A Soldier Entangled

: A Daughter Of The Sioux

December and bitter cold. The river frozen stiff. The prairie sheeted in

unbroken snow. Great log fires roaring in every open fireplace. Great

throngs of soldiery about the red hot barrack stoves, for all the

columns were again in winter columns, and Flint's two companies had "got

the route" for home. They were to march on the morrow, escorting as far

as Laramie the intractables of Stabber's band, some few of the Indians

> to go in irons, among them Ralph Moreau, or Eagle Wing, now a notorious

character.



The general was there at Frayne, with old "Black Bill," erstwhile chief

inspector of the department, once a subaltern in days long gone by when

Laramie was "Ultima Thule" of the plains forts. The general had heard

Flint's halting explanation of his laxity in Moreau's case, saying

almost as little in reply as his old friend Grant when "interviewed" by

those of whom he disapproved. "Black Bill" it was who waxed explosive

when once he opened on the major, and showed that amazed New Englander

something of the contents of Moreau's Indian kit, including the now

famous hunting pouch, all found with Stabber's village. A precious

scoundrel, as it turned out, was this same Moreau, with more sins to

answer for than many a convicted jail bird, and with not one follower

left to do him reverence except, perhaps, that lonely girl, self

secluded at the Hays. Hay himself, though weak, was beginning to sit up.

Dade, Blake and Ray were all once more housed in garrison. Truscott and

Billings, with their hardy troopers, had taken temporary station at the

post, until the general had decided upon the disposition of the array of

surrendered Indians, nearly three hundred in number, now confined under

strong guard in the quartermaster's corral at the flats, with six "head

devils," including Eagle Wing, in the garrison prison.



All the officers, with two exceptions, were again for duty at Frayne.

Webb, laid by the heels at Beecher, his feet severely frozen, and

Beverly Field, who, recalled from a brief and solemn visit to a far

southern home, had reached the post at nightfall of the 10th. There had

hardly been allowed him time to uplift a single prayer, to receive a

word of consolation from the lips of friends and kindred who loved the

honored father, borne to his last resting place. "Come as soon as

possible," read the message wired him by Ray, and, though the campaign

was over, it was evident that something was amiss, and, with all his

sorrow fresh upon him, the lad, sore in body and soul, had hastened to

obey.



And it was Ray who received and welcomed him and took him straightway to

his own cosy quarters, that Mrs. Ray, and then the Blakes, might add

their sympathetic and cordial greeting,--ere it came to telling why it

was that these, his friends despite that trouble that could not be

talked of, were now so earnest in their sympathy,--before telling him

that his good name had become involved, that there were allegations

concerning him which the chief had ordered "pigeon-holed" until he

should come to face them. A pity it is that Bill Hay could not have been

there, too, but his fever had left him far too weak to leave his room.

Only Ray and Blake were present and it was an interview not soon, if

ever, to be forgotten.



"I'm no hand at breaking things gently, Field," said Ray, when finally

the three were closeted together in the captain's den. "It used to worry

Webb that you were seen so often riding with Miss--Miss Flower up to

Stabber's village, and, in the light of what has since happened, you

will admit that he had reasons. Hear me through," he continued, as

Field, sitting bolt upright in the easy chair, essayed to speak.

"Neither Captain Blake nor I believe one word to your dishonor in the

matter, but it looks as though you had been made a tool of, and you are

by no means the first man. It was to see this fellow, Moreau--Eagle

Wing--whom you recognized at the Elk,--she was there so frequently--was

it not?"



Into Field's pale face there had come a look of infinite distress. For a

moment he hesitated, and little beads began to start out on his

forehead.



"Captain Ray," he finally said, "they tell me--I heard it from the

driver on the way up from Rock Springs--that Miss Flower is virtually a

prisoner, that she had been in league with the Sioux, and yet, until I

can see her--can secure my release from a promise, I have to answer you

as I answered you before--I cannot say."



