anita's mind on that +subject, but Anita remained absolutely silent. The Colonel's heart +sank; Anita was certainly growing up, and had secrets of her own. + +It was quite dark when the Colonel and Anita cantered through the lower +entrance, the short way to the C. O.'s house. One door alone was open +in the long row of red brick barracks. The electric light in the +passageway fell full upon the figures of Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence as +the woman impulsively put her hand on Broussard's shoulder; he gently +removed it and walked quickly out of the door. Under the glare of a +street lamp he came face to face with Colonel Fortescue. + +An officer visiting the wife of a private soldier is not a thing to be +excused by a strict Colonel, and Colonel Fortescue was very strict, and +had Argus eyes in the bargain. + +Broussard saluted the Colonel and bowed to Anita and passed on. The +Colonel returned the salute but Anita was too startled to acknowledge +the bow. When they reached the Commandant's house and Colonel +Fortescue swung Anita from her saddle she walked into the house slowly, +her eyes fixed on the ground. At the door the After-Clap met her with +a shout, but instead of a romp with his grown-up playmate, he received +only an absent-minded kiss. Almost at the same moment Neroda walked +into the hall. + +"Here I am, Signorina," he said, "ready for the practice. Mr. +Broussard sings too well for you to do less than play divinely." + +Anita, taking off her gloves and veil, went, unsmilingly, into the +drawing-room, Neroda following her, and putting up the top of the grand +piano. + +It was Neroda's rule that Anita should tune her own violin. Usually +she did it with beautiful accuracy, but on this evening it was utterly +inharmonious. As she drew her bow across the strings Neroda jumped as +if he were shot. + +"Great God! Signorina," he shouted, "every string is swearing at the +G-string! The spirit of music will not come to you to-night unless you +tune your violin better." + +Anita stopped and laid down her bow, and once more holding the violin +to her ear, began tuning it. That time the tuning was so bad that she +handed the violin to Neroda. + +"You must tune it for me, Maestro," she said, with a wan smile. "The +spirit of music seems far away to-night." + +Neroda, in a minute, handed her back the instrument in perfect tune. +Anita, testing the strings, her bow wandered into the soft heart-moving +music of Mascagni's Intermezzo. Neroda said nothing, but watched his +favorite pupil. Usually she took up her violin with a calm confidence, +like a young Amazon taking up her well-strung bow for battle, because +the violin must be subdued; it must be made to obey; it must feel the +master hand before it will speak. But to-night the master hand failed +Anita, and she played fitfully and sadly and could do nothing as Neroda +directed her. + +"Shall we give up the rehearsal?" asked Neroda presently, seeing that +Anita was not concentrated and that her bow arm showed strange weakness. + +"No," replied Anita, with a new courage in her violet eyes, "Let us +rehearse for the whole hour." + +If Neroda had been puzzled at Anita's inability he was now surprised at +her strength. She stood up to her full height and the bow was firm in +her grasp. Neroda was a hard master, but Anita succeeded in pleasing +him. Even Kettle, who had an artistic rivalry with Neroda, passing the +drawing-room door, cried: + +"Lord, Miss 'Nita, you kin play the fiddle mos' as well as I kin." + +As Mrs. Fortescue was putting the last touches to her toilette before +the long mirror in her own room, Colonel Fortescue came in, dressed to +go down-stairs. The Colonel's mind had been working on the problems of +Broussard's visit to Mrs. Lawrence, and the look he had noticed for +some time past in Anita's eyes when Broussard was present, or even when +his name was mentioned. + +"I am afraid, Betty," said the Colonel, "that Anita thinks too much and +too often of Broussard. And in spite of that trick of horsemanship +there are some things a trifle unsatisfactory about him." + +"Really, Jack," answered Mrs. Fortescue, "you take Anita's moods far +too seriously. The girl will have her little affairs as other girls +have theirs. It's like measles and chicken-pox and other infantile +diseases." + +"Not for Anita," said Colonel Fortescue, "that child has in her tragic +possibilities. Her heart is brittle, depend upon it." + +"So are all hearts," replied Mrs. Fortescue, "but you are so +ridiculously sentimental and lackadaisical about Anita!" + +"She is my one ewe lamb," said the Colonel. + +Then they went down-stairs together, and the next minute Anita +appeared, wearing a gown of white and silver, with a delicious little +train, which she managed as well as a seventeen-year-old could manage a +train. + +In a minute or two the guests began arriving. They were handsome, +middle-aged officers and dignified matrons. Broussard was the only +young man present, which was understood as a special compliment to him, +and Anita was the only young girl in the company. + +Broussard greeted the Colonel as coolly as if that unlucky meeting just +outside of Lawrence's quarters had not occurred two hours before. And +Broussard was a captivating, fellow--this the Colonel admitted to +himself, with an inward groan, watching Broussard's graceful figure, +his dashing manner, all these externals that dazzle women. The Colonel +also saw the color that flooded Anita's face when she took Broussard's +arm to lead her in to dinner. At the table, though, Broussard found +Anita strangely unlike the Anita he had been steadily falling in love +with since he first saw her, three months before, when Colonel +Fortescue took command at Fort Blizzard. She was no longer the dreamy, +mysterious child, who knew all the stories of the poets, whose +affections were all passions, but a self-possessed young lady, who read +things in the newspapers about the European war and knew something +about aviation records, although she hated aviation. + +Broussard, with rage and chagrin in his heart, remembered that Anita +had probably seen him standing in the passage-way of Lawrence's +quarters, with Mrs. Lawrence's shapely hand on his shoulder. He +remained calm and smiling, nevertheless, and exerted to the utmost his +power to please. But Anita remained calm and smiling, and maddeningly +aloof. Broussard, inwardly cursing himself, made up his mind to have +it out with the Colonel the next day about the Lawrence affair. + +When dinner was over and the men had come in from the smoking-room, +Mrs. Fortescue asked Broussard if he would sing; Neroda was already +there to play his accompaniments and Anita, would play the violin +obligato. + +Broussard was not loth to show his accomplishments and he had a very +good will to try the magic of his voice upon Anita, gracious, and +obstinate and smiling. + +The guests, in a circle in the drawing-room, watched and listened to +the group at the piano--Neroda, short and swarthy, with a rancorous +voice; Anita, in her blonde beauty, looking like another St. Cecilia, +and Broussard, dark and handsome, like Faust, the tempter. + +With deep intent Broussard selected the most passionate of all his +passionate songs. It asked the old, old question, "I love thee; dost +thou love me?" Neroda struck into the accompaniment and Broussard's +voice, a tenor, with the strength and feeling of a baritone, took up +the song, while the music of Anita's violin delicately threaded the +harmonies, ever following and responding to Broussard's voice. All of +Anita's coldness vanished at the first strain of the music; Broussard's +voice penetrated her heart and inspired her hand. When the song was +over and she laid her violin down on the piano she was once more the +palpitating, shy enthusiast, the half-child, half-woman who had +captivated Broussard at the first glance. + +During the interludes between the songs it was plain they forgot all +except each other. They turned over songs and read the titles to each +other, Broussard sometimes singing, under his breath, the words. Then, +when he sang them in full voice he infused all the verve, the passion, +the feeling he knew so well how to command, and played upon Anita's +heart-strings with the hand of a master, as Anita played upon the +strings of her violin. The men and women, listening and charmed, +smiled at each other; evidently a love affair was on foot such as +everybody had expected since the night of the music ride. Colonel +Fortescue alone was grave, leaning back in his chair with sombre eyes +fixed on Broussard. He saw in Broussard a wild young officer who +needed a stern warning about a soldier's handsome wife; and, while +watching him, Colonel Fortescue was phrasing the very words in which he +meant to call Broussard to account the next day, for the Colonel was +not a man to postpone a disagreeable duty. It would be a very +disagreeable duty; the poignant memory of Anita lying on the tanbark +and Broussard having the skill to save her, still haunted Colonel +Fortescue's thoughts and came to him in troubled dreams. And +Anita--undoubtedly Broussard had impressed her imagination, and she was +a creature of such strong fibre that she must love and suffer more than +most human beings the Colonel knew, well enough. + +At last, the singing was over and the listeners came out of a waking +dream and complimented Anita and Broussard, and the pleasant chatter of +a drawing-room once more began. Presently there were leave-takings. +Broussard gave Anita's hand a sharp pressure, but she looked at him +calmly, all her coldness resumed. Out in the winter night Broussard +cursed himself for falling in love with a child, who was an embodied +caprice and did not know her own mind--one hour thrilling him with her +gladness and her low voice and her violin, and the next, looking at him +as if he were a stock or a stone. But she was so precociously +charming! And that unlucky meeting with her and with the Colonel in +front of Lawrence's door, with Mrs. Lawrence putting her hand on his +shoulder. Broussard meant to go to the Colonel the very next day and +explain the whole business. The resolve enabled Broussard to sleep in +peace that night. + +It was noon the next day before Broussard had a chance to ask for an +interview with Colonel Fortescue. Meanwhile, the Colonel had been +finding out things. He looked up the records of Broussard and Lawrence +and found that they were both natives of the same little town in +Louisiana. That might account for their intimacy, although Lawrence +was fifteen years Broussard's senior. + +Just as the Colonel's orderly was crossing the hall of the headquarters +building he came face to face with Broussard, headed straight for +Colonel Fortescue's office. The orderly had a message from the Colonel +for Mr. Broussard; the Colonel desired to see Mr. Broussard for a few +minutes. + +Broussard, like the Colonel, was not the man to shirk an unpleasant +five minutes, so he made straight for the Colonel's private office. In +spite of his courageous advance, Broussard felt very much as Sergeant +McGillicuddy described himself when in the abhorred buggy which Mrs. +McGillicuddy had given him as a Christmas gift, "Hollow inside." There +is something appalling to a subaltern in the kind of an interview which +Broussard felt was ahead of him. He knew in advance the very tone in +which Colonel Fortescue and all other Colonels prepare a wigging for a +junior. "It is my painful duty." The extreme politeness with which +this was accompanied was not reassuring. Then the Colonel, taking the +advice of old Horace, plunged into the middle of things. + +"I was very much surprised," said Colonel Fortescue, fixing his clear +gaze on Broussard, "when, yesterday evening, after dark, I saw you +standing in the passage-way to the home of an enlisted man, and +evidently upon familiar terms with the man's wife." + +"I was on my way to you, sir, just now, to explain that occurrence when +I received your order," replied Broussard promptly. + +"I shall be glad to have it satisfactorily explained," said the C. O. + +Colonel Fortescue had the eye of command, that secure power in his +glance which is possessed by all the masters of men; the look that can +wring the truth out of a man's mouth even if that man be a liar, and +can see through the eyes of a man into his soul. This look of command +suddenly flashed into Colonel Fortescue's face, and gazing into the +clear eyes of Broussard saw honor and truth and candor there as +Broussard spoke. + +"The man, Lawrence, as you may know, sir, is a gentleman in origin and +socially above most of the good fellows in the ranks." + +"And these men sometimes make trouble," interrupted the Colonel. + +"He came from the same place that I do and tells me he knew my +mother--God bless her--and that she was very kind to him in his +boyhood. That was before I was born. He knows a surprising deal about +my parents, both of whom died when I was a boy. Sometimes I have +doubted whether all he told me was true, but invariably it tallies with +my own childish recollections and what I have been told of my mother. +Lawrence has a passionate attachment to my mother's memory. He knows +her birthday, and the day of her death, and more even than I do about +her. The first word I had with him was on the anniversary of my +mother's death. He came to my quarters and asked to see me, told me of +my mother's goodness to him, and burst into tears before he got +through. Of course, that melted me--my mother was one of God's angels +on this earth. He is always in money troubles, and I helped him. That +brought me into contact with his wife--a woman of his own class, who +has stood by Lawrence, and is worthy, I think, to be classified with my +mother. If you could see the way that woman works for Lawrence and +their child--there's a little boy five years old,--and how she +struggles to keep him straight and sober. I had just done her a little +favor at the post trader's place, and went to her to explain it +privately. She was very grateful; you saw her put her hand on my +shoulder. The truth is, Mrs. Lawrence does not yet fully understand +her position as a private soldier's wife. What I have told you, sir, +is all, upon my honor." + +"I believe you," said Colonel Fortescue, after a moment, and holding +out his hand, which Broussard grasped with a feeling of vast relief. + +"The man seems to be doing pretty well, except about his money +troubles, of which I know nothing but what you tell me," went on the +Colonel. "He is one of the best aviators in the corps. Of course, his +name isn't Lawrence." + +"So he admitted to me," replied Broussard, "I am all abroad concerning +his knowledge of my family. I only know that he loves my mother's +memory, that he evidently knew her well, and that his wife is an heroic +woman. I have promised her that when the little boy is old enough I +will do a good part by him. I have something besides my pay." + +This "something" was of a size that made the Colonel think it was +rather a drawback to Broussard. + +"I only advise you to be prudent in your intercourse with Lawrence and +his wife," said the Colonel, rising. And the interview was over. + +Broussard went back with a light heart to his day's duties. The +Colonel knew the truth, and so, some day, would Anita, the little witch. + +It was growing dusk when Broussard again passed the headquarters +building. The last mail had come in and the published orders were +fastened on the bulletin board. Broussard stopped to read them. The +first name mentioned was that of Lieutenant Victor Broussard, who was +detached from his present duty at Fort Blizzard and ordered on special +duty to the Philippines. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +"GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART, GOOD-BYE" + +Broussard, after reading his orders, walked quickly to his quarters. +On the desk in his luxuriously furnished sitting-room was a letter from +the C. O. giving the order in detail from the War Department; Broussard +was to make the next steamer sailing from San Francisco. He went +through with a rapid mental calculation. To do that, he would be +obliged to leave Fort Blizzard not later than the next afternoon. + +Broussard took his orders with a soldier's coolness. He particularly +disliked them; he did not want to leave Fort Blizzard for any other +spot on the habitable globe, and least of all did he want to go to the +island possessions. But he said no word of complaint, took, with +perfect good humor, the condolences and chaff of his brother officers +at the mess dinner that night, and plunged into his preparations to +leave. + +The disposal of the expensive impedimenta which Broussard had +accumulated gave him much trouble. He did not value them greatly, and +without much thought determined to give his costly rugs and lamps and +glass and china to the Lawrences--they were originally used to that +sort of thing and Broussard was in no fear of the Colonel's +misunderstanding it, or any one else, for that matter, as it had been +well known that there was some tie or association between Broussard and +Lawrence in their childhood. + +The scattering of costly gifts by a very free-handed person is usually +most indiscreet, and Broussard was no exception to the rule. He +presented his finest motor to a brother officer, who had to support a +wife and children on a captain's pay and could not afford to support +the motor besides. The game chickens, the beloved of Broussard's +heart, he presented to another officer, whose wife objected seriously +to cock-fighting. The chaplain, seeing the grand piano was about to be +thrown away on anybody who could take it, managed to secure it for the +men's reading-room. The thing which perplexed Broussard most was, what +to do with Gamechick. He longed to give the horse to Anita but dared +not. However, fate befriended him in this matter and Anita got +Gamechick by other means. When Colonel Fortescue came home for the cup +of tea that Mrs. Fortescue was always waiting to give him at five +o'clock, with the sweet looks and tender words that made the hour so +happy, he mentioned, in an off-hand way, Broussard's orders and that he +was leaving the next day. Neither the father nor the mother looked +toward Anita, sitting a little in the shadow of the dim drawing-room. +Mrs. Fortescue, by way of making conversation, said: + +"I wonder what he will do with his motors and horses and game chickens, +and all those beautiful things he has in his quarters?" + +"Oh, that's easy enough to tell," answered Colonel Fortescue. "All +these young officers who load themselves up with that kind of thing act +just alike. As soon as they are ordered somewhere else they throw away +these things. They call it giving, but it is merely largesse." + +"I wish," said Anita, in a soft, composed voice, "that I could have +Gamechick. I can't help loving the horse that might have killed me and +did not. Daddy, if I give up half my allowance for every month until I +pay for him, would you buy him for me?" + +Colonel Fortescue was quite as well able as Broussard to own Gamechick, +but Anita had been brought up with a wholesome economy. + +"I think so, my dear," replied the Colonel, gravely. + +It would, in reality, have taken Anita's modest allowance for a couple +of years to buy Gamechick. Mrs. Fortescue said as much. + +"It would take all your allowance for a long time, Anita, to buy +Gamechick. The horse has a pedigree longer than mine, and I have often +noticed that ancestors are worth a great deal more to horses than to +human beings." + +"Oh, the price can be managed," said the Colonel, good naturedly. +"Broussard's horses will probably be sold for a song." + +Gamechick was not sold for a song, however, but for an excellent price. +Colonel Fortescue was not the man to buy a good horse for a song of any +man, least of all one of his own subalterns. When Broussard got the +Colonel's note containing an offer for Gamechick, he laughed with +pleasure, although he was not in a laughing mood. + +"I should like to own the horse," the Colonel's note ran, "which, +together with your fine horsemanship, saved my daughter's life, and he +is well worth my offer." + +Broussard would have given all of his other possessions at Fort +Blizzard if he could have made Anita a gift of the horse, but the next +best thing to do was, to sell him to her father. Broussard felt sure +that Anita would ride Gamechick and there was much solid comfort in +that, for an officer's charger, which carries him in life and is led +behind his coffin in death, is near and dear to him. So, Broussard +lost not a moment in accepting the Colonel's offer for Gamechick. + +It was quite midnight before Broussard, with the assistance of his +soldier attendant, had got those of his belongings which he intended to +take with him sorted out and packed up. He dismissed the man and in +the midst of his disordered sitting-room settled himself for his last +cigar before turning in for the night. At that moment he heard a tap +at the door, and opening it, Lawrence was standing on the threshold. +He entered, taking off his cap and loosening his heavy uniform +greatcoat. Once he had been a handsome fellow, but he had danced too +long to the devil's fiddling, and that always spoils a man's looks. + +For the first time, Lawrence seemed to forget the distance between the +private soldier and the officer. He sat down heavily, without waiting +for an invitation, and turned a haggard face on Broussard. + +"So you are going," said Lawrence. + +"Yes," replied Broussard. + +Broussard saw that Lawrence was oppressed at the thought, there would +be no more Broussard to help him