第 17 页

had heard of that too; the adjutant had told him about it, and there was nothing new in it. What did it amount to, after all? said Mac to himself. What good result can follow? No matter how zealously a

fellow may serve in the field,--no matter what dangers he may encounter, hardships he may endure, wounds he may receive, Indians he may kill or capture,--in this blessed republican land of ours the principle

is too well established that promotion in the line goes only by seniority, and to the staff--like kissing--mainly by favor. Not even a "brevet," he well knew, could be won by daring conduct in action against

savage foes; and, to sum the matter up in a few words, the men who stood the best chance for advancement in the army were those who studiously avoided excitement of any kind, especially that to be found in

Western campaigns. They all understood this thing at Laramie just as well as he did, and therefore appreciated his soldierly conduct for what it was really worth.

"But the major thinks it may be the means

of removing that stoppage against your pay, Mr. McLean," said Mrs. Miller. "Surely the general will do something to secure recognition or reward."

"I fear not, Mrs. Miller," was the doleful answer; "that

is just about the last thing this government of ours is apt to do; what I've got before me is the prospect of having to live for a year or more on 'board wages,' and see my pay raked in month after month to

make up for the stealings of a rascal too sharp for any of us even to suspect. It would be hard at any time, but--it's rough now, and no mistake." And poor Mac turned his head away as he spoke.

There was

silence a moment. The womanly heart was touched at his despair and suffering, yet impotent to cheer him. Suddenly she bent over him as he lay there, so white and weary looking.

"Mac, don't, don't worry so.

I can't bear to see you troubled. I know--I can't help knowing--what's the matter; and indeed,--indeed I think you have cause to hope rather than despair. Did you know he had gone away again?"

"Yes. Weeks

told me."

"She cares nothing whatever for him. Janet Bruce is with her all the time, Mac, and she told me she almost shrank from him. Now, if he were simply her father's friend, she could not but like him.

Everybody likes him, Mac, and I have reason to know what a considerate and thorough gentleman he is. But it is because he has attempted to be more that she has turned against him, and Janet says she knows he

has seen it and made up his mind to accept it as final. The last two days of his visit he avoided her all the time, only conversed with her when they were unavoidably thrown together, and was then simply

bright and laughing and friendly. Janet says that Nellie seemed inexpressibly relieved by the change in his manner. Come, old fellow, cheer up and get well, and let us have you out in the sunshine a day or

two, and then we'll see if a few long talks with her won't help matters. She's a child yet, and almost too young to fall in love with anybody. You know she has seen next to nothing of the world."

"That is

just what stings and torments me so, Mrs. Miller," answered McLean, with unexpected energy. "That is what weighs upon my heart and soul. She has seen very little of the world. She is young, inexperienced,

and motherless. Her father does not like me, and I know it, and simply because he saw my deep interest in her, and, having other views, he was determined to break it off in the bud. What possible right have

I--poor, friendless, utterly without position or influence, saddled with this mountain of uncontracted debt--to seek to win such a girl as she for my wife? What have I to offer but misfortune and trouble?

No, Mrs. Miller, it is all useless. If I have stood between her and such a future as he could offer her, God forgive me. I did not know the millstone that was to be hung about my neck. I did not dream of his

existence. I just drifted in, and now I could pray heaven she hasn't."

Again he turned away, with something very like a sob in his weak voice, and buried his face in his arm.

"Mac," she persisted, "I'm

not going to sit here and see you accusing yourself of wrong-doing in this way. Let me tell you that if she does care for you, and I believe she does, Nellie Bayard would rather be your wife in one room and

a kitchen than live in opulence in New York or Chicago. What's more, she would wait for you loyally, faithfully, until you were thoroughly on your feet again, with this debt paid and a little laid by. As for

Dr. Bayard's plans for her, he is worldly enough, of course, to seek such wealth as Roswell Holmes's for his daughter; but the man himself is changing his mind. You should have seen him devoting himself to

Miss Forrest out here one evening. Now, there's a girl who would appreciate his money and spend it for him like a duchess."