Blake started impatiently and heaved up from his lounging chair, his

long legs taking him in three strides to the frost-covered window at the

front. Ray sadly shook his dark, curly head.



"You are to see her, Field. The general--bless him for a

trump!--wouldn't listen to a word against you in your absence; but that

girl has involved everybody--you, her aunt, who has been devotion itself

to her, her uncle, who was almost her slave. She deliberately betrayed

him into the hands of the Sioux. In fact this red robber and villain,

Moreau, is the only creature she hasn't tried to 'work,' and he

abandoned her after she had lied, sneaked and stolen for him."



"Captain Ray!" The cry came from pallid lips, and the young soldier

started to his feet, appalled at such accusation.



"Every word of it is true," said Ray. "She joined him after his wounds.

She shared his escape from the village at our approach. She was with him

when Blake nabbed them at Bear Cliff. She was going with him from here.

What manner of girl was that, Field, for you to be mixed up with?"



"He is her half brother!" protested Field, with kindling eyes. "She told

me--everything--told me of their childhood together, and--"



"Told you a pack of infernal lies!" burst in Blake, no longer able to

contain himself. "Made you a cat's paw; led you even to taking her by

night to see him when she learned the band were to jump for the

mountains--used you, by God, as he used her, and, like the Indian she

is, she'd turn and stab you now, if you stood in her way or his. Why,

Field, that brute's her lover, and she's his--"



"It's a lie! You shall not say it, sir!" cried Field, beside himself

with wrath and amaze, as he stood quivering from head to foot, still

weak from wounds, fever and distress of mind. But Ray sprang to his

side. "Hush, Blake! Hush, Field! Don't speak. What is it, Hogan?" And

sharply he turned him to the door, never dreaming what had caused the

interruption.



"The general, sir, to see the captain!"



And there, in the hallway, throwing off his heavy overcoat and

"arctics," there, with that ever faithful aide in close attendance, was

the chief they loved; dropped in, all unsuspecting, just to say

good-bye. "I knocked twice," began Hogan, but Ray brushed him aside,

for, catching sight of the captain's face, the general was already at

the door. Another moment and he had discovered Field, and with both

hands extended, all kindliness and sympathy, he stepped at once across

the room to greet him.



"I was so very sorry to hear the news," said he. "I knew your father

well in the old days. How's your wound? What brought you back so soon?"



And then there was one instant of awkward silence and then--Ray spoke.



"That was my doing, general. I believed it best that he should be here

to meet you and--every allegation at his expense. Mr. Field, I feel

sure, does not begin to know them yet, especially as to the money."



"It was all recovered," said the general. "It was found almost

intact--so was much of that that they took from Hay. Even if it hadn't

been, Hay assumed all responsibility for the loss."



With new bewilderment in his face, the young officer, still white and

trembling, was gazing, half stupefied, from one to the other.



"What money?" he demanded. "I never heard--"



"Wait," said the general, with significant glance at Ray, who was about

to speak. "I am to see them--Mrs. Hay and her niece--at nine o'clock. It

is near that now. Webb cannot be with us, but I shall want you, Blake.

Say nothing until then. Sit down, Mr. Field, and tell me about that leg.

Can you walk from here to Hay's, I wonder?"



Then the ladies, Mrs. Ray and her charming next door neighbor, appeared,

and the general adjourned the conference forthwith, and went with them

to the parlor.



"Say nothing more," Ray found time to whisper. "You'll understand it all

in twenty minutes."



And at nine o'clock the little party was on its way through the sharp

and wintry night, the general and Captain Blake, side by side, ahead,

the aide-de-camp and Mr. Field close following. Dr. Waller, who had been

sent for, met them near the office. The sentries at the guard-house

were being changed as the five tramped by along the snapping and

protesting board walk, and a sturdy little chap, in fur cap and

gauntlets, and huge buffalo overcoat, caught sight of them and, facing

outward, slapped his carbine down to the carry--the night signal of

soldier recognition of superior rank as practised at the time.