pay the post trader's bills and to +give him a good word when he got into trouble with the non-coms. + +Broussard handed him a box of cigars and Lawrence absently took one. +It was a very expensive cigar, as Broussard's things were all +expensive. Lawrence, after rolling it in his fingers for a moment, +laid it down. + +"It's a shame not to be able to smoke such a brand as that," he said, +"but the truth is, I can't stand tobacco to-night. It makes me nervous +instead of soothing me." + +Broussard, lighting a cigar for himself, looked closely at Lawrence, +whose face was pallid and his eye sombre and uneasy. + +"What's the trouble? More bills at the post trader's?" asked Broussard. + +"Worse," replied Lawrence, becoming more agitated as he spoke. "My +wife--the best wife that ever lived--has been traced here by her +people. Of course, my name isn't Lawrence, and there was some trouble +in finding her. They want her to leave me, and offer to provide for +her and the boy. The work is killing her--you see how pale and thin +she is--and the boy hasn't the chance he ought to have. They are worth +more than a broken and beaten man like I am. But ever since I married +her I've led a fairly decent life--she is the one creature who can keep +me a little on this side of the jail. If she leaves me, I'm lost. +What shall I do?" + +Lawrence rose to his feet, and stood, trembling like a leaf. Broussard +rose, too. By some strange, psychic foreknowledge, Broussard knew that +some disclosure, poignant and even vital to himself, was then to be +made by Lawrence. It came in Lawrence's next words, dragged out of +him, as it were, by a force like that which drags the soul from the +body. + +"I ask you this," cried Lawrence, "in the name of our mother, for you +and I, Victor Broussard, are brothers of the half blood." + +By that time, Lawrence was weeping convulsively. Broussard's lighted +cigar dropped to the floor, and lay there smoldering. + +"But--but--" stammered Broussard, "my half-brother, my mother's son by +her first marriage, died when I was a boy. My mother wore mourning for +him." + +"Yes," answered Lawrence, recovering himself a little, "she thought I +was dead when I was in double irons for mutiny on a merchant ship. It +was one of God's mercies that she thought me dead when I was living a +life that would have been worse than death to her. Look you, I have +disobeyed and defied and disgraced the God that made me, but I have +never ceased to believe in Him. And, blackguard that I was and am, I +had the best mother, and I have the best wife----" + +There was a tense silence for a minute. Through all the bewildering +and overwhelming thoughts that were crashing through Broussard's brain, +but one thing was clear and unshakable, the deathless loyalty that a +son owes to his mother. + +"Of course," said Broussard, in a cool and resolute voice, "I'll stand +by my mother's son, for my mother's sake. I was always puzzled at your +knowledge of my parents, but I want some actual proof of what you say. +Not for myself, you understand, but for others." + +"Here it is," said Lawrence, taking a small, thin gold ring from his +little finger. "When my mother married your father, I was fourteen +years old. She gave me the wedding ring my father had given her; she +put it on my finger and it has never been removed since--but I will +take it off to show to you." + +Lawrence pulled the ring off and Broussard, under the glare of the +electric lamp, read the initials and the date he had seen in the family +record. Then, handing the ring back, Broussard studied Lawrence's +haggard face. Lawrence, answering the unspoken words, said: + +"I was always thought like my mother, and the boy is the image of her." + +A sudden illumination flooded Broussard's mind with light. He recalled +the child's face, frank and handsome--a face that had always appealed +to him so strongly, and so strangely. Yes, it was the call of the +blood, and instantly the mysterious attraction the boy had for him +developed into the affection of a kinsman. + +"If you could see my wife and talk with her," continued Lawrence, +recovering himself a little. "I can't urge her to leave me, but I +think in common justice to her somebody ought to put the thing before +her." + +"Certainly," replied Broussard. + +He was turning things rapidly in his mind. It would never do, after +the Colonel's warning, to go to Lawrence's quarters, and he said so. + +"It would look as if I had called for a farewell visit to your wife, +when I haven't time to pay any calls except to the C. O.," said +Broussard, after a moment. "But I will see the Colonel in the morning +and try to arrange, through him, an interview with your wife." + +"But don't, for God's sake, tell who I am," cried Lawrence. "Don't +tell it, for the sake of our mother's memory. It isn't necessary." + +"No, it is not necessary," replied Broussard. He was full of brotherly +pity for Lawrence, his respect and sympathy for Mrs. Lawrence suddenly +changed into the love of a brother for a sister, and the little boy +became dear to him in the twinkling of an eye. + +A silence fell between the two men, which was broken by Broussard. + +"Couldn't you get a discharge from the army?" + +"No," answered Lawrence, "there are too many black marks against +me--not enough to turn me out, but enough to keep me in. However, I've +kept soberer and acted straighter since I've been an enlisted man than +for a long time past; the non-coms. know how to handle men like me. +And I'm a good aviator, and they want to keep me." + +"At all events," said Broussard, taking Lawrence's hand, "I'll look out +for your wife and child. The boy shall have his chance--he shall have +his chance, the jolly little chap!" + +Then, standing up, the two men embraced as brothers do, and felt their +mother's tender spirit hovering over them. + +The next morning, while Colonel Fortescue was at breakfast, a note was +handed to him by Broussard's soldier attendant. It read: + +"Last night I had a visit from Lawrence. He has a great affection for +his wife and child, and wanted me to talk with his wife about a family +matter in which he feels he can not advise her. Can you kindly suggest +some way by which I may have a private talk of a few minutes with Mrs. +Lawrence?" + +Colonel Fortescue scribbled on the back of the note: + +"Come to my office in my house at ten o'clock and I will have Mrs. +Lawrence here." + +Broussard felt a little chagrined when he received this note. Suppose +Anita should see him? She had already seen Mrs. Lawrence put her hand +on his shoulder. There was, however, no gainsaying the C. O., and at +ten o'clock Broussard rang the bell at the Commandant's house. +Sergeant McGillicuddy opened the door for him and showed him into the +little office across the hall, saying: + +"Them's the Colonel's orders, sir." + +At the same moment Mrs. Lawrence, pale, beautiful and stately, walked +in from the back entrance. As she and Broussard met in the sunny hall, +brimming with the morning light, Anita walked down the stairs and came +face to face with Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence. + +Broussard's dark skin turned dull red; Mrs. Lawrence, calmly +unconscious, bowed to Anita, who, in her turn, bowed and passed on; her +head, usually with a graceful droop, was erect; she radiated silent +displeasure. Then Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence entered the office and +Broussard closed the door. He was full of discomfort and chagrin, but +it did not make him forgetful of the pale woman before him. + +Mrs. Lawrence sat down in a chair; it was plain that she was not +strong. Broussard, taking her hand, said to her affectionately: + +"Last night Lawrence told me all. Remember, after this, that you and +he have a brother, and the boy will be to me as a son." + +The slow tears gathered in Mrs. Lawrence's eyes and fell upon her thin +cheeks. + +"My husband told me when he came home last night. I can't express what +I feel--but the boy shall remember you in his innocent prayer." + +"It's the boy I want to speak about," said Broussard, "Lawrence tells +me that you have a chance of going back to your own people and that you +are breaking down under the hard work of a soldier's wife. You can +never get used to it." + +"Perhaps not," replied Mrs. Lawrence, calmly, "especially as I was +brought up to have a French maid. But I don't intend to leave my +husband. I love him too well. Don't ask me why I love him so. I +couldn't explain it to you to save my life, but I will say that since +the day we were married--I ran away to marry him--he has never spoken +an unkind word to me. He had nothing to give me except his love, but +he has given me that. Whatever his faults may be as a soldier, he has +been a good husband to me." + +"A good husband!" + +Broussard involuntarily repeated the words, marvelling and admiring the +constancy, the self-delusion, the blind devotion of the woman before +him. + +"A loving husband, I should have said," said Mrs. Lawrence, a faint +color coming into her face, "But my resolution is made. What you said +about helping the boy only fixes it firmer, because it did seem as if +his only chance would be thrown away." + +The conversation had not lasted five minutes but Broussard saw that +five decades of persuasion would not move Mrs. Lawrence. Besides, he +had spoken to her from a profound sense of justice; in his heart, the +tie of blood between him and Lawrence made him wish that the wife +should continue to stand by the husband. + +They both rose, feeling that the matter was settled inevitably. +Broussard took from his breast pocket a roll of notes. + +"It is better for you than bank checks," he said; "when this is gone, +write to me and there will be more. Lawrence feels, as I do, that for +the sake of our mother's memory it would be better that his identity +should not be revealed." + +A vivid blush flooded Mrs. Lawrence's face. Her woman's pride was cut +to the quick and Broussard, seeing it, said quickly: + +"It was his suggestion, not mine." + +Then, taking Mrs. Lawrence's hand, Broussard gave her a brother's kiss, +which she returned as a sister might, and they passed out of the +office. In the hall Broussard left cards for Colonel and Mrs. +Fortescue and Anita. Kettle, having heard that Broussard was leaving, +came out of the dining-room, where he had been washing dishes, and +wiping his hands on his long checked gingham apron, offered a friendly +grasp to Broussard. + +"I ain' goin' ter let Miss 'Nita furgit you, suh," Kettle whispered, +"doan' you be skeered of Mr. Conway--he treat Miss 'Nita same like he +did when she wear her hair down her back." + +Broussard inwardly thought that perhaps Conway's plan was best. But he +gave Kettle a confidential wink and a bank note. + +"Some day I'll come back, Kettle, and then----" + +Broussard did not finish the sentence in his own mind. Anita had seen +just enough to prejudice a young, innocent girl against him. + +Outside the door, a trooper was holding Gamechick by the bridle, +delivering the horse to his new master. + +"Good-bye, good horse," said Broussard, patting Gamechick's neck. "You +did me the best turn any creature, man or beast, ever did me, and I +promise never to forget my obligations to you." + +Horses are sentimental creatures. Gamechick knew that Broussard's +words were a farewell. He turned his large, intelligent eyes on +Broussard, saying as plainly as a horse can speak: + +"Good-bye, good master. Never will I, your faithful horse, forget you." + +Broussard, walking rapidly off, in the bright January morning, turned +around for one last glimpse at the house that held Anita. At that +moment the great doors of the Commandant's house opened, and Anita, +with a long crimson cloak around her and a hood over her head, ran down +the broad stone steps to where Gamechick was standing like a bronze +horse, the best-trained and best-mannered and best-bred cavalry charger +at Fort Blizzard. Anita put her arm about his neck and rubbed her +cheek against his satin coat, Gamechick receiving her caresses with +dignity, as a cavalry charger should, and not with the tender bondings +and nosings for lumps of sugar, like Pretty Maid. The last glimpse +Broussard had of Anita was, as she stood, her arm about Gamechick's +neck, her crimson mantle falling away from her graceful shoulder. + +[Illustration: The last glimpse Broussard had of Anita was, as she +stood, her arm about Gamechick's neck.] + +"How much simpler," thought Broussard, as he buttoned his heavy fur +coat, for the ride to the station, "is love for a horse, for a child, +for anything created, than love for a woman! No man gets out of that +business without complications, and when the woman is half a child, an +idealist, precocious, an angel with a devil lurking somewhere about +her, it's the most complicated thing on this planet!" + +Broussard carried these thoughts with him through the frozen Northwest, +across the sapphire seas, and into the jungles of the tropics, to which +he was destined. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +UNFORGETTING + +"As the passing of leaves, so is the passing of men." Thus it was with +Broussard. Another man came to take his place; his once luxurious +quarters, now plainly furnished, were occupied by another officer, his +fighting cocks had disappeared, and Gamechick became a lady's mount. +Anita quite gave over riding Pretty Maid, and rode Gamechick every day. +She had some of the superstitions of the Arabs about horses, and when +she dismounted, she always whispered something in the horse's ear. The +words were: + +"We won't forget him, Gamechick, although he has forgotten us." + +At this, Gamechick would turn his steady, intelligent eyes on her, and +nod, as if he understood every word. Colonel Fortescue and Mrs. +Fortescue noticed this little trick of Anita's and looked at each other +in silent pity for the girl. She suddenly developed amazing energy, +working hard at her violin lessons and delighting Neroda by her +progress, reading and studying until Mrs. Fortescue took the books away +from her, going to all the dances, doing everything that her young +companions did, and many things which they did not. She became the +chaplain's right hand for work among the soldiers' children, and from +daybreak until she went to bed at night Anita was ever employed at +something and throwing into that something wonderful force and +perseverance. One thing became immediately noticeable to Colonel and +Mrs. Fortescue; this was that Anita never spoke Broussard's name from +the hour he left Fort Blizzard. + +"It is only a girl's fancy; she will get over it," said Mrs. Fortescue +to the Colonel. + +"She would if she were like most girls, but I tell you, Betty, this +child of ours, this devoted, obedient little thing, has more mind, more +introspection, than any young creature I ever knew. There is the +making of a dozen tragedies in her." + +"It is you who are too introspective and too tragic about her," +answered Mrs. Fortescue, and the Colonel, recognizing the germ of truth +in his wife's words, remained silent for a moment. Then he said: + +"It's the sky and the snow and this altitude, and being shut in from +all the world that make everything so tense. On these far-off, +ice-bound plains, life is abnormally vivid. We are all keyed up too +high here." + +Mrs. Fortescue, seeing Anita reading often, and getting many books from +the post library, glanced at the literature that crowded the table in +Anita's sunny bed room. They were of two sorts--books of passionate +poetry and books about the Philippines, their geography, their history, +the story of the natives, "the silent, sullen peoples, half savage and +half child," tales of the creeping, crawling, stinging things that make +life hideous in the jungles, all these was Anita studying. Mrs. +Fortescue said nothing of this to the Colonel, but recalled that +Broussard was in the Philippines, and Anita's soul was there, although +her body was at Fort Blizzard. In a book of her own, Anita had written +her name, in the firm, clear hand that belonged to thirty rather than +to seventeen, and these words: + +"This I, who walk and talk and sleep and eat here, is not I. It is but +my body; my soul is with the Beloved." + +Mrs. Fortescue said nothing of this to the Colonel, but the trend of +Anita's reading was unexpectedly revealed at one of the stately and +handsome dinners that were given weekly at the Commandant's house +during the season. When the officers were in the smoking-room a +question of the geography of the Philippines came up, and was not +settled. Colonel Fortescue called for a book on the subject, which was +in Anita's room. Anita herself brought it, and hovered for a moment +behind her father's chair; the subject of the Philippines had a magic +power to hold her. + +Not even the book gave the desired information and Anita leaned over +and whispered into her father's ear: + +"Daddy, I can tell you about it." + +"Do," answered the Colonel, smiling, and turning to his guests, "This +young lady will interest us." + +Anita, whose air was shy and her violet eyes usually downcast, was the +least shy and the most courageous creature imaginable. She got a map, +and, spreading it out on the table, pointed out the true solution, and +produced books to explain it. The officers, all mature men, listened +with interest and amusement, complimenting Anita, and telling her she +ought to have an officer's commission. Colonel Fortescue beamed with +pride; no other girl at the post had as much solid information as Anita. + +When the guests were gone and Anita was lying wide awake in her little +white bed, thinking of Broussard, Colonel Fortescue, in the pride of +his heart, was telling Mrs. Fortescue about it, as he smoked his last +cigar in his office. + +"It was great!" said the Colonel. "The child knew her subject +wonderfully. She sat there, talking with men who had served in the +Philippines, and they said she knew as much as they did." + +"Broussard is in the Philippines," replied Mrs. Fortescue quietly. + +Colonel Fortescue dashed his cigar into the fireplace and remained +silent for five minutes. + +"At any rate," he said presently, "The child's love affair hasn't made +a fool of her. She is actually learning something from it. That's +where she is so far ahead of most young things of her age." + +"She will be eighteen next spring," said Mrs. Fortescue. + +The mention of Anita's age always made the Colonel cross; so nothing +more was said between the father and mother about Anita that night. +But the Colonel yearned over the beloved of his heart, nor did he +classify Anita's silent and passionate remembrance of Broussard with +the idle fancies of a young girl; it was like Anita herself, of strong +fibre. + +The winter wore on, and the whirlpool of life surged in the far-distant +post, as in the greater centres of life. The chaplain, an earnest man, +found men and women more willing to listen to him, than in any spot in +which he had ever spoken the message entrusted to him. Perhaps the +aviation field had something to do with it; the people in the fort were +always near to life and to death. The chaplain disliked to find +himself watching particular faces in the chapel when he preached the +simple, soldierly sermons on Sundays, and was annoyed with himself that +he always saw, above all others, Anita Fortescue's gaze, and that of +Mrs. Lawrence, as she sat far back in the chapel. Anita's eyes were +full of questionings, and dark with sadness; but Mrs. Lawrence, in her +plain black gown and hat, sometimes with Lawrence by her side, always +with the beautiful boy, sitting among the soldiers and their wives, +embodied tragedy. The chaplain sometimes went to see Mrs. Lawrence; +she was a delicate woman, and often ill, and the chaplain was forced to +admire Lawrence's kindness to his wife, although in other respects +Lawrence was not a model of conduct. As with Mrs. McGillicuddy, and +everybody else at the fort, Mrs. Lawrence maintained a still, +unconquerable reserve. One day, the chaplain said to Anita: + +"I hear that Lawrence's wife is ill. Could you go to see her? You +know she isn't like the wives of the other enlisted men, and that makes +it hard to help her." + +Anita blushed all over her delicate face. She felt a deep hostility to +Mrs. Lawrence; she had seen Broussard with her twice, and each time +there was an unaccountable familiarity between them. But women seek +their antagonists among other women, and Anita felt a secret longing to +know more about this mysterious woman. + +"Certainly I will go," answered Anita. "My father is very strict about +letting me intrude into the soldier's houses--he says it's impertinent +to force one's self in, but I know if you ask me to go to see Mrs. +Lawrence my father will think it quite right." + +The Colonel stood firmly by his chaplain, who was a man after his own +heart, and that very afternoon Anita went to Mrs. Lawrence's quarters. +The door was opened by the little boy, Ronald, whom Anita knew, as +everybody else did. The girl's heart beat as she entered the narrow +passage-way in which she had seen Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence standing +together, and it beat more as she walked into the little sitting-room, +where Mrs. Lawrence sat in an arm chair at the window. She was +evidently ill, and the knitting she was trying to do had fallen from +her listless hand. + +The Colonel's daughter was much embarrassed, but the private soldier's +wife was all coolness and composure. + +"The chaplain asked me to come to see you," said Anita, standing +irresolute, not knowing whether to stay or to go. + +"Thank you and thank the chaplain also," replied Mrs. Lawrence. Then +she courteously offered Anita a seat. + +Anita had meant to ask if Mrs. Lawrence needed anything, but she found +herself as unable to say this to Mrs. Lawrence as to any officer's +wife. All she could do was to pick up the knitting and say: + +"Perhaps you will let me finish this for you. I can knit very well." + +It was a warm jacket for the little boy, who needed it. Mrs. +Lawrence's coldness melted a little. + +"Thank you," she said, "there is not much to be done on it now." + +With that oblique persuasion, Anita took up the jacket, and her quick +fingers made the needles fly. Her glance was keen, and although +apparently concentrated on her work, she saw the strange mixture of +plainness and luxury in the little room. The floor was covered with a +fine rug, and a little glass cupboard shone with cut glass and silver. + +The two women talked a little together but Mrs. Lawrence showed her +weariness by falling off to sleep in the chair. The little boy went +quietly out, and Anita sat knitting steadily in the silent room. The +setting sun shone upon Mrs. Lawrence's pale face, revealing a beauty +that neither time nor grief nor hardship could wholly destroy. + +Involuntarily, Anita's eye travelled around the strange-looking room. +On the mantel was a large photograph; Anita's heart leaped as she +recognized it to be Broussard. It was evidently a fresh photograph, +and a very fine one. Broussard stood in a graceful attitude, his hand +on his sword, looking every inch the _beau sabreur_. Anita became so +absorbed that her hand stopped knitting; it was as if Broussard himself +had walked into the room. + +Presently she felt, rather than saw, a glance fixed upon her. Mrs. +Lawrence was wide awake, lying back in her chair, her dark eyes bent on +Anita, whose hands lay idle in her lap. + +The gaze of the two women met, for Anita was a woman grown in matters +of the heart. She imagined she saw pity in Mrs. Lawrence's expression. +Instantly, she began to knit rapidly. She wished to talk +unconcernedly, but the words would not come. Broussard's association +with the pallid woman before her was a painful mystery to Anita. +Jealousy is a plant that springs from nothing, and grows like Jonah's +gourd in the minds of women. + +Anita was too innocent, too rashly confident in the honor of all the +other women in the world to think any wrong of the woman before her. +But it was enough that Mrs. Lawrence knew Broussard well, and was in +communication with him--a strange thing between an officer and the wife +of a private soldier, even if the soldier be of a station unusual in +the ranks. Ever in Anita's heart smouldered the joy of the words +Broussard had spoken to her under thousands of eyes on that memorable +night of the music ride, and the sharp pain that came from Broussard's +saying no more. + +In a few minutes the jacket was done, and Anita rose. It required all +her generosity as well as justice to say to Mrs. Lawrence: + +"If I can do anything for you, please let me know." + +"I thank you," replied Mrs. Lawrence. "You have already done much for +me and for Ronald." + +Then Anita went out into the dusk, and in her soul was rebellion. +Youth was made for joy and she was robbed of her share. Anita was +scarcely eighteen and deep-hearted. + +In Mrs. Fortescue's room, Anita found Mrs. McGillicuddy, engaged in one +of the comfortable chats that always took place between the Colonel's +lady and the Sergeant's wife at the After-Clap's bed-time. As Sergeant +McGillicuddy kept the Colonel informed of the happenings at the fort, +so Mrs. McGillicuddy, who had great qualifications, and would have made +a good scout, kept Mrs. Fortescue informed of all the news at the fort, +from Major Harlow, the second in command, down to the smallest drummer +boy in the regiment. Mrs. Fortescue being nothing if not feminine, she +and Mrs. McGillicuddy were "sisters under their skins." + +Anita's face was so grave that Mrs. Fortescue said to her tenderly--one +is very tender with an only daughter: + +"Is anything troubling you, dear?" + +"Nothing at all," replied Anita, "I went to see Mrs. Lawrence, as the +chaplain asked me, and finished a little jacket she was knitting for +her boy. She doesn't seem very strong." + +"And I dessay," said Mrs. McGillicuddy, who had held Anita in her arms +when the girl was but a day old, "you saw all that cut glass and the +rugs, as Mr. Broussard give to Lawrence. Them rugs! They're fit for a +general's house. It seems to me it oughter be against the regulations +for privates to have such rugs when sergeants' wives has to buy rugs +off the bargain counter." + +Mrs. McGillicuddy stood stiffly upon her rank as a sergeant's wife and +believed in keeping the soldiers' wives where they belonged. + +"I don't fancy Mr. Broussard is living in luxury himself just now," +said Mrs. Fortescue. And Mrs. McGillicuddy's kind heart, being touched +with remorse for having given Broussard a pin prick, hastened to say: + +"No, indeed, mum, for McGillicuddy heard Major Harlow readin' a letter +from Mr. Broussard, and he says as how he lives on bananas and has got +only two shirts, and his striker has to wash one of 'em out every day +for Mr. Broussard to wear the next day. McGillicuddy says that Major +Harlow says that Mr. Broussard says that he don't mind it a bit, and +he's glad to see real service and proud to command the men that is with +him, and they behaves splendid." + +Anita fixed her eyes on Mrs. McGillicuddy's honest, rubicund face, and +listened breathlessly as Mrs. McGillicuddy continued: + +"And Mr. Broussard says the Philippines is one big hell full of little +hells, and nobody can get warm there in winter, or cool in summer, but +there's lots of life to be seen there, and he's a-seein' it. And +Blizzard is so far away, he can't sometimes believe there ever was such +a place." + +Suddenly, without the least warning, a quick warm gush of tears fell on +Anita's cheeks. They were so far apart, the jungles and the icy peaks, +the palm tree on the burning sands, and the pine tree in the frozen +mountains! Anita walked quickly out of the room. Mrs. McGillicuddy, +soft-hearted as she was hard-handed, looked at Mrs. Fortescue. The +mother's eyes were moist; Anita was very unlike her, but Mrs. Fortescue +remembered a period in her own young life when she, too, felt that the +world was empty because of the absence of the Beloved. And suppose he +had never come back? Mrs. Fortescue, remembering the brimming cup of +happiness that had been hers merely because the man she loved came +back, felt a little frightened for Anita. The girl was so precocious, +so passionate--and how difficult and baffling are those women whose +loves are all passion! + +Anita baffled her mother still more, by appearing an hour later in a +gay little gown, and taking the After-Clap from his crib and dancing +with him until he absolutely refused to go to sleep. Then, Anita was +in such high spirits at dinner that the Colonel told Mrs. Fortescue in +their nightly talk while the Colonel smoked, he believed Anita had +completely forgotten Broussard. At this, Mrs. Fortescue smiled and +remained as silent as the Sphinx. + +The winter was slipping by, and work and study and play went on in the +snow-bound fort, and Colonel Fortescue was congratulating himself upon +the wonderfully good report he could make of his command. There had +not been a man missing in the whole month of February. But one day +Lawrence, the gentleman-ranker, was reported missing. + +The Colonel had no illusions concerning broken men and said so to Mrs. +Fortescue. + +"The fellow has deserted--that's the way most of the broken men end. +He was in the aviation field yesterday and his going away was not +premeditated, as he did not ask for leave. But something came in the +way of temptation, and he couldn't stand it, and ran away." + +The "something" was revealed by Sergeant McGillicuddy, with a pale +face, while he was shut up with the Colonel in his office. + +"It's partly my fault, sir," said the Sergeant. "The fellow has been +doing his duty pretty well, and yesterday, on the aviation field, the +aviation orficer was praisin' him for his work. You know, sir, how I +likes the machines and studies 'em at odd times. The flyin' was over +and there wasn't anybody around the sheds but Lawrence and me. I was +lookup at his machine, and, no doubt, botherin' him, an he says +sharp-like: + +"'You can't understand these machines. It takes an educated man like +me to understand 'em. They're more complicated than buggies.' That +made me mad, sir, and I says, 'That's no way to speak to your +Sergeant.' 'You go to the devil,' says Lawrence. 'You'll get ten days +in the guard house for that,' I says. Then Lawrence seemed to grow +crazy, all at once. 'Yes,' he shouts, like a lunatic, 'that's a fit +punishment for a gentleman. You'll see to it, Sergeant, that I get ten +days in the guard house, and my wife breakin' her heart with shame, and +the other children tauntin' my boy!' With that, sir, he hit me on the +side of the head with his fist. I was so unprepared that it knocked me +down, but I saw Lawrence runnin' toward the station. I picked myself +up and went and sat down on the bench outside the sheds to think what I +ought to do. I knew, as well as I know now, that Lawrence was runnin' +away, and I had drove him to it. But I swear, sir, before my Colonel +and my God, that I didn't mean to make Lawrence mad, or misuse him in +any way. You know my record, sir." + +"Yes," answered Colonel Fortescue, his pity divided among Lawrence and +his wife, and the honest, well-meaning McGillicuddy, who had brought +about a catastrophe. + +"For God's sake, sir," said McGillicuddy, "wiping his forehead, be as +easy on Lawrence as you can, and give me a day--two days--leave to hunt +him up." + +This the Colonel did, warning McGillicuddy not to repeat what had +occurred on the aviation plain. + +The Sergeant got his leave, and another two days, all spent in hunting +for Lawrence. There was nowhere for him to go except to the little +collection of houses at the railway station. No one had seen Lawrence +board the train that passed once a day, but a man, even in uniform, can +sometimes slip aboard a train without being seen. The Sergeant came +back, looking woe-begone, and Lawrence was published on the bulletin +board as "absent without leave." + +The shock of Lawrence's departure quite overcame his unhappy wife. She +took to her bed and had not strength to leave it. + +Sergeant McGillicuddy begged that he might be allowed to tell to the +chaplain the provocation he had given Lawrence, who might tell Mrs. +Lawrence. The blow struck by Lawrence was the act of a mad impulse, +and having struck an officer, Lawrence might well fear to face the +punishment. This the Colonel permitted, and the chaplain, sitting by +Mrs. Lawrence's bed, told her of it, and of Sergeant McGillicuddy's +remorse. Until then, Mrs. Lawrence, lying in her bed, had remained +strangely tearless, although a faint moan sometimes escaped her lips. +At the chaplain's words she suddenly burst into a rain of tears. + +"My husband never meant to desert," she cried between her sobs. "He +was doing his duty well--his own Sergeant said so. He must have been +crazy when he struck the blow!" + +"Poor McGillicuddy," said the chaplain quietly. "The Colonel has +forbidden him to speak of it to any one, and he is breaking his heart +over it." + +No word of forgiveness came from Mrs. Lawrence's lips. + +"It is the way with all of them, officers and men, they were all down +on my husband because they thought he had done something wrong," said +Mrs. Lawrence, with the divine, unreasoning love of a devoted woman. + +"Mr. Broussard was not down on your husband," said the chaplain. + +"True," replied Mrs. Lawrence, and then shut her lips close. If any +one wished to know the secret bond between Broussard and Lawrence, one +could never find it out from Mrs. Lawrence. + +Sergeant McGillicuddy could keep from Mrs. McGillicuddy the details of +what had occurred on the aviation field, but he could not conceal from +her the fact that he was unhappy and conscience-stricken. All he would +say to his wife was: + +"I've done a man a wrong. I never meant it, as both God and the +Colonel know." McGillicuddy had a way of bracketing the Deity with +commanding officers, and did it with much simplicity and meant no +irreverence. + +"And I know it too, Patrick," replied Mrs. McGillicuddy, with the faith +of a true wife in her husband. + +"I'd tell you all about it, Araminta," said the poor Sergeant, "but the +Colonel forbid me, and orders is orders." + +"I know it," answered Mrs. McGillicuddy, "and I'll trust you, Patrick, +I won't ever ask you the name because I can guess it easy. It's +Lawrence." + +The Sergeant groaned. + +"If you can do anything for Mrs. Lawrence," he said, "or the boy----" + +"I'll do it," valiantly replied Mrs. McGillicuddy, and straightway put +her good words into effect. + +Lawrence had then been missing five days. It was seven o'clock in the +evening, and Mrs. McGillicuddy had already put the After-Clap to bed +when she started for Mrs. Lawrence's quarters. There was no one to +open the door, and Mrs. McGillicuddy walked unceremoniously into the +little sitting-room, where the boy sat, silent and lonely and +frightened, by the window. Mrs. McGillicuddy spoke a cheery word to +him, and then passed into the bedroom beyond. The light was dim but +she could see Mrs. Lawrence lying, fully dressed, on the bed. At the +sight of Mrs. McGillicuddy she turned her face away. + +"Come now," said Mrs. McGillicuddy undauntedly, "I think I know why you +don't want to see me. Well, Patrick McGillicuddy is as good a man as +wears shoe-leather, but every Sergeant that ever lived has made some +sort of a mistake in his life. So Patrick wants me to do all I can for +you until something turns up, and I hope that something will be your +husband--and my husband will be mighty easy on him at the +court-martial." + +Mrs. Lawrence made no reply. Then Mrs. McGillicuddy went into the +little kitchen, and stirring up the fire soon had a comfortable meal +ready, and calling to the little boy, gave him his first good supper in +the five days that had passed since his father came no more. + +"You'd feel sorry for McGillicuddy if you could see him," Mrs. +McGillicuddy kept on, ignoring Mrs. Lawrence's cold silence. "And +recollect, if you feel sorry for your husband, I feel sorry for mine. +'Taint right to keep the little feller here while you can't lift a hand +to do for him, so I'm goin' to take him to my house, with my eight +children, because there's luck in odd numbers, and I'll feed him up, +pore little soul, and wash him and mend him, and start him to playin' +with Ignatius and Aloysius, for children ought to play, and Patrick 'll +come every morning and start your fire, although he is a Sergeant, and +we want to help you, and you must help us." + +Mrs. Lawrence was not made of stone, and could not forever resist Mrs. +McGillicuddy's kindness, and so it came about that the McGillicuddys +took care of Lawrence's boy, whose face grew round and rosy with the +generous McGillicuddy fare. A part of Mrs. McGillicuddy's good will to +him was that she instructed Ignatius and Aloysius McGillicuddy, both +excellent fist fighters for their age, that they were to lick any boy, +no matter what his age or size, who dared to taunt little Ronald about +his father or anything else. These orders were extremely agreeable to +the McGillicuddy boys, who loved fighting for fighting's sake, and who +sought occasions to practise the manly art. + +Colonel Fortescue sent word to Mrs. Lawrence that she could occupy her +quarters until she was able to make some plan for the future. It +seemed, however, utterly indefinite when Mrs. Lawrence would be able to +plan anything. She lay in her bed or sat in her chair, silent, pale, +and as weak as a child. The blow of her husband's desertion seemed to +have stopped all the springs of action. Neither the chaplain, the +post-surgeon, nor Mrs. McGillicuddy, singly or united, could rouse Mrs. +Lawrence from the deadly lassitude of a broken heart. Both the +chaplain and the surgeon had seen such cases, and nothing in the +pharmacopoeia could cure them. + +Mrs. Fortescue, whose heart was not less tender from long dwelling on +the airy heights of happiness and perfect love, was full of sympathy +for Lawrence's unfortunate wife, and would have gone to see her, but +Mrs. McGillicuddy, who delivered the message, brought back a +discouraging reply. + +"She says, mum, as she don't need nothin' at all, and I think, mum, she +kinder shrinks from the orficers' wives more than from the soldiers' +wives." + +Anita, who was sitting by, went to her mother and, putting her arms +around Mrs. Fortescue's neck, whispered: + +"Mother, let me go to see Mrs. Lawrence. I don't think she will mind +seeing me. You and daddy are always telling me that I am only a child." + +Mrs. Fortescue took Anita in her lap, as if the girl were indeed the +age of the After-Clap. + +"Do what you like, dear child," she said. "Girls like you can do some +things that women can't, because you have the enormous advantage of not +knowing anything." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +SOME LETTERS AND KETTLE'S ENLISTMENT + +Anita, who could plan things quite as well as if she were forty instead +of eighteen, bided her time until the hour when Mrs. McGillicuddy was +putting the After-Clap to bed. Then the girl slipped away and took the +road to the long street of the married men's quarters. An icy fog +swept from the Arctic Circle, enveloped the world, hiding both moon and +stars, and made the great arc lamps look like little points of light in +the great ocean of white mist. Every step of the way Anita's heart and +will battled fiercely together. Broussard knew Mrs. Lawrence in some +mysterious way. Perhaps he had loved her once; Anita was all a woman, +and at seventeen was learned in the affairs of the heart. + +This woman, however, between whom and Broussard some strong link was +forged, Anita knew not when, nor how, nor where, was ill and poor and +suffering, and Anita's natural inclinations were merciful. Besides, +she had been taught by her father and mother the great lessons of life +in kindness and tenderness. She had seen her father give up a party of +pleasure to walk behind the pine coffin of a private soldier, and her +mother had robbed her greenhouse of its choicest blossoms to lay a +wreath on a soldier's grave. + +By instinct, rather than sight, Anita stopped in front of the right +door and met the chaplain coming out. + +"Glad to see you, Anita," said the chaplain, who was muffled up to his +eyes. "Go in and talk to that poor lady. We all want to help her, but +we find it hard, for she will tell nothing of herself, of her family, +or anything, except that she knows Lawrence didn't mean to desert, and +will yet report himself." + +In the plain little bedroom Mrs. Lawrence lay on her bed, the shaded +electric light by her bedside showing her thin face, made more pallid +by the great braids of lustrous black hair that fell about her. A look +of faint surprise came into her languid eyes as Anita drew a chair to +her bed and took her hand. + +"My mother sent me," Anita said, gently, "to ask if I could do anything +for you." + +Mrs. Lawrence murmured her thanks, and then hesitated for a moment, the +words trembling upon her lips. + +"Yes," she said, "you can do something for me. Something I haven't +asked anybody to do. I tried to ask the chaplain just now--he is a +kind man, and tries to help me but for some reason my courage failed; I +don't know why, but I didn't ask him. It is, to write a letter for me." + +"Certainly I will write a letter for you," said Anita. + +"It is to Mr. Broussard," answered Mrs. Lawrence. + +The thought of writing to Broussard startled and overwhelmed Anita. +She glanced about her nervously, fearing Mrs. Lawrence's words had been +overheard, and stammered and blushed. But the woman, lying wan and +weak in the bed, did not notice this. + +"I am not strong enough to dictate it exactly as I want," said Mrs. +Lawrence, "and you will have to write it at your own home. But I am +very anxious for you to write to Mr. Broussard for me and tell him that +my husband is missing and will soon be posted as a deserter; that I +don't know where he is, but I am sure he will return. Don't tell Mr. +Broussard how ill I am, but just say that the Colonel has let me stay +on here, and the boy is well. Mr. Broussard is my husband's best +friend; they were playmates in boyhood." + +A dead silence fell between the woman and the girl and lasted for some +minutes. Anita was already composing the letter in her mind. + +"Perhaps before I go I can do something else for you," she said +presently. + +"No, everything has been done for me, and Mrs. McGillicuddy brings the +boy over every night to tell me good-night. What you can do for me is +to write the letter, as I asked you, and post it to-night. It can't +reach Mr. Broussard in less than a month, perhaps two months. The last +letter I received from him he was in some wild place a long distance +from Guam, but he will get the letter eventually, if he lives." + +Anita rose and walked back home through the icy mist. Mrs. Fortescue +was in the shaded drawing-room seated at her harp, playing soft chords +and arpeggios, with Colonel Fortescue leaning over her chair. If was a +picture Anita had often seen, and at those times, from her childhood +and from Beverley's, they were made to feel that they were secondary, +and even the After-Clap was superfluous. Nevertheless, Anita walked +into the room. The Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue