Molly McDonald Part 16

"Yes, rather tall, with very light hair."

"Oh, that's Mrs. Dupont."

"Mrs. Dupont?" the name evidently a surprise; "wife of one of the officers?"

"No, she 's no army dame. Husband's a cattleman. Got a range on the Cowskin, south o' here, but I reckon the missus don't like that sorter thing much. Lives in St. Louis mostly, but has been stoppin' with the McDonalds fer a month er two now. Heerd she wus a niece o' the Major's, an' reckon she must be, er thar 'd been a flare up long ago.

She 's a high flyer, she is, an' she 's got the Leftenant goin' all right."

"Gaskins?"

"Sure; he's a lady-killer, but thet 's 'bout all the kind o' killer he is, fer as I ever noticed--one o' yer he-flirts. Thar ain't hardly an officer in this garrison thet ain't just achin' fer ter kick that squirt, but ther women--oh, Lord; they think he's a little tin G.o.d on wheels. Beats h.e.l.l, don't it, what money will do fer a d.a.m.n fool."

Hamlin stood a moment silent, half inclined to ask another question, but crus.h.i.+ng back the inclination. Then he walked down the hall to the quarters a.s.signed "M" Troop, and across to his own bed in the far corner. There were only a few of the men present, most of whom were busily engaged at a game of cards, and he sat down where he could gaze out the window and think. Here was a new complication, a fresh puzzle to be unravelled. He had never expected this woman to come into his life again; she had become a blurred, unpleasant memory, a bit of his past which he had supposed was blotted out forever. Mrs. Dupont--then she had not married Le Fevre after all. He dully wondered why, yet was not altogether surprised. Even as he turned this fact over and over in his mind, speculating upon it, he became aware of a man leaving the rear door of McDonald's quarters, and advancing back of officers' row toward the barracks. As the fellow drew near, Hamlin recognized the soldier who had been driving the carriage. A moment later the man entered the room, spoke to the group of card players, and then came straight across toward him.

"Sergeant Hamlin?"

"Yes."

"I was asked to hand you this note; there is no answer."

Hamlin held it unopened until the fellow disappeared, hesitating between hope and dread. Which of the two women had ventured to write him? What could be the unexpected message? At last his eyes scanned the three short lines:

"You recognized me, and we must understand each other. At ten to-night ask the Clerk of the Occidental--V."

CHAPTER XVI

THE MEETING

Hamlin's first impulse was to ignore the note, trusting his position in the ranks would be sufficient barrier to prevent any chance meeting, and believing his stay at that garrison would be only a brief one.

Sheridan was evidently preparing for an early offensive campaign, and it was rumored on all sides that the Seventh Cavalry had been selected for active field service. Indeed, the urgent orders for the consolidation of the regiment from scattered posts must mean this. Any day might bring orders, and he could easily avoid this Mrs. Dupont until then. Except for a faint curiosity, the Sergeant felt no inclination to meet the woman. Whatever influence she might have once exercised over him had been thoroughly overcome by years and absence.

Even the unexpected sight of her again--seemingly as beautiful as ever--had failed to awaken the spell of the past. It was almost with a thrill of delight that Hamlin realized this--that he was in truth utterly free of her influence. There had been times when he had antic.i.p.ated such a possible meeting with dread; when he had doubted his own heart, the strength of his will to resist. But now he knew he stood absolutely independent and could laugh at her wiles. She who had once been all--trusted, loved, wors.h.i.+pped with all the mad fervor of youth--had become only a dead memory. Between them stretched a chasm never to be bridged.

What could the woman possibly want of him? To explain the past? To justify herself? He knew enough already, and desired to know no more.

Could she hope--natural coquette that she was--to regain her hold upon him? The man smiled grimly, confident of his own strength. Yet why should she care for such a conquest, the winning of a common soldier?

There must be some better reason, some more subtle purpose. Could it be that she feared him, that she was afraid that he might speak to her injury? This was by far the most likely supposition. Molly McDonald--the woman was aware of their acquaintance, and was already alarmed at its possible result.