"Tables are turned with a vengeance," said the general, with his quiet

smile. "That's little Kennedy, isn't it? I seem to see him everywhere

when we're campaigning. Moreau was going to eat his heart out next time

they met, I believe."



"So he said," grinned Blake, "before Winsor's bullet fetched him. Pity

it hadn't killed instead of crippling him."



"He's a bad lot," sighed the general. "Wing won't fly away from Kennedy,

I fancy."



"Not if there's a shot left in his belt," said Blake. "And Ray is

officer-of-the-day. There'll be no napping on guard this night."



At the barred aperture that served for window on the southward front, a

dark face peered forth in malignant hate as the speakers strode by. But

it shrank back, when the sentry once more tossed his carbine to the

shoulder, and briskly trudged beneath the bars. Six Indians shared that

prison room, four of their number destined to exile in the distant

East,--to years, perhaps, within the casemates of a seaboard fort--the

last place on earth for a son of the warlike Sioux.



"They know their fate, I understand," said Blake, as the general moved

on again.



"Oh, yes. Their agent and others have been here with Indian Bureau

orders, permitting them to see and talk with the prisoners. Their

shackles are to be riveted on to-night. Nearly time now, isn't it?"



"At tattoo, sir. The whole guard forms then, and the four are to be

moved into the main room for the purpose. I am glad this is the last of

it."



"Yes, we'll start them with Flint at dawn in the morning. He'll be more

than glad to get away, too. He hasn't been over lucky here, either."



A strange domestic--(the McGrath having been given warning and removed

to Sudsville) showed them into the trader's roomy parlor, the largest

and most pretentious at the post. Hay had lavished money on his home and

loved it and the woman who had so adorned it. She came in almost

instantly to greet them, looking piteously into the kindly, bearded face

of the general, and civilly, yet absently, welcoming the others. She did

not seem to realize that Field, who stood in silence by the side of

Captain Blake, had been away. She had no thought, apparently, for anyone

but the chief himself,--he who held the destinies of her dear ones in

the hollow of his hand. His first question was for Fawn Eyes, the little

Ogalalla maiden whose history he seemed to know. "She is well and trying

to be content with me," was the reply. "She has been helping poor

Nanette. She does not seem to understand or realize what is coming to

him. Have they--ironed him--yet?"






"I believe not," said the general. "But it has to be done to-night. They

start so early in the morning."



"And you won't let her see him, general. No good can come from it. She

declares she will go to him in the morning, if you prohibit it

to-night," and the richly jewelled hands of the unhappy woman were

clasped almost in supplication.



"By morning he will be beyond her reach. The escort starts at six."



"And--these gentlemen here--" She looked nervously, appealingly about

her. "Must they--all know?"



"These and the inspector general. He will be here in a moment. But,

indeed, Mrs. Hay, it is all known, practically," said the general,

with sympathy and sorrow in his tone.



"Not all--not all, general! Even I don't know all--She herself has said

so. Hush! She's coming."



She was there! They had listened for swish of skirts or fall of slender

feet upon the stairway, but there had not been a sound. They saw the

reason as she halted at the entrance, lifting with one little hand the

costly Navajo blanket that hung as a portiere. In harmony with the

glossy folds of richly dyed wool, she was habited in Indian garb from

head to foot. In two black, lustrous braids, twisted with feather and

quill and ribbon, her wealth of hair hung over her shoulders down the

front of her slender form. A robe of dark blue stuff, rich with broidery

of colored bead and bright-hued plumage, hung, close clinging, and her

feet were shod in soft moccasins, also deftly worked with bead and

quill. But it was her face that chained the gaze of all, and that drew

from the pallid lips of Lieutenant Field a gasp of mingled consternation

and amaze. Without a vestige of color; with black circles under her

glittering eyes; with lines of suffering around the rigid mouth and with

that strange pinched look about the nostrils that tells of anguish,

bodily and mental, Nanette stood at the doorway, looking straight at the

chief. She had no eyes for lesser lights. All her thought, apparently,

was for him,--for him whose power it was, in spite of vehement

opposition, to deal as he saw fit with the prisoner in his hands. Appeal

on part of Friends Societies, Peace and Indian Associations had failed.