started apart like young +lovers. + +"I have been to see Mrs. Lawrence," said Anita, "and she asked me if I +would write a letter for her. She didn't, of course, tell me not to +say anything about it to you, mother and daddy, but I would rather not +tell you to whom the letter is to be written. You must trust me, my +own dear daddy. It is a very simple letter, just to say that Lawrence +has disappeared and Mrs. Lawrence and the little boy are in kind hands." + +"Of course we trust you," answered Colonel Fortescue, smiling. "You +are a very trusty person, Anita." + +"Like my father and mother," answered Anita, and ran out of the room. +As they heard her light step tripping up the stairs, the father and +mother looked at each other with troubled eyes. + +"It is to Broussard," said the Colonel, remembering his last interview +with him. "I think Broussard steadily befriended Lawrence and his +wife." + +Mrs. Fortescue's candid eyes grew clouded. + +"It is a strange intimacy," she said. + +"It's all right," unhesitatingly replied the Colonel. + +"Oh, well," said Mrs. Fortescue, touching the harpstrings, "If you are +fomenting a love affair between Anita at Fort Blizzard and Broussard in +the tropics, it is your affair." + +"Elizabeth," said the Colonel, "I am not a person to foment love +affairs, or any other private and personal affairs." + +"I said _if_ you were fomenting a love affair, John," replied Mrs. +Fortescue; and then there was no more music from the harp, the Colonel +going into his office and Mrs. Fortescue to the After-Clap's nursery. + +In her own little room Anita was already hard at work on her letter to +Broussard. It was a very short and simple letter, telling exactly, and +only, what Mrs. Lawrence had asked, and it was signed "Sincerely +Yours." But when it was to be sealed Anita's insurgent heart cried out +to be heard, and she added a little postscript, which read: + +"Gamechick is very well and sends his love. I ride him nearly every +day." + +Anita would not trust her precious letter to the mail orderly, or even +Sergeant McGillicuddy or Kettle, but throwing her crimson mantle around +her, she slipped out, in the cold mist, to the letter box. For one +moment she held the letter poised in her hand before it took its flight +toward the tropics; Anita's tender heart went with the letter. + +A fortnight later, the March sun having come in place of the February +snows, Mrs. McGillicuddy succeeded in dragging Mrs. Lawrence out of +doors, one day about noon, and after placing her on a bench in the glow +of the light, went off to look after the eight McGillicuddys, the +little Lawrence boy, and the After-Clap, none of whom could have got on +without her. Colonel Fortescue, coming out of the headquarters +building, and going to his own house, passed Mrs. Lawrence, sitting on +the bench. The Colonel, who knew her well enough by sight, raised his +cap and, stopping a moment, asked courteously after her health. + +"I am better," replied Mrs. Lawrence, "and I want to thank you for your +kindness in letting me stay in the quarters. I will not trespass any +longer than I can help." + +"May I ask," said the Colonel, kindly, "if you have any friends with +whom I could help you to communicate?" + +Mrs. Lawrence smiled as she answered: + +"I have relatives, if that is what you mean. But I do not care to +communicate with them. Please understand me that I do not, for a +moment, admit that my husband is a deserter." + +"I wish I could think he was not," said Colonel Fortescue, "but +unfortunately, his misconduct----" + +Colonel Fortescue caught himself; he had done what he seldom did--used +the wrong word. Mrs. Lawrence struggled feebly to her feet, the divine +obstinacy of a loving woman shining in her melancholy eyes. + +"Stop!" she cried, "I can't allow any one, even the Colonel of the +regiment, to disparage my husband before my face." + +"I beg your pardon," said Colonel Fortescue, "I regret the word I used." + +Mrs. Lawrence, inclining her head, sank, rather than sat, upon the +bench. + +"Perhaps I should not have spoken so," she said, in a composed voice, +"as my husband was only a private, and you are the Colonel; but I think +you understand that I was neither born nor reared to this position." + +"I do understand," replied Colonel Fortescue, "and some one has done +you a very great wrong in bringing you to this post; but you may depend +upon it that neither you nor your child shall suffer for the present, +and I hope you will soon be well." + +[Illustration: "Neither you nor your child shall suffer for the +present."] + +"It is my heart that is more ill than my body," replied Mrs. Lawrence, +and the Colonel passed on. + +The tragedy of a desertion is very great, and as Colonel Fortescue +said, tragedies grow more intense in the fierce cold of winter, and +Mrs. Lawrence and the beautiful little boy were, in themselves, living +tragedies. Sergeant McGillicuddy, too, had a tragic aspect. In spite +of all the Colonel could say, the Sergeant still accused himself of +being the cause of Lawrence's desertion. McGillicuddy's bronzed face, +like a hickory nut, grew so haggard, his self-reproaches so piteous, +that Colonel Fortescue thought it well to give him a positive order to +say nothing of the circumstances that led up to Lawrence's striking +him. The Sergeant begged to be allowed to tell the chaplain about it; +to this Colonel Fortescue consented, and McGillicuddy had a long +conversation with the chaplain. + +"The Colonel says, sir," McGillicuddy declared mournfully to the +chaplain, "as it is the damned climate,--excuse me, sir,--that makes +everybody queer." + +"I'll excuse you," replied the chaplain, who had the same opinion of +the Arctic cold as Colonel Fortescue. "I think the cold gets on men's +nerves and makes them queer." + +However, the chaplain had the power to console, and McGillicuddy became +a trifle more resigned, and even had a faint hope of Lawrence's return, +caught from Mrs. McGillicuddy's report of Mrs. Lawrence's fixed belief +that Lawrence would come back and give himself up. One great +consolation to the Sergeant was, to spend a large part of his pay in +comforts for Mrs. Lawrence and clothes and books and toys for the +little Ronald. Mrs. McGillicuddy, who had reasoned out a very good +solution of McGillicuddy's troubles, encouraged him in his kindness to +Mrs. Lawrence and the boy, so that the old rule of God making the devil +work for Him was again illustrated; much good came to those whom +Lawrence had deserted. + +The chaplain thought it a good time to preach a sermon on loyalty, and +on the very Sunday after Colonel Fortescue had talked with Mrs. +Lawrence, the congregation that crowded the chapel heard an exposition +of what loyalty meant, especially loyalty to one's country. Among the +most attentive listeners was Kettle, whose honest black face glowed +when the chaplain proclaimed that every man owed it to his country to +defend it, if required. When the congregation streamed out of the +chapel, Mrs. Fortescue stopped a moment to congratulate the chaplain on +his sermon. Behind her stood Kettle, who was never very far away from +Miss Betty. + +"I listen to that sermon, suh," said Kettle, earnestly, to the +chaplain, "and it cert'ny wuz a corker, suh." + +"That is high praise," answered the chaplain, "I would rather an +enlisted man should tell me that a sermon of mine was a corker, than +for the archbishop of the archdiocese to write me a personal letter of +praise." + +Just then the chaplain, who was accused of having eyes in the back of +his head, saw something directly behind him. No less than four of the +seven McGillicuddy boys were altar boys, wearing little red cassocks +and white surplices in church. They were supposed to leave the +cassocks and surplices in the sacristy, but Ignatius McGillicuddy, aged +ten, had sneaked out of the sacristy, still wearing his red cassock, +and, seeing the chaplain passing out of the gate, thought it safe to +begin an elaborate skirt dance, in his cassock, and making many fancy +steps, with much high kicking, while the skirt of his cassock waved in +the air. In the midst of his final pirouette, he caught the chaplain's +stern glance fixed on him. Instantly Ignatius appeared to turn to +stone, and the vision of a switch, wielded by Mrs. McGillicuddy's +robust arm, passed before his eyes. He was immensely relieved when the +chaplain said, grimly: + +"Ten pages of catechism next Sunday." + +Kettle went home and was very solemn all day. Not even the +After-Clap's pranks could make him smile, nor were the After-Clap's +orders always orders to him that day. In the late afternoon Mrs. +Fortescue, seeing Kettle seated in a corner of the back hall, and +evidently in an introspective mood, asked him: + +"What's been the matter with you all day, Kettle?" + +"I'm a-seekin', Miss Betty," Kettle replied solemnly. + +"What are you seeking?" Mrs. Fortescue inquired. + +"Seekin' light, Miss Betty," answered Kettle. "I'm seekin' light on my +duty to my country, arter the chaplain done preached to-day." + +"Glad to hear it," responded Mrs. Fortescue. "Your duty at present is +to look after the baby and me." + +"Gord knows I does the bes' I kin," replied Kettle, raising his eyes, +full of faith and love and simplicity, to Mrs. Fortescue's. "But the +chaplain, he say we orter fight for our country; maybe at this heah +very minute I orter be a-settin' on a hoss, a-shootin' down the enemies +of my country." + +"Well, Kettle," said Mrs. Fortescue, laughing, "as you can't ride and +you can't shoot, I don't think you will ever do much damage to the +enemies of your country." + +Mrs. Fortescue passed on, laughing. But some one else had heard +Kettle. This was Sergeant Halligan, a chum of Sergeant McGillicuddy, +who had stopped at the Commandant's house on an errand. Sergeant +Halligan, seeing no one around in that part of the house, winked to +himself, and went up to "the naygur," as he, like Sergeant McGillicuddy +called Kettle. + +"I say," said the sergeant, in a whisper, "you're right about the +chaplain's sermon. It's the duty of every man who can carry a gun to +fight for his country. I saw the chaplain looking straight at you, and +he was as mad as fire. A white-livered coward stands a mighty poor +chanst of salvation, is what the chaplain thinks." + +"Does you mean that?" anxiously asked Kettle. + +"Don't I?" responded Sergeant Halligan, confidently. "Maybe you think +it's hard lines to have to drill all day and walk post all night, but +it's a merry jest compared with burning in hell fire. I'd ruther drill +and walk post all my life than find myself in the lake of brimstone and +sulphur that's a-waitin' for cowards." + +"Tain't the drill and the walkin' post as skeers me," said Kettle, "but +I ain't noways fond of guns. If it wasn't for them devilish guns I'd +enlist, pertickler if they'd let me stay with Miss Betty and the baby." + +"Sure they would," replied the artful Halligan with a wink. "The +Colonel wouldn't disoblige his lady. You'd be detailed to work around +the house here, and you'd look grand in uniform." + +"You think so?" said Kettle, with a delighted grin, "I always did have +a kinder honin' after them yaller stripes down my legs." + +"And a sabre and a sabretache," continued the Sergeant. Times were +sometimes dull at Fort Blizzard, and the men in the barracks could get +a good many laughs out of Kettle as a soldier. + +The yellow stripes down his legs and the sabre and sabretache were +dazzling to Kettle, But an objection rose on the horizon. + +"How 'bout them hosses?" he asked, "I ain't never been on no hoss sence +the time when I wuz a little shaver, and the Kun'l--he wasn't nothin' +but a lieutenant then--wuz courtin' Miss Betty, and he pick me up and +put me on a hoss he call Birdseye. Lord! It makes me feel creepy now, +to tink 'bout that hoss!" + +"Oh, you needn't bother about horses," answered the Sergeant, +cheerfully. "The Colonel could manage that, and you can wear your +uniform just the same." + +"I reckon I could ride a gentle hoss," ventured Kettle. + +"'Course," replied the Sergeant confidently, "I think I can manage it +with the orficer in charge of mounts. I could get the milkman's hoss +for you. She is twenty-three years old and as quiet as an old maid of +seventy-five; she wouldn't run away or kick, not even if you was to +build a fire under her." + +This seemed to dispose of the great difficulty in Kettle's mind, when +the Sergeant suggested that he would see the milkman that very evening, +and at nine o'clock the next morning, he would go to the officer in +charge of mounts, and by ten o'clock Kettle, as soon as he had finished +washing up the breakfast things and had taken the After-Clap for his +airing in the baby carriage, could step down to the recruiting office +and enlist. + +Everything looked rosy to Kettle. That night, at dinner, Kettle was +radiant and informed Mrs. Fortescue, between the fish and the roast, +that he had "done found his duty and was a-goin' to do it." + +Mrs. Fortescue had some curiosity to know what this new duty of +Kettle's was, but Kettle maintained a mysterious silence, only +admitting that it would not take him away from "Miss Betty and the +baby." + +Next morning, however, in the cold light of day, the proposition had +lost something of its charms for Kettle. The yellow stripes down his +legs did not appear quite so overwhelmingly fascinating. He remembered +that Sergeant McGillicuddy was afraid to ride in the buggy behind the +milkman's horse. Sergeant Halligan did not give Kettle any time to +repent of his decision, and promptly appeared at ten o'clock and +escorted Kettle to the recruiting office. The recruiting sergeant was +on hand and Sergeant Halligan explained Kettle's martial enthusiasm. +Something like a wink passed between Sergeant Halligan and Gully, the +recruiting sergeant, who agreed to enlist Kettle, under the name of +Solomon Ezekiel Pickup, as a unit in the army of the United States. + +A sudden illumination came to Kettle. "Yon c'yarn' enlist me in no +white regiment," cried Kettle to Sergeant Halligan, "I'm a nigger and +you have to put me in a nigger regiment." + +"Oh, that's all right," responded Sergeant Halligan, airily, "we can +get you in all right, and we'll be proud to have you. Won't we, Gully?" + +"Certainly," replied Sergeant Gully, "we can fix that up. It's fixed +up already." + +The rapidity of the proceedings rather startled Kettle. + +"But doan' the doctor have to thump me, and pound me, and count my +teeth?" he asked. Kettle had not spent twenty years at army posts +without finding out something. + +"No, indeed," answered Sergeant Gully, who was a chum of Sergeant +Halligan, "not with such a husky feller as you. I can thump and pound +and count your teeth." + +With that Gully made a physical examination of Kettle, and declared +that no surgeon who ever lived would turn down such a magnificent +specimen of robust manhood as Kettle. + +All this was very disheartening to Kettle but seemed of great interest +to Sergeant Halligan and his side partner, Sergeant Gully, and also to +the orderly, who grinned sympathetically with the two sergeants. + +"I say," said Sergeant Gully, "there's nothing doing here this morning +and I'll just leave the orderly in charge and step in with you and +introduce Private Pickup to the drill sergeant. The sergeant is a +honey, but the bees don't know it." + +Then, with Sergeant Halligan on one side of him and Sergeant Gully on +the other, Kettle started across the plaza in the clear morning light +for the great riding hall. By this time Kettle was thoroughly alarmed. + +The sight of the class in riding, smart young privates, marching gaily +into the drill hall, made Kettle feel very uneasy about the riding. + +"How 'bout the milkman's hoss?" asked Kettle anxiously. + +"The milkman's horse? The milkman's horse?" sniffed Sergeant Halligan, +"D'ye think I'm an infernal fool to put such a proposition up to the +orficer in charge of mounts? He'd kick me full of holes if I did." + +"But I say," replied Kettle, spurred by fear, "you is a deceiver, +suh--a deceiver, and I'm a'goin to tell the Kun'l on you and he'll do +for you--that he will." + +"Look-a-here, Solomon Ezekiel Pickup," shouted Sergeant Halligan +savagely, "it's against the regulations to talk to your superior +orficers so damned impudent, and I'm a going to prefer charges against +you, and you can face three months in the military prison for it. And +I'm a-thinkin' that Briggs, the drill sergeant, will put you on the +kickingest horse in the regimental stables. Sergeant Gully here says +the drill sergeant is a honey, but he's awful mistaken. I've known +Briggs ever since we was rookies together, and he's a cruel man, and +has caused the death of several rookies by his murderin' ways." + +Just then the three came face to face with Sergeant McGillicuddy. In +those days McGillicuddy's honest face was gloomy and he had not much +spirit for jokes, but he laughed when Sergeant Halligan explained to +him that Sergeant Gully had enlisted Kettle and had passed him both +mentally and physically, and that he was then on his way to take his +first lesson in riding. + +Sergeant McGillicuddy went his way, laughing, for once in a blue moon, +and Kettle, marching between the two sergeants, felt like a prisoner on +his way to execution. + +Arrived at the great drill hall, now dim and silent except for a batch +of recruits, and Briggs, the drill sergeant, a trooper brought in +Corporal, a handsome sorrel, and the model of a trained cavalry +charger. The trooper at the same time handed the Sergeant a long whip. +Corporal, the charger, understood as well as any trooper in the +regiment what the crack of the whip meant, from walk, trot, to gallop. +As Kettle appeared, almost dragged in by the two sergeants, a grin went +around among the young recruits, ruddy-skinned and clear-eyed +youngsters, well set up and worthy to wear the uniform of their country. + +A whispered conversation followed among the three sergeants and +although Kettle was not in uniform as the other recruits were, Sergeant +Briggs, for a reason imparted to him by Sergeant Halligan, called out +to Kettle: + +"Here, Pickup, you get up, and you stay up, and if you don't you'll get +a whack up!" + +This passed for a witticism to the recruits, who made it a point to +laugh at all the drill sergeant's jokes. Kettle, with much difficulty, +managed to climb on Corporal's back and crouched there in a heap. +Corporal turned his mild intelligent eyes toward Sergeant Briggs, as +much as to say: + +"What kind of a fool have I got on my back now?" + +"Take the reins and let her go, Gallagher!" said the sergeant with a +crack of his whip. + +Corporal, seeing his duty, did it. He started off in a brisk walk +around the tanbark, and in twenty seconds he heard another crack, and +still another, which sent him into a hard gallop. As the horse +quickened his pace, Kettle dropped the reins, and grasping Corporal +around the neck, hung on desperately as the horse sped around the great +ellipse. At a word from Sergeant Briggs, the horse stopped and walked +sedately to the middle of the hall. Kettle slipped off and staggered +to his feet. + +[Illustration: Kettle dropped the reins, and grasping Corporal around +the neck, hung on desperately.] + +"Good Gord A'mighty," he groaned, to Sergeant Briggs, "I k'yarn' ride +that air hoss, Mr. Briggs, and I ain't a goin' to, neither. Miss +Betty, she tole me the way to surve my country wuz to look after the +baby and her, so I'm jes' goin' to resign from the army and go home, +'cause it's scrub day." + +"You go to the orficer of the day, and report yourself under arrest," +promptly replied Briggs. "His office is in the headquarters building +and he'll straighten you out, I'm thinkin'." + +Kettle started off cheerfully enough, but instead of going to the +headquarters building he made a bee line for the C. O.'s house, where +he at once took off his coat and went down on his knees to scrub the +pantry. Two hours afterward, when the drill sergeant's work was done +in the riding hall and he discovered that Kettle had not reported +himself to the officer of the day, the sergeant walked over to the C. +O.'s house and sent in a respectful request to see the commanding +officer. + +"Come in, Sergeant," called out Colonel Fortescue, sitting at his desk. + +"Beg your pardon, sir," said the Sergeant, once inside, "but I have +come to you privately, to tell you about your man, known as Kettle. He +came into the riding hall this morning, and Sergeant Gully and Sergeant +Halligan said he enlisted. Of course, I know, sir, they couldn't +enlist him, but I'm afraid I helped 'em on with the joke. Anyhow, I +made him get on a horse, and it would have broke your heart, sir, to +see such riding! Then he got sassy, and I told him, just to get rid of +him, to report himself under arrest, but nobody hasn't seen him since." + +At that moment, the new recruit was seen passing the window, and +wearing blue over-alls, in which he did scrubbing. The Colonel tapped +on the window and Kettle came in by the office entrance. + +"What's this, Solomon, about your being saucy to Sergeant Briggs?" +asked Colonel Fortescue, sternly. + +"Well, suh, I enlisted," answered Kettle, promptly, "an' I done +resigned. I tole that there Briggs man so, and lef' the drill hall and +come home, 'cause it was scrub day." + +"Three days in the guardhouse," thundered the Colonel, in a voice +terrible to Kettle. + +Sergeant Briggs, touching his cap, walked out, Kettle following him. +At the door stood Mrs. McGillicuddy holding in her arms the After-Clap, +in all his morning freshness, his little white fur cap and coat showing +off