A Woman's Plot

: A Daughter Of The Sioux

Woman's intuition often far outstrips the slower mental process of the

other sex. The mother who has to see a beloved daughter's silent

suffering, well knowing another girl to be, however indirectly, the

cause of it, sees all manner of other iniquities in that other girl.

Kind, charitable and gentle was Mrs. Dade, a wise mother, too, as well

as most loving, but she could look with neither kindness nor charity on

Miss F ower. She had held her peace; allowed no word of censure or

criticism to escape her when the women were discussing that young lady;

but all the more vehement was her distrust, because thus pent up and

repressed. With the swiftness of feminine thought, for no man had yet

suspected, she fathomed the secret of the trader's sudden going; and,

carried away by the excitement of the moment and the belief that none

but her husband could hear, she had made that startling announcement.

And her intuition was unerring. Nanette Flower was indeed gone.



Yet for nearly an hour she stood alone in her conviction. Her husband

quickly cautioned silence, and, going forth, gave instructions to the

couriers that sent them speeding for the Rawlins road. But at seven

o'clock Mrs. Hay herself appeared and asked to see the general, who was

taking at the moment his accustomed bracer, tonic and stimulant,--the

only kind he was ever known to use--a cold bath. So it was to Mrs. Dade,

in all apparent frankness and sincerity, the trader's wife began her

tale.



Everyone at Frayne well knew that her anxiety as to the outcome of the

battle on the Elk had well nigh equalled that of the wives and

sweethearts within the garrison. While her niece, after the first day's

excitement, kept to her room, the aunt went flitting from house to

house, full of sympathy and suggestion, but obviously more deeply

concerned than they had ever seen her. Now, she seemed worried beyond

words at thought of her husband's having to go at just this time. It was

mainly on Nanette's account, she said. Only last night, with the mail

from Laramie, had come a letter posted in San Francisco the week before,

telling Miss Flower that her dearest friend and roommate for four years

at school, who had been on an extended bridal tour, would pass through

Rawlins, eastward bound, on Friday's train, and begging Nanette to meet

her and go as far at least as Cheyenne. Her husband, it seems, had been

hurriedly recalled to New York, and there was no help for it. Nanette

had expected to join her, and go all the way East in late October or

early November; had given her promise, in fact, for she was vastly

excited by the news, and despite headache and lassitude that had

oppressed her for two days past, she declared she must go, and Uncle

Will must take her. So, with only a small trunk, hastily packed, of her

belongings, and an iron-bound chest of the trader's, the two had started

before dawn in Uncle Bill's stout buckboard, behind his famous four mule

team, with Pete to drive, and two sturdy ranchmen as outriders, hoping

to reach the Medicine Bow by late afternoon, and rest at Brenner's

Ranch.



Confidentially, Mrs. Hay told Mrs. Dade that her husband was glad of the

excuse to take the route up the Platte instead of the old, rough trail

southeastward over the mountains to Rock Creek, for he had a large sum

in currency to get to the bank, and there were desperados along the

mountain route who well knew he would have to send that money in, and

were surely on lookout to waylay him--or it. Ever since pay-day two or

three rough characters had been hanging about the store, and Hay

suspected they were watching his movements, with the intention of

getting word to their comrades in crime the moment he started, and it

was almost as much to steal a march on them, as to oblige Nanette, he so

willingly left before it was light. The Rawlins road followed the Platte

Valley all the way to Brenner's, and, once there, he would feel safe,

whereas the Rock Creek trail wound through gulch, ravine and forest most

of the distance, affording many a chance for ambuscade. Of course, said

Mrs. Hay, if her husband had for a moment supposed the general would

wish to see him, he would not have gone, adding, with just a little

touch of proper, wifelike spirit, that on the general's previous visits

he had never seemed to care whether he saw Mr. Hay or not.