The President had referred the matter in its entirety to the general

commanding in the field, and the general had decided. One moment she

studied his face, then came slowly forward. No hand extended. No sign of

salutation,--greeting,--much less of homage. Ignoring all others

present, she addressed herself solely to him.



"Is it true you have ordered him in irons and to Fort Rochambeau?" she

demanded.



"It is."



"Simply because he took part with his people when your soldiers made war

on them?" she asked, her pale lips quivering.



"You well know how much else there was," answered the general, simply.

"And I have told you he deserves no pity--of yours."



"Oh, you say he came back here a spy!" she broke forth, impetuously.

"It is not so! He never came near the post,--nearer than Stabber's

village, and there he had a right to be. You say 'twas he who led them

to the warpath,--that he planned the robbery here and took the money. He

never knew they were going, till they were gone. He never stole a penny.

That money was loaned him honestly--and for a purpose--and with the hope

and expectation of rich profit thereby."



"By you, do you mean?" asked the general, calmly, as before.



"By me? No! What money had I? He asked it and it was given him--by

Lieutenant Field."



A gasp that was almost a cry following instantly on this insolent

assertion--a sound of stir and start among the officers at whom she had

not as yet so much as glanced, now caused the girl to turn one swift,

contemptuous look their way, and in that momentary flash her eyes

encountered those of the man she had thus accused. Field stood like one

turned suddenly to stone, gazing at her with wild, incredulous eyes. One

instant she seemed to sway, as though the sight had staggered her, but

the rally was as instantaneous. Before the general could interpose a

word, she plunged on again:--



"He, at least, had a heart and conscience. He knew how wrongfully Moreau

had been accused,--that money was actually needed to establish his

claim. It would all have been repaid if your soldiers had not forced

this wicked war, and--" and now in her vehemence her eyes were flashing,

her hand uplifted, when, all on a sudden, the portiere was raised the

second time, and there at the doorway stood the former inspector

general, "Black Bill." At sight of him the mad flow of words met sudden

stop. Down, slowly down, came the clinched, uplifted hand. Her eyes,

glaring as were Field's a moment agone, were fixed in awful fascination

on the grizzled face. Then actually she recoiled as the veteran officer

stepped quietly forward into the room.



"And what?" said he, with placid interest. "I haven't heard you rave in

many a moon, Nanette. You are your mother over again--without your

mother's excuse for fury."



But a wondrous silence had fallen on the group. The girl had turned

rigid. For an instant not a move was made, and, in the hush of all but

throbbing hearts, the sound of the trumpets pealing forth the last notes

of tattoo came softly through the outer night.



Then sudden, close at hand, yet muffled by double door and windows, came

other sounds--sounds of rush and scurry,--excited voices,--cries of

halt! halt!--the ring of a carbine,--a yell of warning--another shot,

and Blake and the aide-de-camp sprang through the hallway to the storm

door without. Mrs. Hay, shuddering with dread, ran to the door of her

husband's chamber beyond the dining room. She was gone but a moment.

When she returned the little Ogalalla maid, trembling and wild-eyed, had

come running down from aloft. The general had followed into the lighted

hallway,--they were all crowding there by this time,--and the voice of

Captain Ray, with just a tremor of excitement about it, was heard at

the storm door on the porch, in explanation to the chief.



"Moreau, sir! Broke guard and stabbed Kennedy. The second shot dropped

him. He wants Fawn Eyes, his sister."



A scream of agony rang through the hall, shrill and piercing. Then the

wild cry followed:



"You shall not hold me! Let me go to him, I say--I am his wife!"



More

;