his eyes and hair, so dark, like his mother's. The After-Clap gave +a spring which he meant to land him in Kettle's arms, but Kettle, +bursting into tears, would not take him. + +"I k'yarn' take you now, honey," cried Kettle, wiping his eyes, "I'm a +goin' to the guardhouse, my lamb, for three days and maybe I never see +you no mo'." + +The baby seemed to think this might be true, and set up a series of +loud shrieks. + +"Do you mean to say as you've tried to enlist?" cried Mrs. +McGillicuddy, struggling with the baby and her astonishment and +indignation all at once. "The idea of you being a soldier! It beats +the band, it does!" + +Sergeant Briggs, without giving Kettle time to explain further, marched +him off, and Mrs. McGillicuddy went to report to Mrs. Fortescue, while +Sergeant McGillicuddy appeared to report to Colonel Fortescue. + +"I believe, sir," said the Sergeant confidentially, "as it's a crooked +business about the naygur's wantin' to enlist. Gully and Sergeant +Halligan was jokin', but it's mighty risky jokin' with the regulations." + +So thought Sergeant Halligan and Sergeant Gully, when confronted with +the Colonel. As they were two of the best sergeants in the regiment, +the Colonel satisfied himself with a stern reprimand, which was not +entered against them. But having sentenced Kettle to three days in the +guardhouse for insolence to Sergeant Briggs, Colonel Fortescue thought +it well to let the sentence stand. + +Colonel Fortescue, in spite of being the commanding officer at one of +the finest cavalry posts in the world, and whose word was law, could +yet be made to feel domestic displeasure. The family at once divided +itself into two camps, one on the Colonel's side and one on Kettle's. +Anita, of course, sided with her father, and declared he had done +perfectly right about Kettle, as he did about everything. Sergeant +McGillicuddy was also a faithful adherent of the Colonel's in the +wordless warfare that prevailed in the commanding officer's house for +the three days in which Kettle enjoyed the hospitality of the +guardhouse. + +"Served the naygur right for sassing a sergeant," was Sergeant +McGillicuddy's view. On the other side was arrayed, of course, Mrs. +Fortescue, who outwardly observed an armed neutrality, but who called +the Colonel "John" during the entire three days of Kettle's +imprisonment. Colonel Fortescue retaliated by calling Mrs. Fortescue +"Elizabeth." + +There were frequent references, in the Colonel's hearing, to "Poor +Kettle," and the After-Clap was not rebuked in his insistent demand for +"my Kettle, I want my Kettle! Where is my Kettle?" + +At intervals, from the time he waked in the morning until Mrs. +McGillicuddy put him in his crib at night, the After-Clap was screaming +for Kettle, and as the baby was extremely robust, his shrieks and wails +for Kettle were clearly audible to the Colonel, sitting grimly in his +private office, or at luncheon, or having his tea in the drawing-room. +Colonel Fortescue, however, spent most of his time during those three +days at the headquarters building or the officers' club. As for Mrs. +McGillicuddy, she was openly on the side of Kettle and against the +Colonel, and shrewdly surmised exactly what had happened about the +enlistment, and also that Sergeant McGillicuddy was implicated with the +other two sergeants in the outrage. Mrs. McGillicuddy boldly +propounded this theory to Mrs. Fortescue while the latter was dressing +for dinner on the first evening of Kettle's incarceration. The +Colonel, in the next room, going through the same process of dressing, +could hear every word through the open door. + +"It's Patrick McGillicuddy that had a hand in it, mum," said Mrs. +McGillicuddy wrathfully. "He's been takin' rises out of the naygur, as +he calls Kettle, for twenty years, and he seen Sergeant Gully and +Sergeant Halligan draggin' poor Kettle along to the riding hall. I +seen Kettle when he run out, and McGillicuddy was a standin' off, +a-laffin' fit to kill himself, and I know that Gully and Halligan has +been jokin' Kettle and makin' him believe he has enlisted in the +aviation corps and will have to go flyin', and Kettle's scared stiff." + +"Poor Kettle," said Mrs. Fortescue softly, clasping her pearls about +her white throat. "It's been a sad day to all of us, except the +Colonel. Of course, I never attempt to criticise Colonel Fortescue's +professional conduct, but I do feel lost without Kettle." + +"Well, mum," replied Mrs. McGillicuddy, "I haven't been a sergeant's +wife for twenty years without findin' out that nobody can't say a word +about the orficers, but I do think, mum, as three days in the +guardhouse for poor Kettle, who was bamboozled by Tim Gully and Mike +Halligan, is one of the cruelest things a commandin' orficer ever done. +Not that I'm a-criticisin' the Colonel, mum--I wouldn't do such a thing +for the world." + +"Nor would I," replied Mrs. Fortescue meekly, and fully conscious of +the Colonel's presence in the next room, shaving himself savagely, "but +three days for such a little thing does seem hard." + +Colonel Fortescue ground his teeth and gave himself such a jab with his +razor that the blood came. + +This subtle persecution of the Colonel went on, with variations, for +three whole days. + +On the Friday when Kettle's time was up he was released and his return +was hailed with open delight by his partisans, Mrs. Fortescue, Mrs. +McGillicuddy and the After-Clap, and with secret relief by the Colonel, +Anita and Sergeant McGillicuddy. + +Kettle, on reporting to the Colonel, said solemnly, "Kun'l, I ain't +never goin' ter try an' enlist no mo', so help me Gord A'mighty. An' I +ain't a'goin' to pay no more 'tention to the chaplain's sermons, 'cause +'twuz that there chaplain as fust got me in this here mess, cuss him!" + +This last was under Kettle's breath, and the Colonel pretended not to +hear. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE PLEADING EYES OF WOMEN + +It was May before the winter loosened its grasp on Fort Blizzard. Once +more, the fort was in touch with the outside world for a few months. The +mails came regularly and there were two trains a day at the station, ten +miles away. In May Anita had a birthday--her eighteenth. + +"You can't call me a child any longer, daddy," she said to Colonel +Fortescue, on the May morning when she was showered with birthday gifts. +Nevertheless, Colonel Fortescue continued to call her a child, but a +glance at her reading showed that Anita was very much grown up. She +still read piles of books and pamphlets concerning the Philippines and +knew all about the stinging and creeping and crawling things that made +life hideous in the jungles, the horrors of fever, the merciless heat, +and the treacherous Moros who stabbed the sleeping soldiers by night. No +word had come from Broussard across the still and sluggish Pacific. + +The chaplain did not fail to remind Anita that it was a Christian act to +continue her visits to Mrs. Lawrence, who still remained weak and +nerveless and ill, and Anita was ready enough to do so. Mrs. Lawrence +never mentioned Broussard's name and, in fact, spoke little at any time. +A mental and bodily torpor seemed to possess her, and she was never able +to do more than walk feebly, supported by Mrs. McGillicuddy's strong arm, +to a bench, sit there for an hour or two, and return to her own two +rooms. Occasionally she asked if she should give up her quarters, but as +the surgeon and the chaplain and Mrs. McGillicuddy all united in telling +Colonel Fortescue that Mrs. Lawrence was really unable to move, the +Colonel silently acquiesced in her occupation of the quarters, which were +not needed for any one else. + +Once or twice a week, Anita would go to see her, and read to her, and +take the sewing or knitting out of her languid hand and do it for her. +Mrs. Lawrence, who appeared to notice little that went on around her, +observed that Anita's eyes always sought the photograph of Broussard on +the mantel, but his name was never uttered between them, nor did Mrs. +Lawrence ever ask Anita to write another letter. + +On Anita's birthday, in the afternoon, she went to see Mrs. Lawrence, +ostensibly to carry her some of the fruit and flowers that were so +abundant at the Commanding Officer's house, where the great garden was +blooming beautifully. Mrs. Lawrence accepted Anita's gifts with more +animation than usual, and buried her face in the lilac blossoms. From +her lap a letter dropped and Anita picked it up; it was in Broussard's +handwriting, which Anita knew. A vivid blush came into Anita's face; +however silent she might be about Broussard, her eyes and lips were +always eloquent when anything suggested him. Mrs. Lawrence made no +comment on the letter and presently Anita went away. The Colonel and +Mrs. Fortescue, sitting in the drawing-room at tea, saw her pass the wide +window and go into the beautiful walled garden, which was, next her +violin, Anita's chief delight. It was a wonderful garden for a couple of +years of growth and it had developed amazingly under Anita's hand. + +Sergeant McGillicuddy was a good amateur gardener, and at that very +moment, wearing a suit of blue overalls, was digging away industriously. +The Sergeant had lost a good deal of his cheerfulness in those later days +of winter, but the garden seemed to inspire him, as it did Anita. The +girl went up to him and the two were in close conference concerning a bed +of cowslips the sergeant was making. Through the open window the sunny +air floated, drenched with perfume. Anita was laughing at something the +Sergeant said;--they had usually been serious enough while working +together in the garden. + +Presently Anita came into the drawing-room, carrying in her thin, white +skirt, as if it were an apron, a great mass of blossoms. Colonel +Fortescue held out a letter to her. + +"This was enclosed in a letter to me from Mr. Broussard," said the +Colonel. + +[Illustration: "This was enclosed in a letter to me from Mr. Broussard," +said the Colonel.] + +Anita, although eighteen years old that day, acted like a child. She +dropped the corners of her skirt and the flowers fell to the floor. One +moment she stood like a bird poised for flight, and then taking the +letter, tripped out of the room and up the stairs. + +Both Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue in the still May afternoon heard her turn +the key in the lock of her little rose-colored room. + +Mrs. Fortescue gathered up the blossoms, the Colonel with moody eyes +looking down. + +"Oh, the jealousy of fathers," said Mrs. Fortescue, after a minute. "You +think we mothers are jealous, but it is nothing compared with the +jealousy of fatherhood. I have already made up my mind to be all +graciousness and kindness to Beverley's future wife, but you have already +made up your mind to hate your future son-in-law, whoever he may be." + +"How can a man love the man who robs him of his child? That's what +actually happens," replied Colonel Fortescue. + +"Then the only thing you can do," replied Mrs. Fortescue, "is to +concentrate all of your love upon your wife, for then you have no other +man for a rival." + +Colonel Fortescue agreed to this proposition, and also that his +objections to Broussard were purely fanciful and that he would contrive +to pick flaws in any man to whom Anita was inclined. + +"But she thinks and dreams too much about Broussard," said the Colonel. +"Probably he looks upon her as a pretty child, just as Conway does." + +"One can't control the thoughts and dreams of youth," replied Mrs. +Fortescue, "Anita must study the lesson-book of life and love like other +women." + +"Did you see her face when I gave her the note?" asked Colonel Fortescue. + +"You are an old goose," was all the reply Mrs. Fortescue would make to +this question. + +Locked in her own room, Anita read her precious note. It was very short +and perfectly conventional, thanking her for writing to him for Mrs. +Lawrence. Broussard knew of Lawrence being among the missing men. + +"Lawrence, as you may have heard," said the letter, "was a playmate of +mine in my boyhood and, although he has had hard luck, I have a deep +interest in him and his wife and child." + +Then came a sentence that, to Anita, contained a sweet and hidden +meaning: "Although Gamechick is no longer mine, I shall always love the +horse because of something that happened last Christmas at the music +ride." + +Anita was late for dinner that evening, and at the table, as she took her +lace handkerchief from the bosom of her little blue evening gown, +Broussard's note came out with the handkerchief, and fell upon the floor. +Her father and mother in kindness looked away, but Kettle, with +well-meant but indiscreet good will, picked the letter up, saying: + +"Hi! Miss 'Nita, here's your letter you carry in your bosom." + +Colonel Fortescue suddenly grew cross; this thing of having a man's +daughter carrying around next her heart a letter from another man is very +annoying to a father of Colonel Fortescue's type. And Anita was more +tender and devoted than ever, keeping up a brave show of loyalty, +although she had already surrendered the citadel. + +As the winter at Fort Blizzard was like the frozen regions which the old +Goths believed to be the Inferno, so the summer was like a blast from the +eternal furnace. The hot winds swept over the arid plains and the sun +was more vengeful than the biting cold. The energies of many drooped, +and the sergeants grew short with the men. But cheerfulness prevailed at +the Commandant's house. In July Beverley Fortescue, named for the fine +old Virginia Colonel, Mrs. Fortescue's grandfather, was to come home, in +all the glory of his twenty-one years, wearing for the first time the +splendid cavalry uniform instead of the grey and gold and black of a +military cadet. More than that, he was to be assigned to duty at Fort +Blizzard. When Mrs. Fortescue heard this, she trembled a little; it was +almost too much of joy; this last crowning gift of fate made her almost +afraid. And Beverley was to see, for the first time, the After-Clap, who +was so much like Beverley that the Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue could +hardly persuade themselves he was their last born, and not their first +born. + +On the great day, Beverley came. In the soft July evening, at the +threshold, stood Mrs. Fortescue, holding by the hand the After-Clap, a +sturdy little chap for his two-and-a-half years. The mother was smiling +and blushing like a girl. Behind her stood Kettle, his face shining as +if it had been varnished, and next him was Sergeant McGillicuddy, who had +taught Beverley to ride and to shoot and to skate and to box, and all the +manly sports of boyhood. Mrs. McGillicuddy, ruddy and beaming, towered +over the little Sergeant. + +Colonel Fortescue and Anita stood on the lowest of the stone steps. +Presently, a motor whirled up and Beverley stepped out, looking so +handsome in his well-fitting civilian clothes, with his new straw hat, in +which he felt slightly queer. The Colonel wrung his hand saying: + +"Boy! Boy! How glad we are to have you once more!" + +Anita covered Beverley's face with kisses, but Mrs. Fortescue stood like +a queen, smiling and gracious, to receive her boy's reverence. Beverley +caught her in his strong young grasp; she looked so young, so lovely, so +full of radiant life, that she seemed like an older Anita. Then Mrs. +Fortescue raised the After-Clap and put him in Beverley's arms. +Accustomed to much adulation, the After-Clap was, in general, coolly +supercilious to strangers, but he seemed much pleased with Beverley's +appearance, and called him "Bruvver," as he had called Broussard, who had +been long since forgotten by the After-Clap. + +"What a jolly little rascal!" cried Beverley, whose experience with small +children was nil. + +The After-Clap returned the compliment, by rapturously hugging Beverley. +In fact, they became such chums on the spot that much difficulty was +experienced in persuading the After-Clap to go to bed when Mrs. +McGillicuddy was ready for him. + +There was a joyous dinner. Beverley, like Colonel Fortescue, was +surprised to find that Anita was grown up, like other girls of eighteen. +Also, that his father was almost as young and handsome as his mother. + +"I say, Colonel," said Beverley, "you're the handsomest Colonel in the +army." + +The Colonel smiled. + +"For your age, that is." + +The Colonel scowled. + +"Your father's touchy about his age," Mrs. Fortescue explained, "and so +am I, so please, Beverley, keep away from the unpleasant subject." + +Beverley Fortescue had three months' leave before taking up his duties as +an officer at the post and it was a halcyon time at the Commandant's +house. In spite of the torrid heat, there were parties of pleasure and +little dances, and all the round of gaieties that prevail at army posts. +The Colonel was proud of his well-set-up stripling, although, of course, +a boy could never be of so much value in a family as a girl, according to +Colonel Fortescue's philosophy. With Mrs. Fortescue it was the other +way. Dear as was Anita to her, the mother's heart was triumphant over +her soldier son. As for the After-Clap, he frankly repudiated his whole +domestic circle, except Kettle, for Beverley, who was as tall and strong +as his father and could do many more things amusing to a +two-and-half-year-old than a stern and dignified Colonel. Anita and +Beverley were as intimate and passionately fond of each other as when +they were little playmates. Beverley asked some questions of his mother +concerning Anita. + +"All the fellows like to dance with her and ride with her, but she treats +them all as she does old Conway." + +"Old Conway," Colonel Fortescue's aide, was barely turned thirty; but to +the twenty-one-year-old Beverley, Conway seemed an aged veteran. + +"I can't understand it," plaintively responded Mrs. Fortescue. +"Sometimes I think Anita has no coquetry in her. Again I think she is +the worst type of coquette--she treats all men alike. You remember my +writing you about Anita being thrown at the music ride last Christmas +Eve, and Broussard jumping his horse over her?" + +"I should think so," answered Beverley. "I wish you could have seen the +letter the Colonel wrote me about it. I felt more sorry for what the +poor old chap must have suffered than for you, mother." + +"Don't call your father 'the poor old chap,'" said Mrs. Fortescue +positively. "And don't make jokes about the After-Clap being the child +of his old age. Your father doesn't like it. It's perfectly disgusting +the way young people now speak of their elders, who are barely +middle-aged, as if they were centenarians. Well, I think, and your +father thinks, that Anita had a fancy for Broussard. He was a very +attractive man. Your father thought him a prodigal with his money, but, +of course, some fault must be found with every man who looks at Anita." + +[Illustration: "Don't call your father 'the poor old chap,'" said Mrs. +Fortescue positively.] + +"But Anita is so young--a chit, a child." + +"She is not quite three years younger than you," replied Mrs. Fortescue. +"This notion that Anita is a child and must be treated as such is +ridiculous. Why, when I was Anita's age, I had had a dozen love affairs." + +"Did no one ever tell you, mother, that you are a born coquette, and you +will be coquettish at ninety, if you live to bless us so long?" + +Mrs. Fortescue laughed the soft, musical laugh that was a part of her +armory of charms, and made no reply. + +At dinner that night Beverley suddenly began to ask questions about +Broussard, praising his horsemanship, but wanting to know what kind of a +fellow he was. The Colonel spoke guardedly and damned Broussard with +faint praise, as he would any man whom he thought likely to rob him of +his one ewe lamb; yet the Colonel thought himself a just man. + +The eloquent blood leaped into Anita's cheeks, and there was something +like resentment in her eyes at the Colonel's cool commendation. After +dinner she took Beverley into the garden, and the brother and sister +walked up and down in the moonlight, and Anita, thinking she was keeping +her secret, revealed everything to Beverley. Broussard was the finest +young officer, the most beautiful horseman, he could sing Koerner's Battle +Hymn as no one else could, and when she played a violin obligato to his +songs of love---- + +Anita stopped short, and turned her long-lashed eyes full on Beverley. + +"Daddy doesn't do justice to Mr. Broussard," she said, "but you ought to +have seen the way he grasped Mr. Broussard's hands after the music ride." + +Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue, sitting in the cool, dim drawing-room, heard +Beverley's laughter floating in from the garden. Beverley saw the case +at a glance. + +The torrid summer slipped by, and in November it was winter again, and +the earth was snowbound once more. In all those months Mrs. Lawrence +remained, feeble and nerveless, in the two little rooms she was still +permitted to occupy. By that time she was a shadow. Mrs. McGillicuddy +was more kind than ever to her, and Sergeant McGillicuddy grew more +sombre every day, thinking that his words had brought Lawrence to ruin +and his unfortunate wife close to the boundaries of the far country. The +chaplain took the Sergeant in hand, and so did the Colonel, but the +Sergeant, who had a tender heart under his well-fitting uniform, was not +a happy man. Anita went regularly to see Mrs. Lawrence, and as the young +are appalled at the thought of life going out, she watched with +palpitating fear what seemed a steady journey toward the land where +spirits dwell. But always on those visits to the woman who