All this did Mrs. Dade accept with courteous yet guarded interest. They

were seated in the little army parlor, talking in low tone; for, with

unfailing tact, Mrs. Hay had asked for Esther, and expressed her

sympathy on hearing of her being unnerved by the excitement through

which they had passed. Well she knew that Field's serious condition had

not a little to do with poor Esther's prostration, but that was

knowledge never to be hinted at. Dade himself she did not wish to meet

just now. He was too direct a questioner, and had said and looked things

about Nanette that made her dread him. She knew that, however austere

and commanding he might be when acting under his own convictions, he was

abnormally susceptible to uxorial views, and the way to win the

captain's sympathies or avert his censure, was to secure the kindly

interest of his wife. Mrs. Hay knew that he had sent couriers off by the

Rawlins road--a significant thing in itself--and that couriers had come

in from the north with further news from Webb. She knew he had gone to

the office, and would probably remain there until summoned for

breakfast, and now was her time, for there was something further to be

spoken of, and while gentle and civil, Mrs. Dade had not been receptive.

It was evident to the trader's wife that her lord and master had made a

mistake in leaving when he did. He knew the general was on the way. He

knew there was that money business to be cleared up, yet she knew there

were reasons why she wanted him away,--reasons hardest of all to

plausibly explain. There were reasons, indeed, why she was glad Nanette

was gone. All Fort Frayne was devoted to Esther Dade and, however

unjustly, most of Fort Frayne,--men, women and children,--attributed

Field's defection, as they chose to call it, to Nanette--Nanette who had

set at naught her aunt's most ardent wishes, in even noticing Field at

all. Money, education, everything she could give had been lavished on

that girl, and now, instead of casting her net for that well-to-do and

distinguished bachelor, the major, thereby assuring for herself the

proud position of first lady of Fort Frayne, the wife of the commanding

officer, Nanette had been deliberately throwing herself away at a

beardless, moneyless second lieutenant, because he danced and rode well.

Mrs. Hay did not blame Mrs. Dade at that moment for hating the girl, if

hate she did. She could have shaken her, hard and well, herself, yet was

utterly nonplussed to find that Nanette cared next to nothing how badly

Field was wounded. What she seemed to care to know was about the

casualties among the Sioux, and, now that Stabber's village, the last

living trace of it, old men, squaws, children, pappooses, ponies and

puppies and other living creatures had, between two days, been whisked

away to the hills, there were no more Indians close at hand to whisper

information.



She was glad Nanette was gone, because Field, wounded and present, would

have advantages over possible suitors absent on campaign--because all

the women and a few of the men were now against her, and because from

some vague, intangible symptoms, Mrs. Hay had satisfied herself that

there was something in the wind Nanette was hiding even from her--her

benefactress, her best friend, and it seemed like cold-blooded

treachery. Hay had for two days been disturbed, nervous and unhappy, yet

would not tell her why. He had been cross-questioning Pete, "Crapaud"

and other employees, and searching about the premises in a way that

excited curiosity and even resentment, for the explanation he gave was

utterly inadequate. To satisfy her if possible, he had confided, as he

said, the fact that certain money for which Lieutenant Field was

accountable, had been stolen. The cash had been carefully placed in his

old-fashioned safe; the missing money, therefore, had been taken while

still virtually in his charge. "They might even suspect me," he said,

which she knew would not be the case. "They forbade my speaking of it to

anybody, but I simply had to tell you." She felt sure there was

something he was concealing; something he would not tell her; something

concerning Nanette, therefore, because she so loved Nanette, he shrank

from revealing what might wound her. Indeed, it was best that Nanette

should go for the time, at least, but Mrs. Hay little dreamed that

others would be saying--even this kindly, gentle woman before her--that

Nanette should have stayed until certain strange things were thoroughly

and satisfactorily explained.



But the moment she began, faltering not a little, to speak of matters

at the post, as a means of leading up to Nanette--matters concerning

Lieutenant Field and his financial affairs,--to her surprise Mrs. Dade

gently uplifted her hand and voice. "I am going to ask you not to tell

me, Mrs. Hay," said she. "Captain Dade has given me to understand there

was something to be investigated, but preferred that I should not ask

about it. Now, the general will be down in fifteen or twenty minutes. I

suggest that we walk over the hospital and see how Mr. Field is getting

on. We can talk, you know, as we go. Then you will breakfast with us.

Indeed, may I not give you a cup of coffee now, Mrs. Hay?"



But Mrs. Hay said no. She had had coffee before coming. She would go and

see if there was anything they could do for Field, and would try again

to induce Mrs. Dade to listen to certain of her explanations.