But McLean was silent.

"Did you get to know her at all well?" asked Mrs. Miller

presently.

"Very slightly indeed."

"And yet, living in the same building with her, as you and Mr. Hatton did, I fancied you would see her quite frequently."

"I didn't. I believe Hat did."

"Yes--his

rooms being up-stairs, and opening on that gallery where she used to promenade so much, it was natural that he should see more of her. It worried Jeannie Bruce not a little. I never knew whether she cared

for Mr. Hatton or not until Miss Forrest took to parading up and down in front of his rooms."

"Hat says she never came as far as his window. She turned about before she reached the hall-door always."

"Tell me, Mac. Do you think Mr. Hatton liked her?"

McLean's pale face flushed a little. He felt that questions were trembling on her lips which he did not wish to answer, and the one thing he could not do

was equivocate.

"I'd rather you'd wait and ask him," he finally said.

"Oh! I don't mean as he likes Janet Bruce; what I meant was--well, you or he or both of you--did you feel that you--well--trusted

her?"

McLean fairly squirmed in his nest under the sheets. This was just the drift he had dreaded. How he wished Weeks would come in and tell her they were talking too much and would be sure to throw him

into a fever again, but no Weeks was to be had; he had gone home for a rest, and probably would not appear again until afternoon. He glanced uneasily into the front room.

"No! The hospital attendant is not

there, Mac. I sent him off on an errand. You need not be afraid of his hearing,--and, besides, he has heard you talk about her. I thought you ought to know."

"Has heard me talk about her,--Miss Forrest?

What on earth do you mean, Mrs. Miller?" And now he had turned toward her, his face filled with anxiety and alarm.

"Don't worry, Mac. I found it out instantly. You know he is a married man, and his wife

has been my laundress for over five years. You talked about her when you were delirious,--not very much,--nothing--nothing I did not already know; but Dr. Weeks turned him away and took care of you from the

moment Lachlan went for him and told him you were talking wild, and of course his wife wormed out of him why he was not needed for two days, and, little by little, what you had said. Luckily she came right

to me, and I put a stopper on her tongue."

"My God! My God! What have I done?" moaned McLean, as he threw his arm over his eyes. "What did I say? What have I revealed, Mrs. Miller? I must know."

"Nothing; again I assure you, nothing that we--that is--I--did not already have good cause to suspect and know. It came to me from Robinson, Mac, before you dreamed of anything of the kind, so you are in no

wise responsible. She must have a mania, there's no other explanation for it; but we're going to keep it all quiet. No one is to know until Captain Forrest gets back at the end of the campaign. Then he will

be told, and restitution be made. But isn't it dreadful?"

For all answer McLean would only shake his head. He was stunned--horrified at thought of the wild revelation he had made. He could not bear to

speak of it. Yet now he felt that he must know how much he had let fall.

"It is the last time that fellow Lachlan shall enter this room," he muttered between his teeth. "I'll have Weeks send him back to

his company this very day."

"No, don't blame Lachlan. The poor fellow meant no harm. He only told it as evidence of the extremity of your delirium. He does not dream the truth with regard to her, though I

fear his wife does. Why, Mac, if they had not come away from Robinson when they did, the whole post would have been in an uproar. Things were disappearing all the time,--money and valuables,--and since they

left there it has all stopped, but has begun here. You and Mr. Hatton are not the only losers. Mr. Holmes confessed to me that his porte-monnaie had been stolen from his fur overcoat the night we were there

at the doctor's, and I saw her standing by it, patting it and pretending to admire it; and I know that she has been sending registered letters away, and that bills are constantly coming to her from the East.

Mrs. Griffin told me so. And then Mr. Hatton--well, you know he has confided in me in ever so many things--he told me a good deal before he went away. No, indeed, Mac. It isn't that you have revealed

anything I did not know. It is only that I felt you ought to be told of it."