seemed +slipping from life into the great ocean of forgetfulness, there was a +thrill of joy for Anita; she could see Broussard's picture. Young and +imaginative souls live and thrive on very little. + +The introspective life that Anita led was strongly expressed in her +music. Never had Neroda a pupil who was willing to work so hard as +Anita, and the result charmed him. On this afternoon Anita was at her +lesson in the great drawing-room, the red sunset pouring in through the +long windows and flooding the room with crimson lights and purple +shadows. Anita, wearing a little, nun-like black gown that outlined her +slim figure, played, with wonderful fire and finish, a wild and gorgeous +Hungarian dance by Brahms. + +There was a delicate melody winding through all of the rich harmonies, as +it ran up the scale, like a bird soaring into the blue sky, and then +descended with splendid double notes, into the sombre and passionate G +string, the string that touches the soul. It grew more of a miracle to +Neroda than ever to watch Anita's slender bow-arm flashing back and +forth, drawing out, with amazing force, the soul of the violin, her +slender figure erect and poised high, vibrating with the strings, and her +eyes darkening and lightening as the music grew deeply passionate or +brilliantly gay. When she finished, and stood, smiling and triumphant, +still holding the violin and bow, Neroda said to her: + +"Are you not tired, Signorina?" + +"Not a bit," cried Anita. "I feel that I could play as long as you did, +in the days of which you told me when you first came to America and would +play the violin all night long for dancers on the East Side in New York." + +"I believe you could, almost," replied Neroda, smiling. "I, who had been +a concert master in Italy, was only too glad to get three dollars for +fiddling from eight in the evening until three in the morning; but they +were happy nights, because I was young and strong and full of hope and +loved my fiddle. Sometimes, when I am leading the band in my fine +uniform, I long to take the instrument away from one of the bandsmen and +play it as I did in those days, without any baton to hold me back; but +the violin is a man's instrument and requires much strength. Now, where, +Signorina, in your girlish arms and little hands, did you get such +strength?" + +"It is here," said Anita, smiling and tapping her breast. "I have a +strong heart, my blood circulates well, and I am not afraid of the +violin, like most girls. I am its master, and it shall do my will." + +At that she tapped her violin sharply with the bow, saying to it: + +"Do you hear me? You are my slave, and I shall make you do what I wish +you to do. If I wish you to talk Brahms, you shall talk Brahms; if I +wish you to be sad, I will make you sad with funeral marches. You shall +speak Italian, German, French or English, as I tell you." + +Neroda laughed with delight. He loved the imaginative nature of the +girl, who treated her violin as if it were a living thing, and whispered +her secrets into the ear of her riding horse, and told love stories to +her birds. + +"In Italy," said Neroda, "a fiddler, if he really knows how to play dance +music, can dance as well as play. In those nights on the East Side, in +New York, when I played for the workmen and working girls in their cheap +finery, I went among the dancers myself while I played, and they always +gave me a round of applause and danced harder themselves." + +Anita suddenly swept the strings with her bow and dashed into another +Hungarian dance of Brahms, herself taking pretty dancing steps and +pirouetting as she played, sinking upon one knee and then rising, the toe +of her little slipper pointing skyward. She felt an unaccountable gaiety +of heart that day. Why, she knew not, only that some strong current of +emotion inspired her arms, her hands, her little, twinkling feet, as she +danced the length of the drawing-room and back again. Suddenly the music +stopped with a crash. She looked up and saw Broussard standing in the +door. + +"Thank you, thank you!" said Broussard, advancing and bowing and smiling. +"I have seen it all. When you dance and play at the same time, you can +master the heart of a man, as well as that of a violin." + +Anita stood still for a moment, thrilled with the shock of joy at seeing +Broussard. She laid her violin and bow down on the piano, and gave him +her hand, which trembled in his. Broussard's first thought was that +Anita was grown into a woman. Anita's first glance at Broussard showed +her that he was thin and sallow, and that his clothes hung loosely upon +him, and that, in spite of his smile and playful words, his mind was not +at ease. + +Neroda, standing near, saw the glow in the eyes of Anita and Broussard, +and as they had evidently forgotten his existence, he slipped, without a +word, out of the room. The next moment Colonel Fortescue walked in. + +All at once, Anita and Broussard assumed strictly conventional attitudes; +poetry became prose, music became silence. Broussard hastened to explain +his presence, after exchanging greetings with Colonel Fortescue. + +"I came on private business, sir," he said, "very important. Not finding +you at the headquarters building, I ventured to come to your house, as I +wished to see you immediately." + +"Will you come into my office?" said the Colonel, in a business-like +voice, which seemed to reduce Anita to the age of the After-Clap, and +classify Broussard with the poker that stood by the fireplace. + +The two men crossed the hall and entered the private office and sat down. +Then Colonel Fortescue noticed that Broussard looked haggard and worn, +and his dark skin had turned darker. His face and manner assumed a +gravity which made Colonel Fortescue feel that Broussard's errand was not +one of pleasure. + +"I am on sick leave," said Broussard. "We were in the jungles eight +months and every one of us had fever. I was the last to come down, and I +had a bad case. The doctors sent me home for three months, and when I go +back--for I didn't mean to let the infernal climate out there get the +better of me--I shall be in Guam. That's paradise compared with the +interior." + +"So I know," answered the Colonel, remembering the snakes and mosquitoes +and the flies and the beetles and the hideous swamps and sickening +forests, the slime, the mud, the marshes and all the horrors of the +tropics. + +"I should like to spend my leave at Fort Blizzard," Broussard continued, +"I thought the climate here was what I needed." + +Colonel Fortescue nodded courteously; nobody could stay at Fort Blizzard +without the permission of the C. O. But Broussard felt that the Colonel +saw through him and beyond him. As Colonel Fortescue would not encourage +him by so much as a word, Broussard kept on: + +"In the Philippines, I heard some news that was enough to kill a well +man, much less a man just out of jungle fever. You perhaps remember, +sir, the man Lawrence, who, I heard in the Philippines, had deserted?" + +"He was supposed to have deserted," corrected the Colonel, who was always +the soul of accuracy. + +He glanced at Broussard's face and saw there deep agitation and distress. + +"Lawrence has come back," continued Broussard. + +Then he stopped, as if unable to keep on, and taking out his +handkerchief, wiped away drops upon his forehead, so deadly white under +his black hair. + +Colonel Fortescue remained silent. He saw that Broussard had something +to tell that racked his soul. Broussard sighed heavily, and after a +pause spoke again: + +"I found Lawrence in San Francisco; he was trying to work his way back to +Fort Blizzard. I gave him the money to come and came here with him. He +wishes to give himself up and is willing to take his punishment. He got +frightened at striking McGillicuddy and deserted." + +"Do I understand that Lawrence was returning voluntarily?" asked the +Colonel. + +"Yes, sir--voluntarily. He saw my arrival in the San Francisco +newspapers and came straight to my hotel. If I ever saw a man crazy with +remorse, it was Lawrence. His sobs and cries were terrible to hear. He +knew nothing of his wife and child, and that, too, was helping to drive +him to madness." + +"His wife and child are still here," said Colonel Fortescue. "Lawrence's +disappearance has nearly killed his wife; that's always the way with +these faithful souls who do no wrong themselves. But somebody else +always does wrong enough for both. Where is Lawrence now?" + +"At the block house, a mile away," replied Broussard. "I wished to see +you before Lawrence gives himself up." + +Broussard's strange agitation was increasing. Colonel Fortescue took up +a newspaper and glanced at it, to give Broussard a chance to recover +himself. In a minute or two Broussard managed to speak calmly. + +"You remember, sir," he said, "that I asked you to take my word there was +nothing wrong in my association with Lawrence and his wife." + +"I remember quite well," answered Colonel Fortescue, "I never doubted +your word." + +"Thank you," said Broussard. Once more he wiped the cold drops from his +forehead, and continued in a low voice, tremulous and often broken. + +"I told you that Lawrence and I had been playmates in our boyhood, +although he is much older than I. Sir, Lawrence is my half-brother--the +son of my mother. She was an angel on earth, and she is now an angel in +Heaven. If heavenly spirits can suffer, my mother suffers this day that +her son should have deserted from his duty." + +Never had Colonel Fortescue felt greater pity for a man than for +Broussard then. The shame of confessing that his mother's son had +forfeited his honor was like death itself to Broussard. + +"But there is joy in Heaven over a penitent sinner," said Colonel +Fortescue, who believed in God, and was neither afraid nor ashamed to say +so. + +Broussard bowed his head. + +"My mother--God bless her--was the very spirit of honor. She was the +daughter of an officer. When I was a little chap and said I wanted to be +a soldier, she would tell me the stories of the Spartan mothers, who hade +their sons return with their shields or on them. Thank God, she was +taken away before dishonor fell upon her eldest son. She thought him +dead, and so did I, until last January, when Lawrence told me, the night +before I left this post, who he really was. When I met him in San +Francisco I told him I would come with him here to give himself up, that +I would acknowledge him for my half-brother, that I would sit by him at +his court-martial and go to the door of the military prison with him. He +begged me to keep our relationship secret for the sake of our mother's +memory." + +Colonel Fortescue held out his hand, and grasped that of Broussard. + +"You speak like a man," he said, "but Lawrence is right in keeping the +relationship a secret, and it shows that he understands the height from +which he has fallen. Does his wife know of the relationship?" + +"Yes, sir," Broussard replied. "I thought it best to tell her. But she +kept the secret well. My brother's wife is worthy of my mother." + +"There are many heroic women in the world," said Colonel Fortescue. + +"True," answered Broussard. "My sister-in-law was glad when my brother +enlisted. She said it was a good thing for him, and he undoubtedly did +better at this post than he had done for a long time. And his wife, who +was born and bred to luxury, stood by my brother and tried to save him. +She worked and slaved for him harder than any private's wife I ever saw. +She never uttered a reproach to him. Each day she mounted a Calvary. I +could kiss the hem of that woman's gown, in reverence for her." + +"So could I," said Colonel Fortescue. + +"Of course," continued Broussard, "I told her and wrote her that neither +she nor her child should ever suffer. I have sent her money--all that +was needed, as I have something besides my pay." + +The Colonel, recalling the motors, the oriental rugs, the grand piano, +and other articles _de luxe_, which Broussard had once possessed, thought +Broussard had a trifle too much beside his pay. + +"I don't think she has had much use for money since her husband +deserted," said Colonel Fortescue. "She has been constantly ill. My +wife and daughter and the other ladies at the post have done everything +possible for her, and Sergeant McGillicuddy took the boy. McGillicuddy +feels himself responsible for Lawrence running away. He said something +exasperating to Lawrence, who struck him in a fit of rage, and then ran +away." + +"So my sister-in-law wrote, or rather Miss Fortescue wrote for her." + +"The army is the place for good hearts," said the Colonel, well knowing +what he was talking about. + +As Colonel Fortescue spoke, a man was seen, in the fast falling dusk, to +pass the window. The next moment a tap came at the door, and when +Colonel Fortescue answered, the door opened and Lawrence walked in. + +The Colonel, who had watched Lawrence closely, saw a subtle change in +him. He held his head up, and his face, always handsome, had lost the +dissipated, reckless look that dissipated and reckless men readily +acquire. His hair and mustache, which a year before had been coal black, +were now quite grey; he seemed another man than he had once been. He +saluted the Colonel, and said quietly: + +"I have come, sir, to give myself up--I am the man, John Lawrence, who +struck Sergeant McGillicuddy last January, and deserted." + +"You were a great fool," replied the Colonel, "I think it was a clear +case of a fool's panic." + +"All I have to say, sir," said Lawrence, after a moment, "is, that I had +no intention of deserting until I struck the Sergeant and got frightened. +And I've been trying to get back for the last two months. Mr. Broussard +can tell you all about it." + +"Mr. Broussard has told me all about it," said the Colonel. "Consider +yourself under arrest until nine o'clock tomorrow morning, when you will +report at the headquarters building. Meanwhile, go to your wife; she is +a million times too good for you." + +"I know it, sir," replied Lawrence. + +"And my wife is a million times too good for me," added the Colonel, +reflectively. + +Lawrence went out and Broussard rose to go. + +"You have not asked me to consider this talk as confidential," said the +Colonel, "nevertheless, I shall so consider it. As your Colonel, I +advise and require that you should say nothing about Lawrence's +relationship to you. This much is due your mother's memory." + +"Thank you, sir," replied Broussard, a great load lifted from his heart. + +Broussard did not wish to go at once to Mrs. Lawrence; she should have +one hour alone with her husband. Nor did he care to go to the officers' +club at that moment. He walked toward the quarters of the +non-commissioned officers, scarcely noticing where his steps led. As he +passed the McGillicuddy quarters, the door opened, and little Ronald ran +out bareheaded. He recognized Broussard, and Broussard, feeling strongly +and strangely the call of the blood, took the boy in his arms and covered +his little face with kisses much to the lad's surprise, and sent him to +the house. The next minute, Broussard came face to face with Sergeant +McGillicuddy. + +The Sergeant, who did not often smile in those days, smiled when he saw +Broussard. + +"But, Mr. Broussard, you don't look quite fit," said the Sergeant. "The +Philippines, drat 'em, ain't good for the complexion." + +"I know I look like the devil," replied Broussard, "but I'm on sick leave +and I hope Fort Blizzard is the right kind of a climate for me. By the +way, the man Lawrence, who deserted in January, has come back. We +travelled from San Francisco together. He has already given himself +up--voluntarily, you know." + +In the gloom of the November twilight Broussard could not see the +Sergeant's face clearly. There was a bench close by, on the edge of the +asphalt walk, and the Sergeant dropped rather than sat upon it. + +"Excuse me, sir," he said to Broussard, "but the news you give me takes +all my nerve away, and yet it's the best news I ever heard in my life. +You know, sir, it was some words of mine--and God knows I never meant to +harm Lawrence--that made him strike me, and then he got scared and----" + +"I know all about it," replied Broussard, sitting down on the bench by +the Sergeant. "Of course, you felt pretty bad about it. Any man would." + +Something between a sob and a groan burst from the Sergeant. + +"I've worn chevrons for twenty-seven years, sir," he said. "I was made a +sergeant when I was twenty-five. I've handled all sorts of men and +licked 'em into shape and I ain't got it on my conscience as I ever tried +to make a man's lot any harder, or to discourage him, and I never spoke +an insultin' word to a soldier in my life, and I hope I'll be called to +report to the Great Commander before I do. But I said something +chaffin'-like to that poor devil and he struck me, and I didn't hit him +back--I didn't hit him back, thank God, nor threaten to report him. But +I had to tell the truth to the Colonel and take part of the blame on +myself." + +"That's right," answered Broussard with deep feeling. The Sergeant +little knew how great a stake Broussard had in the business. + +"And the chaplain, he seen something was wrong with me and so did Missis +McGillicuddy--she's a soldier, sir, is Missis McGillicuddy. I made a +clean breast of it to the chaplain and he helped me a lot. I've been +goin' to church on Sundays ever since I was married--to tell you the +truth, sir, Missis McGillicuddy marched me off every Sunday without +askin' me if it was agreeable, any more than she'd ask Ignatius or +Aloysius. But since my trouble, I've gone of my own will, and I've +headed the prayin' squad, I can tell you, Mr. Broussard." + +"And you took good care of the boy, you and Mrs. McGillicuddy," said +Broussard, who had learned of it from the letter written by Anita at Mrs. +Lawrence's request. The Sergeant took off his cap for a moment, baring +his grey head to the biting cold. + +"The best we could, so help me God. There wasn't nothin' me and Missis +McGillicuddy could do for the kid as we didn't do. The chaplain told us +we done too much, we was over-indulgent to the boy. But we taught him to +do right, although we give him better food and better clothes than any of +our own eight children ever had, and now----" + +The Sergeant stood in silence for a moment, his cap once more in his +hand, his head bowed. Broussard knew he was giving thanks. + +Broussard, under cover of the darkness, took his way to the quarters +which Mrs. Lawrence had never left. He knocked and, receiving no answer, +entered the narrow passage-way and walked into the little sitting-room. +Lawrence lay back in the arm chair in which his wife had spent so many +hours of helpless misery. His face was paler than ever and his lank hair +lay damp upon his forehead. Mrs. Lawrence, who had been suffering from +the cruel malady known as a shamed and broken heart, sat by her husband, +speaking words of cheer and tenderness. As Broussard entered she rose to +her feet with new energy, no longer tottering as she walked, and placed +both arms about Broussard's neck. + +"Oh, my brother! The best of brothers," she cried and could say no more +for her tears. + +Presently they were sitting together, all externally calm, but all filled +with a tense emotion. + +"Try to persuade her," said Lawrence to Broussard, "to go away before the +court-martial sits. It will be too much for her." + +Mrs. Lawrence turned her dark eyes, once tragic but now brimming with +light, full on Broussard. Broussard said to Lawrence: + +"These angelic women are very obstinate." + +"Would your mother, of whom my husband has told me so much, go away if +she were in my place?" + +Both Broussard and Lawrence remained silent. + +"Then," said Mrs. Lawrence, "can you blame me if I act as your mother +would act?" + +Broussard took her hand and kissed it; the marks of toil upon it went to +his soul. + +"But the boy must be sent away," cried Lawrence. + +"Yes, he may go," replied Mrs. Lawrence, "but I shall stay." + +It was nearly seven o'clock, the hour for dinner at the officers' club, +before Broussard left the Lawrences' quarters. All the men at the club +were delighted to see Broussard, and all of them told him he looked seedy +and every one who had served in the Philippines and had caught the jungle +fever proposed a different regimen for him, but all agreed that Fort +Blizzard was a good place to recuperate and that the "old man," as the +commanding officer is always called, was rather a decent fellow, and +might let him stay, and then they plunged into garrison news and gossip. +Broussard was thoroughly glad to be back once more at the handsome mess +table, with the bright faces of the subalterns around him and the cheery +talk and honest laughter, but his heart was full of other things--Anita +Fortescue, for instance, and Lawrence and his wife and the little boy. +Some questions were asked him about Lawrence. Broussard replied briefly +that he found the man in San Francisco trying to get back to Fort +Blizzard; he wanted to give himself up at the scene of his crime and +Broussard had paid for his railway ticket. + +"And brought him with you to keep him from getting away," said Conway, +"very judicious thing to do with men like Lawrence." + +"I think he would have given himself up anyway," Broussard replied +quietly. + +Military justice is short and simple and severe. Within forty-eight +hours the court-martial sat. As Lawrence marched into the courtroom +between two soldiers, guarding him, his wife, dressed in black, as +always, and with Mrs. McGillicuddy sitting near her, rose from her seat +and took another one as close to her husband as she could get and