But Mrs. Dade was silent and preoccupied. She was thinking of that story

of Nanette's going, and wondering whether it could be true. She was

wondering if Mrs. Hay knew the couriers had gone to recall Hay, and that

if he and Nanette failed to return it might mean trouble for both. She

could accord to Mrs. Hay no confidences of her own, and had been

compelled to decline to listen to those with which Mrs. Hay would have

favored her. She was thinking of something still more perplexing. The

general, as her husband finally told her, had asked first thing to see

Hay, and later declared that he wished to talk with Mrs. Hay and see

Nanette. Was it possible he knew anything of what she knew--that

between Hay's household and Stabber's village there had been

communication of some kind--that the first thing found in the Indian

pouch brought home by Captain Blake, was a letter addressed in Nanette

Flower's hand, and with it three card photographs, two of them of

unmistakable Indians in civilized garb, and two letters, addressed, like

hers, to Mr. Ralph Moreau,--one care of the Rev. Jasper Strong,

Valentine, Nebraska, the other to the general delivery, Omaha?



Yes, that pouch brought in by Captain Blake had contained matter too

weighty for one woman, wise as she was, to keep to herself. Mrs. Blake,

with her husband's full consent, had summoned Mrs. Ray, soon after his

departure on the trail of Webb, and told her of the strange discovery.

They promptly decided there was only one thing to do with the

letter;--hand or send it, unopened, to Miss Flower. Then, as Blake had

had no time to examine further, they decided to search the pouch. There

might be more letters in the same superscription.



But there were not. They found tobacco, beeswax, an empty flask that had

contained whiskey, vaseline, Pond's Extract, salve, pigments, a few

sheets of note paper, envelopes and pencil--odd things to find in the

possession of a Sioux--a burning glass, matches, some quinine pills,

cigars, odds and ends of little consequence, and those letters addressed

to R. Moreau. The first one they had already decided should go to Miss

Flower. The others, they thought, should be handed unopened to the

commanding officer. They might contain important information, now that

the Sioux were at war and that Ralph Moreau had turned out probably to

be a real personage. But first they would consult Mrs. Dade. They had

done so the very evening of Blake's departure, even as he, long miles

away, was telling Kennedy his Irish heart was safe from the designs of

one blood-thirsty Sioux; and Mrs. Dade had agreed with them that

Nanette's letter should be sent to her forthwith, and that, as Captain

Blake had brought it in, the duty of returning the letter devolved upon

his wife.



And so, after much thought and consultation, a little note was written,

saying nothing about the other contents or about the pouch itself. "Dear

Miss Flower:" it read. "The enclosed was found by Captain Blake some

time this morning. He had no time to deliver it in person. Yours

sincerely. N. B. Blake."



She would enter into no explanation and would say nothing of the

consultation. She could not bring herself to sign her name as usually

she signed it, Nannie Bryan Blake. She had, as any man or woman would

have had, a consuming desire to know what Miss Flower could be writing

to a Mr. Moreau, whose correspondence turned up in this remarkable way,

in the pouch of a painted Sioux. But she and they deemed it entirely

needless to assure Miss Flower no alien eye had peered into the

mysterious pages. (It might have resulted in marvellous developments if

Miss Flower thought they had.) Note and enclosure were sent first thing

next morning by the trusty hand of Master Sanford Ray, himself, and by

him delivered in person to Miss Flower, who met him at the trader's

gate. She took it, he said; and smiled, and thanked him charmingly

before she opened it. She was coming out for her customary walk at the

hour of guard mounting, but the next thing he knew she had "scooted"

indoors again.



And from that moment Miss Flower had not been seen.



All this was Mrs. Dade revolving in mind as she walked pityingly by the

side of the troubled woman, only vaguely listening to her flow of words.

They had thought to be admitted to the little room in which the wounded

officer lay, but as they tiptoed into the wide, airy hall and looked

over the long vista of pink-striped coverlets in the big ward beyond,

the doctor himself appeared at the entrance and barred the way.



"Is there nothing we can do?" asked Mrs. Dade, with tears in her voice.

"Is he--so much worse?"



"Nothing can be done just now," answered Waller, gravely. "He has had

high fever during the night--has been wakeful and flighty again.

I--should rather no one entered just now."



And then they noted that even the steward who had been with poor Field

was now hovering about the door of the dispensary and that only Dr.