But McLean could not be comforted. "Who else knows of this?" he presently asked.

"I have told the major. We had talked it all

over before your illness. Mrs. Bruce knows, for she too gets letters from Robinson. And perhaps there are one or two who suspect, but that is all. Mr. Hatton is the one who knows most about it all, and has

most reason to believe in her guilt. When did you become convinced?"

"I don't know,--that night Hatton told me, I suppose,--the night the major came to see me, and Hatton begged off. You know about it?"

"The major told me he had gone to see you about some evidence you had; Mr. Hatton met him at the door and explained that you were asleep. Was that the night you mean, Mr. McLean? Was that the night that you

became convinced that she was the thief?"

"That was the night."

"But what happened then to convince you? I ought to know. It is far better that I should know than have this cruel half belief."

"I--Mrs.

Miller, forgive me, but it is a matter I cannot speak of. Hatton and I 'shook hands' on it we would say nothing to any one of our knowledge, and I cannot speak of it. Wait until he returns. He ought to be

back to-morrow. You know he only went with the guard to the stockade up on Sage Creek. It's only three days' march. If he will tell you, well and good; but I will not say anything more,--just now, at any

rate."

There came a quick step along the wooden piazza without, a tap at the door, and Dr. Weeks peered in. Glancing over her shoulder, Mrs. Miller saw that his face was white,--that he was beckoning to

her; and she presently arose and went into the front room. She heard hoof-beats passing the house at a rapid trot. She heard hurrying feet and excited voices, and then the young doctor stretched forth his

hand at the door-way and led her into the hall.

"Stay with McLean as much as you can, and keep this from him if possible. A courier is just in who got through, God knows how, during the night. Hatton and

his party were corralled yesterday beyond Rawhide Butte. Several of them are killed already. The cavalry start at once, and I go with them."

XV.

For a man who prided himself on the ease and self-

possession which made him so distinguished a feature in society, Dr. Bayard could not but confess to himself that the sudden orders which sent his assistant away left him in a somewhat embarrassing position.

The care of Weeks's patients now devolved upon the senior, and among these patients was one who much needed his attention, but whom he shrank from seeing,--Randall McLean,--and another whom he greatly

desired to attend, but who shrank from seeing him,--Miss Forrest.

Mrs. Miller was still at the bedside of the former when Dr. Bayard nerved himself to make the necessary call. To his great relief, the

young soldier had fallen into a fitful doze and was unconscious of his presence. Mrs. Miller, in low tones, described his condition; and the doctor was content to go without other examination, though he left

directions with the attendant as to what was to be done when the patient awaked. Next he repaired to Mrs. Forrest's rooms, and was measurably soothed and flattered by her appreciative reception. He bade her

pay no attention to the rumors rushing through the post, and dinned into her affrighted ears by Celestine, as to the probable fate of Hatton and his little command. He pointed out to her, as he had to other

ladies whom he had been summoned to attend that gruesome afternoon, that it was not the first time Mr. Hatton had been "corralled" by the Sioux, and that he had always successfully kept them at respectful

distance, and his own command under cover, until the rescuers in shape of cavalry could reach the scene. It is true that in this instance the attack seemed to have been fierce and sudden, and the courier

gave the names of two men who were killed instantly; but, said he, as that attack was repelled, and Hatton lost no time in getting his men into a little hollow, he believed and Major Miller believed that

they could "stand off" the Indians indefinitely. The cavalry would certainly reach them early in the morning, and that would be the end of it. Forty-two hours wasn't very long compared with other sieges

those infantrymen had sustained in escorting trains through the Indian country, if they only had water for their wounded, all would go well. There was the main trouble, said the doctor. What with the

Niobrara and the Rawhide and the little streams running into them, and the spring at Box Elder, close to the road, there was so much water along the route that possibly they had neglected to fill the barrel

on their wagon and the canteen carried by each man. If that were the case, and the Indians had surrounded them some distance from any spring or stream, then the wounded might, indeed, have to suffer a day or