smiled +encouragement at him. Lawrence, watching her tender gaze, burst into +tears. + +It was all done very quickly. Sergeant McGillicuddy was one of the two +witnesses, Broussard being the other. The Sergeant testified as if he +were the criminal and not Lawrence. Broussard was the second witness and +merely told of Lawrence coming to him in San Francisco, saying he wished +to get to Fort Blizzard and give himself up. He could have done so at +San Francisco but he wanted to see his wife and child and believed he +would get more mercy at Fort Blizzard than any where else. + +Then the prisoner was called to tell his story. He did it quietly and in +a few words. He had no thought of deserting until he struck the +Sergeant. Then he was frightened and ran away and, making the railway +station, hid in a freight car and got away. He worked his way East, and +found employment as a miner and was earning good wages, but his +conscience troubled him, especially after he received a letter from his +wife. He had got as far as San Francisco, which took all his savings, +when he saw Mr. Broussard's name in the newspapers and went to see him. +He asked the mercy of the court. + +The court was merciful, and gave him the shortest possible prison +sentence, to be served out at the military prison of Fort Blizzard. All +the officers kept their eyes turned from the pale woman in black, sitting +close to the prisoner. They wished to do justice and not to be turned +from it by a woman's pleading eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +LOVE, THE CONQUEROR + +Broussard meant to spend his three months' leave in the pursuit of +happiness at Fort Blizzard, where he could see Anita every day if he +wanted--and he always wanted to see Anita. She was now nearing her +nineteenth birthday and could hardly be considered the infant which +Colonel Fortescue continued to proclaim her to be. + +The day after Broussard's arrival was Sunday and on Sunday afternoons. +Broussard knew he should find Anita at home. It was the pleasant custom +in the C. O.'s house for Mrs. Fortescue to receive the young officers, +for whom she always had a tender spot in her heart. Broussard was one of +the later arrivals. Already through the great windows the blue peaks of +ice were seen, touched with a moment's golden glory from the setting sun, +and the purple shadows were softly descending upon the snow-white world. + +The first member of the Fortescue household who met Broussard gave him a +rapturous greeting. This was Kettle, who opened the massive doors to +visitors. + +"Hi! Mr. Broussard, I cert'ny is glad to see you, and Miss 'Nita, she is +right heah in the drawin'-room, and I spect she jump fer joy when she see +you!" shouted Kettle, who was a child of nature and spoke the truth as he +saw it. + +"And I'm glad enough to get back to snow and ice after snakes and +mosquitoes and Moros," replied Broussard. + +Immediately a small financial transaction passed between Broussard and +Kettle, accompanied with the usual wink from Broussard and grin from +Kettle. + +"She doan' take no notice of none of 'em," whispered Kettle +confidentially, "she jes' smile at 'em all and goes 'long thinkin' about +you!" + +This was most encouraging and Broussard considered it well worth a +quarter. + +As he entered the drawing-room, bright with a glowing wood fire, Anita, +who was entrenched behind a little tea table, rose to greet him. She +wore a little white gown and like another white gown of hers it had a +train--Anita was very anxious to appear as old as possible. As Broussard +spoke to Mrs. Fortescue, who received him with her usual graceful +cordiality, they could hear from the plaza the band playing the solemn +hymn which precedes the retreat on Sunday afternoons. Suddenly the +sunset gun roared out, showing that the flag was descending from the +flagstaff. At once, every one in the room rose and stood respectfully at +attention until the flag came down. Broussard, in the friendly shadow of +the tea table, held on a moment to Anita's hand. She looked straight +away from Broussard, her red lips smiling at an infatuated second +lieutenant on the other side of her, but her cheeks, already of a +delicate rose color, hung out the scarlet flag which means, in love, a +surrender. Broussard even felt a faint returning pressure of the +fingers, so well screened that only they themselves knew of the meeting +of the hands. + +Then they all sat down again and the pleasant talk began once more, Anita +taking her part with a subdued current of gaiety unusual in her, for, as +Mrs. Fortescue was essentially L'Allegro, so Anita was by nature, Il +Penseroso. + +Once more, when the color-sergeant brought the flag in, and placed it in +a corner of the fine drawing-room, all present stood up; then there was +much merry chatter and tea and chaff and that universal kindliness which +seems to develop around a friendly tea table. One thing surprised +Broussard--not only that Anita appeared quite grown up but that she could +talk of many things of which he had never before heard her speak. As for +the Philippines, she had all the lore about them at her finger tips. +Broussard, watching her out of the tail of his eye, saw that she was no +longer the adorable child, who lived with her birds and her violin, but +an adorable woman, who had learned to think and feel and speak as a +woman. How was it that she had read so many books on the Philippines? + +"When did you begin your study of the Philippines?" asked the wily +Broussard. + +"Only since January," answered Anita; and realizing that she had +unconsciously revealed a great secret she lowered her lashes and turned +her violet eyes away from Broussard. + +That night, over his last cigar in his room at the officers' club, +Broussard began to plan a regular campaign for Anita against Colonel +Fortescue. But ever in the midst of it would come those sweet +inadvertent words of Anita's and Broussard would fall into a delicious +reverie with which Colonel Fortescue had no part. But then Broussard +would come back to the real business of the matter--outgeneralling +Colonel Fortescue--for everybody knew how devoted Anita was to her father +and Broussard considered the C. O. as a lion in his path. Of course, the +old curmudgeon, as Broussard in his own mind called the Colonel, would +rake up a lot of imaginary objections--he always was a martinet, and +would be a stiff proposition to master in the present emergency. +Broussard was tolerably certain of Mrs. Fortescue's assistance, who was +an open and confessed sentimentalist, and was generally understood to be +the guardian angel of all the love affairs at Fort Blizzard. Beverley +Fortescue might be reckoned as a neutral, being himself in the toils of +Sally Harlow, who was Anita's age. Then, Kettle and the After-Clap could +be reckoned upon as auxiliaries--Broussard swore at himself for not +remembering the After-Clap's existence that afternoon; Anita was +ridiculously fond of the little chap. + +But Colonel Fortescue would be a hard nut to crack--Broussard threw the +stump of his cigar into the fire and thought all fathers of adorable +daughters highly undesirable persons. After long and hard thinking +Broussard concluded to begin at once an earnest and devoted courtship of +Colonel Fortescue as the best way to win Anita. + +"Because I'll have to court the old fellow anyhow, cuss him!" was +Broussard's inner belief. "Anita will expect any man she marries to be +as much in love with the Colonel as she is--so here goes!" + +The very next morning Broussard began his open attentions to the Colonel +and his secret wooing of Anita. He had plenty of opportunities for both. +It was easy enough to see Anita every day. Often they rode together in +the gay riding parties that were among the constant amusements of the +young things at the post. Then, there was the weekly dance in the great +ball-room and many little dances and dinners, and Broussard always +contrived to be with Anita the best part of the evening. He was always +willing to sing and Anita was always ready to play the violin obligatos +for him. Broussard developed wonderful knowledge of song birds and +entirely abandoned game chickens, and was astonishingly regular in his +attendance at the chapel, which induced Anita to think him a model of +Christian piety. If Broussard had been a conceited man he would have +seen that Anita's heart was his long before he asked for it; but being a +modest fellow and thinking Anita was but a little lower than the angels, +Broussard paid her the delicate and tender court which women love so well. + +The regimen of love and leisure did wonders for Broussard. His thin face +filled up, his color returned, he was soon able to dance and ride and +shoot with the best of his comrades. He did not forget the man in the +military prison or the wife that watched and waited and prayed and hoped. +But there was reason to hope: Lawrence was, from the beginning, a model +prisoner, and the chaplain, who had lost, in the course of years, some of +his confidence in repentance, began once more to believe that it was +possible to regenerate a man's soul. Most prisoners are a trifle too +ready to accept the theory of the forgiveness of sins. Not so Lawrence. +Often, he had paroxysms of despair, accusing himself wildly and doubting +whether the good God could forgive so evil a sinner as he. Sometimes, he +would refuse to see his wife, declaring he was not fit for her to speak +to; again, he would weep and ask for a sight of his child, now far away +and in good hands. All these things, and more, the chaplain knew, from +long experience, meant that Lawrence's soul was struggling toward the +light. Regularly Broussard went to see him at the prison and the two +men, the high-minded officer and the disgraced private, were drawn +together by the secret bond between them. Often, they talked in whispers +of their dead mother and Broussard would say to Lawrence: + +"Our mother's spirit and your wife's love ought to save you." + +Another visitor Lawrence had was Sergeant McGillicuddy. The Sergeant's +merciful soul could not accept the chaplain's theory that the blow +provoked by McGillicuddy had been Lawrence's salvation. + +"I never knew a man who was helped by being a deserter, sir," was the +Sergeant's answer to the chaplain's kindly sophism, "but Lawrence is a +penitent man--that I see with my own eyes. I don't need no chaplain to +tell me that, sir." + +Meanwhile, Broussard kept up a steady courtship of Colonel Fortescue. +Whatever views the Colonel advanced, Broussard promptly endorsed. He +gave up cock fighting, motors, superfluous clothes and high-priced +horses, and, if his word could be taken for it, he had adopted Spartan +tastes and meant to stick to them. Colonel Fortescue rated Broussard's +newly-acquired taste for the simple life at its true value, and was +sometimes a trifle sardonic over it. + +"I wish," said Colonel Fortescue savagely one night in his office, where +he always smoked his last cigar, Mrs. Fortescue sitting by, "I wish +Broussard would let up a little in his attention to me. I know exactly +what it means and it is getting to be an awful nuisance." + +"Cheer up," answered Mrs. Fortescue encouragingly, "he'll let up on his +devotion to you as soon as he marries Anita--for I have seen ever since +the night of the music ride that Anita has a secret preference for him, +and it's very natural--Broussard is an attractive man." + +"Can't see it," growled the Colonel. + +"If you would just limber up a little and not be so stiff with him," +urged Mrs. Fortescue, "let him see he can have Anita." + +"How can I limber up and tell him he can have Anita?" roared the Colonel. +"The fellow hasn't asked me for Anita." + +"He's asking you all the time," answered Mrs. Fortescue, smiling. + +Colonel Fortescue looked up at her with sombre eyes. He had seen Anita +become the target for the flashing eyes of junior officers. He realized +that Mrs. Fortescue, woman-like, did not share and could not understand +the pangs of his soul at the thought of parting with Anita. He had often +observed that mothers willingly gave their daughters in marriage, but he +had never seen a father give up his daughter cheerfully to another man. +Mrs. Fortescue saw something of this in Colonel Fortescue's face and +leaned her cheek against his. + +"Dear," she said, "I believe most fathers suffer as you do at the thought +of giving up a daughter and some day I shall suffer the same at giving up +my son to another woman. So, after all, since our children will take on +a new love, we must return to our honeymoon days and not let anything +matter so long as we are together. Then, the After-Clap--I always feel +so ridiculously young whenever I look at that baby." + +At this the Colonel's heart was soothed and he did not hate Broussard +quite so much. + +There was, however, no let-up in Broussard's ardent wooing of the +Colonel, who took it a trifle more graciously. One afternoon, late in +December, Broussard, passing the headquarters building, saw Colonel +Fortescue's orderly holding the bridle reins of Gamechick, who was +saddled. Broussard was in his riding clothes and was himself waiting for +the horse lent him for the afternoon by a brother officer. He stopped +and began to pat Gamechick's beautiful neck and the horse, who was, like +all intelligent horses, a sentimentalist, rubbed his nose against +Broussard's head, and said, as plainly as a horse can say: + +"Dear master, I love you still." + +Colonel Fortescue, coming out of the gate, saw Broussard, and his heart +softened as he recalled the last time he had seen Broussard riding +Gamechick. It was now nearly a year ago. + +"Good afternoon, Mr. Broussard," said the Colonel, "I see you are dressed +for riding. Perhaps you would like to ride that old charger again; if +so, I will send for my own horse. Gamechick belongs to my daughter and I +only ride him to keep him in condition, because sometimes she is a little +lazy about exercising him." + +"Ladies are seldom judicious with horses," answered Broussard, agreeing +as always with Colonel Fortescue. "I shall be glad to ride the old horse +once more, and thank you very much." + +In a few minutes, the Colonel's own horse was brought and the two men, +mounting, rode off and away from the post for an hour's brisk ride in the +late winter afternoon. + +Broussard, whose tongue was usually frozen to the roof of his mouth when +he was in the Colonel's presence, felt a sudden sense of freedom and +talked naturally and therefore intelligently. His description of +military affairs in the East was wonderfully illuminating, and the +Colonel plied him with questions. They were so interested in their talk +that they reached the spur of the mountain ranges before they knew it. +The crisp air had got into their blood and into that of their horses, +which took the mountain road sharply, and at an eager trot. They had +climbed a good mile along the steep winding road, the snow under their +feet frozen as hard as stone, the rocks ice-coated, and the fir trees +like great trees of crystal. Gamechick was so sure-footed that Broussard +gave him the reins but Colonel Fortescue watched his horse carefully. + +Ahead of them was a sudden turn in the road under the great overhanging +cliff, and on it, a magnificent fir tree reared itself, glittering with +icicles, in the rose-red light of the sunset. + +"Look," said Colonel Fortescue, pointing to the tree. "Was there ever +anything more beautiful?" + +As the words left his lips he saw, and Broussard saw, a huge boulder +suddenly start down the mountain side and strike like a cannon ball the +splendid tree. There was a fearful breaking and splintering and all at +once it was as if the cliff crumbled and trees and boulders and ice and +snow came thundering and crashing down into the roadway. One moment the +crystal air had been so still that the click of the iron hoofs of their +horses seemed to be the only sound in the world. The next minute the +roar of breaking trees and falling rocks echoed like an earthquake and a +white cloud of misty snow and flying icicles hid the steel-blue heavens. + +It was done in such a fragment and flash of time that Broussard hardly +knew what had happened. He found himself standing on his feet, entangled +in the frozen branches of a fir tree. A little way off he heard +Gamechick, whinnying with fear, while under a fallen boulder Colonel +Fortescue's horse lay, his neck broken. Close by Colonel Fortescue lay +stark upon the ground. Broussard ran to him; he was lying upon his back +and said as coolly as if on dress parade: + +"I had a pretty close shave, but I don't think I'm hurt, except my ankle." + +Broussard, having had experience with injured men, thumped and punched +the Colonel only to find that he was not injured in any way except the +broken ankle; but a man with a broken ankle, six miles away from the +fort, with night coming on, and the thermometer below zero, presents +problems. + +"What a pity neither of us has a pistol," said Colonel Fortescue, when +Broussard had got him up from the frozen earth and arranged a rude seat +from the branches of the fir tree for him. "We could kill my poor horse +and end his sufferings." + +"He's already dead, thank God," replied Broussard, going over and looking +at the horse, lying as still and helpless as the rock that lay upon his +neck. Gamechick, the broken rein hanging upon his neck, stood trembling +and snorting with terror. + +"I think you had better ride back to the post and get help," said Colonel +Fortescue. + +Broussard walked toward Gamechick, but the horse, stricken with panic, +backed away and before Broussard could catch him, he whirled about wildly +and galloped down the mountain road at breakneck speed. The sound of his +iron hoofs pounding the icy road as he fled, driven by fear and anguish, +cut the silence like a knife. The two men listened to the clear metallic +sound borne upon the clear atmosphere by the winter wind. + +"He's a good messenger," said Broussard, "he is making straight for the +post." + +"If he gets there before he breaks his neck," replied the Colonel coolly, +taking out his cigar case and striking a light. + +Broussard listened attentively until the last echo had died away in the +distance. + +"He has got down all right and is now on the open road, and will get to +the fort in thirty minutes," he said. + +Then Broussard, gathering the broken branches of the fir tree, made a +fire which not only warmed them, but the blue smoke curling upward was a +signal for those who would come to search for them. He took the saddle +and blanket from the dead horse and arranged a comfortable seat for the +Colonel, who declared that a broken ankle was nothing; but his face was +growing pale as he spoke. + +"You remember," he said to Broussard, "that story about General Moreau, +something more than a hundred years ago, who smoked a cigar while the +surgeons were cutting off his leg." + +"Yes, sir," replied Broussard. "You are not as badly off as General +Moreau, and I think I can help you, sir." Broussard proceeded to take +off the Colonel's boot and stocking. He rubbed the broken ankle with +snow and then, with his handkerchief and a splinter of wood, made a +bandage and splints, as soldiers are taught to do. + +Then Broussard accepted the cigar offered him by the Colonel, and smoked +vigorously. A lieutenant does not lead the conversation with a Colonel, +and so Broussard said nothing more and devoted himself to keeping the +fire going. + +Colonel Fortescue bore the pain, which was extreme, in grim silence, but +Broussard noticed that he stopped smoking and threw away his cigar. It +could not soothe him as it did General Moreau. Broussard immediately +threw away his cigar, too, which annoyed the Colonel. + +"Why don't you keep on smoking?" asked the Colonel tartly. + +"Oh, I don't care about it particularly," shamelessly answered Broussard, +who was an inveterate smoker. + +"When we got out of tobacco in the jungle I kept the men quiet by singing +the old song ''Twas Off the Blue Canaries I Smoked My Last Cigar.'" + +"Music has always had a soothing influence over me," said Colonel +Fortescue, after a moment. "Suppose you sing that song. It may help +this infernal ankle of mine." + +Broussard obeyed orders immediately, and the old song was sung with all +the feeling that Broussard could infuse into his fine, rich voice. When +it was over, the Colonel said sternly: + +"Sing another song. Keep on singing until I tell you to quit." + +Broussard, being a sly dog, did not sing any of the modern songs that he +was wont to troll out at the club, or on the march, but chose for his +second number a song that subalterns sang to pianos, to banjos and +guitars, and even without accompaniment, the favorite song of the +subaltern, "A Warrior Bold." Broussard's clear baritone, sweet and +ringing, echoed among the icy cliffs in the wintry dusk. At the end, +Colonel Fortescue nodded his head in approval. + +"I used to sing that song," he said, "when I was a youngster, but I never +had a fine voice like yours. Tune up again." + +Broussard tuned up again, and this time it was a sweet old sentimental +ballad. He went conscientiously through his repertory of old-fashioned +ballads, not smiling in the least, Colonel Fortescue listening gravely to +these songs of love. The purple twilight was coming on fast and the +ruddy glare of the fire threw a beautiful crimson light upon the +snow-draped cliffs and ice-clad trees. During the intervals between the +songs, the two men listened for the sound of coming help. With a good +fire, plenty of cigars, and Broussard's cheerful singing, their plight +was not so bad. But a disturbing thought came to both of them. + +"The horse running back riderless, will alarm my wife and daughter," said +Colonel Fortescue after a while. + +Broussard made no reply; he hoped that Anita would be a little frightened +about him. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE REVEILLE + +Half an hour after Colonel Fortescue and Broussard rode away, Anita, +walking into her mother's room, said to Mrs. Fortescue: + +"Mother, let us ride this afternoon. It is so gloriously clear and +cold." + +Mrs. Fortescue turned from the desk where she was writing and hesitated. + +"I saw your father go off on Gamechick. You can ride Pretty Maid, but +your father objects so much to my riding Birdseye." + +"But there are plenty of mounts besides Birdseye," said Anita. + +Mrs. Fortescue glanced out of the window at the winter landscape and +shivered a little. + +"It is very cold," she said, "and rather late; the sun will be gone in +a little while." + +Anita came behind her mother and put her hands under Mrs. Fortescue's +pretty chin. + +"Dear mother," she said, "I want so much to ride this afternoon; I feel +that I must. Won't you go out, if it is only for half an hour?" + +Anita's eloquent eyes and pleading voice were not lost upon Mrs. +Fortescue, who found it difficult always to resist pleadings. + +"Well then," she said, "call up the stables and tell them to bring the +horses around as soon as possible, and some one to go with us, perhaps +McGillicuddy." + +Ten minutes later, Mrs. Fortescue and Anita, in their trim black habits +and smart little hats fastened on with filmy veils, came out on the +stone steps. The trooper was leading the horses up and down, and +Sergeant McGillicuddy, as escort, put both ladies into their saddles +and then himself mounted. Just as Mrs. Fortescue settled herself in +saddle and gave her horse a light touch with her riding-crop, a strange +sound was borne upon the sharp wind, the unmistakable sound of a +runaway horse. Sergeant McGillicuddy and Anita heard the sound at the +same moment, and stood motionless to listen. It grew rapidly near and +nearer and stray passers-by turned toward the main entrance, from which +direction came the wild clatter of iron-shod hoofs in maddened flight. +Suddenly through the open main entrance dashed Gamechick without a +rider. + +A riderless horse fleeing in terror, is one of the most tragic sights +on earth. The horse came pounding at breakneck speed, blinded in his +fright, as runaway horses are, but instinctively taking the straight +path across the plaza. It was as if the frantic hoof-beats awakened +the whole post. Soldiers ran out and officers stepped from their +comfortable quarters, while the officers' club emptied itself into the +street. The horse was recognized in a moment as Colonel Fortescue's +mount, and he made straight for the commandant's house. It was not +necessary for the trooper to seize the reins hanging loose on +Gamechick's neck. He came to a sudden halt, his sides heaving as if +they would burst, and he was dripping wet as if he had been in a river. +He stood, quivering, his sensitive ears cocking and uncocking wildly. + +Mrs. Fortescue's face grew pale, but she said to McGillicuddy calmly: + +"Some accident has happened to Colonel Fortescue. Send word at once to +Major Harlow and to my son." + +Major Harlow, next in command, was on the spot almost as Mrs. Fortescue +spoke. + +"It is all right, Mrs. Fortescue," said Major Harlow, cheerfully. "The +Colonel probably dismounted and the horse got away. We will find him +in a little while." + +"Yes," replied Mrs. Fortescue, "and Anita and I will ride with you." + +Anita looked with triumphant eyes at her mother. + +"I felt that we must be on horseback," she said, "I didn't understand +why a few minutes ago, but now I know why." + +A messenger was sent for Beverley Fortescue, but he was not to be +found. Some one in the group of officers remembered having seen him +riding off with Sally Harlow. Major Harlow did not attempt to keep up +with his daughter's cavaliers. + +"We'll find the Colonel all right," said Major Harlow, confidently, +"the horse will show us the way." + +Major Harlow rode in front with Sergeant McGillicuddy, who led +Gamechick, his head hanging down, looking the picture of shame but +carefully retracing his steps. Behind them rode Mrs. Fortescue and +Anita, and then came a small escort. Gamechick, walking wearily in +advance over the frozen snow, suddenly lifted his head and gave a loud +whinnying of joy, and at the same moment his tired legs seemed to gain +new strength, and he started off in a brisk trot. + +"He has caught the trail, Mrs. Fortescue," called back Major Harlow, +turning his head and meeting Mrs. Fortescue's glance; her face was pale +and so was Anita's, but the eyes of both were undaunted. + +Gamechick trotted ahead, sometimes faltering and going around in a +circle, the escort waiting patiently until he once more found his own +tracks. They were still a mile away from the entrance of the mountain +pass when Anita, looking up into the clear dark blue sky where the +palpitating stars were coming out, saw the blue smoke curling upward +from the pass. + +"Daddy and Mr. Broussard have made a fire," she cried. + +"Is Mr. Broussard with the Colonel?" asked Major Harlow, in surprise. +Until then, no one had spoken Broussard's name, or knew he was with +Colonel Fortescue. + +"I think so," replied Anita, "I was watching my father as he rode +toward the main entrance and I saw Mr. Broussard join him and they rode +off together." + +When they reached the rugged mountain road, the horses, with rough-shod +feet, scrambled up like cats. Now the searching party could not only +see the blue smoke floating above their heads, but they perceived a +delicate odor of burning fir branches. When they reached a spot in the +pass where a bridle path diverged Gamechick halted, putting his nose to +the ground as he stepped about and then throwing back his head in +disappointment. + +In the midst of the stillness came the sound of a voice; Broussard was +trolling out a ballad in Spanish which he had learned in the far-off +jungles of the Philippines. Mrs. Fortescue glanced at Anita. A +brilliant smile and a warm blush illuminated the girl's face. The +mother smiled; she knew the old, old story that Anita's violet eyes +were telling. + +Major Harlow raised a ringing cheer in which Sergeant McGillicuddy and +the officers and troopers joined. An answering cheer came back. It +was unnecessary then for Gamechick to show the way by galloping ahead. + +Within five minutes the pass was full of cavalrymen. Mrs. Fortescue, +down on her knees in the snow, was examining Colonel Fortescue's broken +ankle. Anita, for once losing the quiet reserve that was hers by +nature, was sitting by the Colonel, her arm around his neck, her cheek +against his, and the tears were dropping on her cheeks. + +"Oh, daddy," she was whispering, "I knew that something had happened to +you and that I must come to you, and that was why I begged and prayed +my mother to come with me, and now we have found you, we have found +you!" + +Colonel Fortescue drew the girl close to his strong beating heart for a +brief moment. + +"It is a very neat splint," said Mrs. Fortescue, rising to her feet and +bestowing one of her brilliant smiles on Broussard. "Mr. Broussard is +a capital surgeon." + +"And a capital soldier," said the Colonel, quite clearly. + +A smile went around, of which Broussard's was the brightest and the +broadest. Everybody present knew that the stern Colonel was melting a +little toward Broussard. + +Then Colonel Fortescue insisted upon mounting Gamechick. + +"You are so obstinate," murmured Mrs. Fortescue, in his ear. "You are +as bent on riding that horse as you say I am on riding Birdseye." + +The Colonel nodded and smiled; the little differences which arose +between Mrs. Fortescue and himself were not settled in the presence of +others. + +Colonel Fortescue was helped on Gamechick's back and a trooper +dismounted and gave his horse to Broussard, the trooper mounting behind +a comrade; and without asking anybody's leave, Broussard rode beside +Anita. As the cavalcade took its way down the road, the darkness of a +moonless night descended suddenly, and the difficult way out of the +pass was lighted only by the large, bright stars, that seemed so +strangely near and kind. Often, in guiding Anita's horse along the +rocky road, Broussard's hand touched Anita's. Sometimes he dismounted +to lead her horse; always he was close to her, and when they spoke it +was in whispers. The rest of the party, including even Colonel +Fortescue, in sheer good nature left them to themselves and their +happiness. + +Soon the party reached the broad, white plain from which a great crown +of lights from the fort shone brilliantly in the dusk of the evening. +Half way across the plain they met Beverley Fortescue, riding in search +of them. He glanced at Anita, who blushed deeply, and at Broussard, +who smiled openly, and the two young officers exchanged signals, which +meant that the Colonel had been outgeneralled, out-footed and "stood on +his head," as Beverley undutifully expressed it at the officers' club +an hour later. + +"How did you manage the C. O.?" asked Beverley of Broussard, as they +exchanged confidences in the smoking-room. + +"I sang to him, like David did to Saul, and got the evil spirit out of +him. You ought to have seen him, sitting before the fire, grinding his +teeth with the pain of his ankle, and listening to 'Love's Old Sweet +Song.' I gave him a genteel suffering of sentimental songs, I can tell +you, and never cracked a smile, and no more did the old man"--this +being the unofficial title of all commanding officers. + +"Do you think it would work on Major Harlow?" anxiously inquired +Beverley, "because this afternoon Sally and I----" + +Here the conference was reduced to whispers, as plans were made to +conquer Major Harlow. Only daughters are highly prized by doting +fathers. + +A broken ankle at fifty does not heal in a day, and until Christmas Eve +Colonel Fortescue was a prisoner in his chair, doing his administrative +work; and when that was done being cheered and soothed by the +tenderness in which he had been lapped since the day when, as a young +lieutenant, he married Betty Beverley in an old Virginia church. Never +was anything seen like Anita's devotion to her father. It seemed as if +she were never out of sound and reach of him and gave up all the +merry-making of the Christmas time to be with him. This prevented +Broussard from seeing Anita very often, and never alone, but they had +entered the Happy Valley together, and basked in the delicate joy of +love unspoken, but not unfelt. Anita knew that Broussard was only +biding his time, and Broussard knew that Anita was waiting, in smiling +silence. The Colonel wrote Broussard a very handsome note of thanks +and Mrs. Fortescue greeted him with grateful thanks. Then, Christmas +was coming, the claims of the After-Clap and the eight McGillicuddys +became insistent. Broussard did not forget the prisoner in the grim +military prison, nor the woman so faithful to the prisoner. Sergeant +McGillicuddy spent a small fortune in such comforts as Lawrence was +allowed to receive at Christmas time, and his knotty, weather-beaten +face grew positively cheerful over the way Lawrence was really +reforming. + +Broussard knew that Anita would not come to the Christmas Eve ball, +because in the evening her father liked her to read to him. But +Broussard went to the ball, and for the first time found a Christmas +ball dull. Flowers were scarce at Fort Blizzard, but by the +expenditure of much time and money Broussard succeeded in getting a +great box of fresh white roses for Anita on Christmas Day. + +Broussard went to the early service at the chapel in the darkness that +comes before the dawn. The little chapel shone with lights and echoed +with the triumphant Christmas music. It was quite full, but Anita sat +alone in the C. O.'s pew. She was all in black, except a single white +rose pinned over her heart. When the service was over, and the people +had streamed out, and the brilliant lights were replaced by a radiance, +faint and soft, Anita remained on her knees, praying. Broussard +remained on his knees, too, thinking he was praying, but in reality +worshipping Anita. Presently, she rose and passed out into the cold, +gray dawn. Broussard went out, too, meaning to intercept her and walk +home with her. But at the door Kettle appeared, carrying in his arms +the After-Clap, now nearly three years old, and capable of making a +great deal of noise. At once, he sent up a shout for "'Nita!" and +Anita, cruelly oblivious of Broussard's claims, took the After-Clap by +the hand and ran off to see his Christmas tree--that being the +After-Clap's day. Kettle, however, lagged behind to administer +consolation to Broussard. + +"Doan' you mind, Mr. Broussard," said Kettle, confidentially, "Miss +'Nita, she's jes' cipherin' on you all the time. She makes the Kun'l +tell her all 'bout them songs you done sing him that night in the +mountains, an' she and Miss Betty laffed fit ter kill when the Kun'l +tell 'em he made you sing like the devil to keep him from groanin' over +his ankle." + +For six mortal days, Broussard sought his chance to be alone with +Anita, but that chance eluded him in a maddening manner. Either the +Colonel or the After-Clap was perpetually in his way, and neither +Beverley Fortescue nor Kettle, who were his open allies, nor Mrs. +Fortescue, who was secretly on his side, could help him. Broussard, +however, swore a mighty oath that he would have Anita's promise before +the new year began. + +Late in the afternoon of the last day of the year, Broussard, who kept, +from the officers' club, a pretty close watch on the Commanding +Officer's house, saw Anita come out in her dark furs and the little +black gown and hat in which she looked most charming, and take her way +to the chapel. There was a back entrance, screened from the plaza by a +stone wall and a projection of the chapel, and Broussard thought there +could not be a better place for the words he meant to speak to Anita. +He seized his cap and ran out, ignoring the jeers of his comrades, who +had seen Anita pass and suspected Broussard's errand. In two minutes +he had entered the little walled-in spot, and there, indeed, stood +Anita. Within the chapel he could hear voices--the chaplain's voice +directing some changes; Kettle and a couple of men moving seats and +arranging things at the chaplain's directions. But as long as they +remained in the chapel they mattered little to Broussard. + +Anita's cheeks hung out their red flags of welcome. + +"At last!" said Broussard, clasping her hand, "I have watched and +waited for this chance!" + +In the little secluded spot, with a small, crescent moon stealing into +the sunset sky and the happy stars shining down upon them, Broussard +told Anita of his love. He knew not what words he spoke, for Love, the +master magician, speaks a thousand languages, and is eloquent in all. +Nor did Anita know what reply she made. After a deep and rapturous +silence they returned to earth, only to find it still Heaven. + +"I love you better than anything on earth except my honor," said +Broussard, holding Anita's little gloved hand in his. + +"Yes," answered Anita softly, "next your honor." + +"And I have loved you for a long time," Broussard continued, "for a +whole year." In their brief, bright lives, a whole year seemed a long +time. "But you were so young--last year you were but a child, and I +was ashamed of myself for what I said to you the night of the music +ride--it isn't right to speak words of love to a girl who is not yet a +woman. Will you forgive me?" + +Anita's forgiveness shone in her eyes and smiled upon her scarlet mouth +when Broussard laid his lips on hers. + +Suddenly, a wild shriek resounded. The After-Clap, who had been in +hiding behind Anita, and was unseen by Broussard, and forgotten by +Anita, emerged and set up a violent protest. Being now a sturdy +three-year-old, he was well able to express himself. + +"You go 'way!" screamed the After-Clap, raising a copper-toed foot, and +kicking Broussard's shins. + +"You let my 'Nita 'lone, you bad man!" + +The After-Clap's shrieks brought the chaplain and Kettle and a couple +of soldiers quickly out of the chapel. Meanwhile, with what Broussard +thought superhuman and intelligent malice, the After-Clap dragged the +iron gate open that led to the plaza, and rushed straight into the arms +of Colonel Fortescue, returning from his first walk, aided by a stick +in one hand and Mrs. Fortescue's arm on the other side. + +"Daddy! Daddy! You come here and beat Mr. Broussard. He kissed +'Nita! He kissed 'Nita!" shrieked the After-Clap. + +Broussard and Anita, standing in the circle of eyes, were much +embarrassed; Kettle, grabbing the After-Clap, shook him well, saying: + +"Heish yo' mouth! you didn't see no sich a thing!" + +This only increased the After-Clap's indignation, and he bawled louder +than ever: + +"I see Mr. Broussard kiss 'Nita! I see him kiss my 'Nita." + +"Yes, I kissed Anita," responded Broussard, recovering his native +impudence, "but she is my Anita and not your Anita any longer." + +This produced another attack on Broussard's shins by the After-Clap. + +"I think," said Mrs. Fortescue demurely, "Kettle had better take the +After-Clap home." + +"So do I," said Broussard, "he has been very much in my way ever since +he began yelling." + +The Colonel and the chaplain began to make conversation, as Kettle +carried the After-Clap off, still proclaiming he had seen Broussard +kiss Anita. The two soldiers grinned silently at each other. The +whole party started off to the C. O.'s house, Mrs. Fortescue walking +between the Colonel and the chaplain, while Broussard and Anita brought +up the rear. + +When they reached the house, Colonel Fortescue went straight to his +office. Mrs. Fortescue and the chaplain made little jokes on the +lovers, but the Colonel had looked as solemn as the grave. The hour +had come when his little Anita was no longer his. + +"Come," said Broussard to Anita, "let us face the battery now." + +Hand in hand they entered Colonel Fortescue's office. The Colonel +behaved better than anybody expected. When he had given his formal +consent, Anita slipped behind his chair and said to him softly: + +"Daddy, I made up my mind when I was a little girl, a long time ago, +that I would never marry any man that was not as good as you, my +darling daddy!" + +Fond fathers are generally won by these tender pleas. Broussard turned +his head away as the Colonel drew his daughter to him; the passion of +father-love was too sacred even for the eyes of a lover. On the way +out they met Sergeant McGillicuddy, who tried to look unconscious. + +"Congratulate me!" cried Broussard. + +"I do, sir," replied the Sergeant, solemnly, "and if I may make bold to +say it, the Colonel will make a father-in-law-and-a-half, sir." + +This was enigmatic, but Broussard was too happy then to study enigmas. + +That night, when the Colonel, limping a little, entered the ballroom he +leaned upon Beverley's strong young arm, while on the other side was +Mrs. Fortescue, always particularly radiant in evening dress. +Broussard and Anita walked behind them. The news, as rashly announced +by the After-Clap, that Mr. Broussard had kissed Anita, had spread like +wildfire through the post. Everybody knew it, and everybody smiled +upon Broussard and Anita; even second lieutenants who envied +Broussard's luck; good wishes and kind congratulations were showered +upon them. + +It was a very gay ball; as Colonel Fortescue held, the sharp cold, the +radiant arc lights, always going, the wall of ice by which the fort was +surrounded, gave an edge to joy as well as to pain. To mark this last +ball of the year the young officers introduced some of the prankish +features of their happy cadet days. + +At five minutes to midnight, when the great floor was a whirl of dainty +young girls, their heads crowned with roses or with flashing ornaments +that matched their sparkling eyes, and with dashing young officers, +glittering in gold and blue, the band, with Neroda leading, stopped +suddenly. A handsome young bugler appeared and in the midst of the +tense silence the wonderful melody of "Taps," the last farewell, was +played for the dying year. Then Anita, as the commanding officer's +daughter, had the honor of turning off the lights. To-night she looked +her sweetest, wearing a little white dancing gown that showed her +satin-slippered feet. With Broussard escorting her, Anita walked the +length of the long ballroom to the point where, with one touch of the +hand every light went out in an instant of time, and the ballroom was +plunged into the blackness of darkness and the stillness of silence. + +The band then played softly the delicious waltz "Auf Wiedersehen," with +its sweet promise of eternal meeting. + +On the stroke of twelve came a great roar and reverberance from the +outside and a dazzling flash of light blazed in at the window from a +_feu de joie_ on the plaza. At the same moment, the young bugler +played the splendid fanfare that welcomes the dawn, the reveille. +Broussard and Anita, looking into each others' smiling eyes, began the +new year of their perfect happiness with the joyous echo of the silver +trumpet proclaiming the coming of the sunrise. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BETTY AT FORT BLIZZARD*** + + +******* This file should be named 18022.txt or 18022.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/0/2/18022 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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