Waller remained within the room. "I am hoping to get him to sleep again

presently," said he. "And when he is mending there will be a host of

things for you both to do."



But that mending seemed many a day off, and Mrs. Hay, poor woman, had

graver cares of her own before the setting sun. Avoiding the possibility

of meeting the general just now, and finding Mrs. Dade both silent and

constrained at mention of her niece's name, the trader's wife went

straightway homeward from the hospital, and did not even see the post

commander hurrying from his office, with an open despatch in his hand.

But by this time the chief and his faithful aide were out on the

veranda, surrounded by anxious wives and daughters, many of whom had

been earnestly bothering the doctor at the hospital before going to

breakfast. Dade much wished them away, though the news brought in by

night riders was both stirring and cheery. The Indians had flitted away

from Webb's front, and he counted on reaching and rescuing the Dry Fork

party within six hours from the time the courier started. They might

expect the good news during the afternoon of Thursday. Scouts and

flankers reported finding travois and pony tracks leading westward

from the scene of Ray's fierce battle, indicating that the Indians had

carried their dead and wounded into the fastnesses of the southern

slopes of the Big Horn, and that their punishment had been heavy. Among

the chiefs killed or seriously wounded was this new, vehement leader

whom Captains Blake and Ray thought might be Red Fox, who was so

truculent at the Black Hills conference the previous year. Certain of

the men, however, who had seen Red Fox at that time expressed doubts.

Lieutenant Field, said Webb, had seen him, and could probably say.



Over this despatch the general pondered gravely. "From what I know of

Red Fox," said he, "I should think him a leader of the Sitting Bull

type,--a shrew, intriguing, mischief-making fellow, a sort of Sioux

walking delegate, not a battle leader; but according to Blake and Ray

this new man is a fighter."



Then Mrs. Dade came out and bore the general off to breakfast, and

during breakfast the chief was much preoccupied. Mrs. Dade and the

aide-de-camp chatted on social matters. The general exchanged an

occasional word with his host and hostess, and finally surprised neither

of them, when breakfast was over and he had consumed the last of his

glass of hot water, by saying to his staff officer, "I should like to

see Mrs. Hay a few minutes, if possible. We'll walk round there first.

Then--let the team be ready at ten o'clock."



But the team, although ready, did not start northward at ten, and the

general, though he saw Mrs. Hay, had no speech with her upon the

important matters uppermost in his mind during the earlier hours of the

day. He found that good lady in a state of wild excitement and alarm.

One of the two outriders who had started with her husband and niece at

dawn, was mounted on a dun-colored cow pony, with white face and feet.

One of the two troopers sent by Dade to overtake and bring them back,

was turning a blown and exhausted horse over to the care of Hay's

stablemen, as he briefly told his story to the wild-eyed, well nigh

distracted woman. Six miles up stream, he said, they had come suddenly

upon a dun-colored cow pony, dead in his tracks, with white feet in air

and white muzzle bathed in blood; bridle, saddle and rider gone; signs

of struggle in places--but no signs of the party, the team and wagon,

anywhere.



"And no cavalry to send out after them!" said Dade, when he reached the

spot. Old Crabb was called at once, and mustered four semi-invalided

troopers. The infantry supplied half a dozen stout riders and, with a

mixed escort, the general, accompanied by Dade and the aide-de-camp,

drove swiftly to the scene. Six miles away they found the dead pony.

Seven miles away they encountered the second trooper, coming back. He

had followed the trail of the four mule team as far as yonder point,

said he, and there was met by half a dozen shots from unseen foe, and so

rode back out of range. But Dade threw his men forward as skirmishers;

found no living soul either at the point or on the banks of the rocky

ford beyond; but, in the shallows, close to the shore, lay the body of

the second outrider, shot and scalped. In a clump of willows lay another

body, that of a pinto pony, hardly cold, while the soft, sandy shores

were cut by dozens of hoof tracks--shoeless. The tracks of the mules and

wagon lay straight away across the stream bed--up the opposite bank and

out on the northward-sweeping bench beyond. Hay's famous four, and

well-known wagon, contents and all, therefore, had been spirited away,

not toward the haunts of the road agents in the mountains of the

Medicine Bow, but to those of the sovereign Sioux in the fastnesses of

the storied Big Horn.