Hamlin stood up resolved. He would meet the woman, not from any desire of his own, but to learn her purpose, and protect the girl. The meeting could not injure him, not even bring a swifter beating of the heart, but might give him opportunity to serve the other. And Le Fevre--surely she could tell him something of Le Fevre.

Leave was easily obtained, and the Sergeant, rejoicing in a freshly issued uniform, dressed with all the care possible, his interest reviving at this new point of view. It was not far down the bluff road to the squalid little village which had naturally developed in close proximity to the fort--near enough for protection, yet far enough removed to be lawless--a rough frontier outpost town, of shacks and tents, most of these dispensing vile liquors. Among these, more enterprising spirits--hopeful of future development--had erected larger buildings, usually barn-like, with false fronts facing the single main street, filled with miscellaneous stocks of goods or used for purposes not so legitimate. One of these housed the "Poodle Dog" saloon, with gambling rooms above, while a few doors below was a great dance hall, easily converted into a theatre if occasion arose,--a grotesque, one-storied monstrosity. Below these was the stage office, built against the three-storied wooden hotel, which boasted of a wide porch on two sides, and was a picture of ugliness.

By daylight all was squalor and dirt, dingy tents flapping in the ceaseless wind, unpainted shacks, wooden houses with boards warping under the hot sun, the single street deep in yellow dust, the surrounding prairie littered with tin cans, and all manner of debris.

But with the coming of night much of this roughness departed. Soldiers from the garrison on pa.s.s, idle plainsmen, bull-whackers, adventurers of all kinds stranded here because of Indian activity, stray cowboys from the nearby valleys, thronged the numerous dives, seeking excitement. Women, gaudy of dress, shrill of voice, flitted from door to door through the jostling crowds. Lamps blazed over the motley a.s.sembly, loud-voiced barkers yelled, and a band added its discords to the din. The "Poodle Dog" glared in light, resounded with noise; lamps gleamed from the hotel windows, and the huge dance hall stood wide open. Out from the shacks and tents crept the day's sleepers for a night of revelry; along the trails rode others eager for excitement; it was the harvest-time of those birds of prey in saloon and gambling h.e.l.l.

Hamlin saw all this, but gave the surroundings little thought. He was of the West, of the frontier, and beheld nothing unique in the scene.

Moreover, the purpose for which he was there overshadowed all else, left him indifferent to the noise, the jostling, drunken crowd. Some he met who knew him and called his name, but he pa.s.sed them with a word, and pressed his way forward. At the hotel he mounted the steps and entered. The office was in one corner of the bar-room. The proprietor himself, a bald-headed Irishman, sat with feet c.o.c.ked up on the counter, smoking, and barely glancing up as the Sergeant asked for Mrs. Dupont.

"Who are yer?" he asked.

"My name is Hamlin; I am here on the lady's invitation."

"Sure; thet 's ther name all right, me bhoy. Yer ter go out on the east porch there, an' wait a bit whoile I sind her worrd yer here. Oi 'm imaginin' she hed sum doubts about yer comin', the way she spoke."

"How do I get there?"

"Through the winder of the parlur over thar--sure, it 's a noice quiet spot fer a tate-a-tate." He got up, and peered through his gla.s.ses across the room. "Here, Moike; d.a.m.n thet slapy head. Will one o' yer gents wake the lad--that's it. Now come here, Moike. You run over to the Palace an' tell Mrs. Dupont the fellar is here waitin'. Hold on now, not so fast; wait till Oi 'm done tellin' yer. Say thet to her alone--do yer moind thet, ye sap-head; n.o.body else is to hear whut yer say; stay there till yer git a chance ter whisper it to her. Now skip."

Hamlin hesitated, watching the boy disappear.

"At the Palace--the dance hall across the street?" he asked incredulously.

"Sure," indifferently, relighting his pipe. "Officers' ball; couldn't break in with a can-opener unless you had a invite. Guards at both ends, sergeant taking tickets, an' Third Regiment Band makin' music.

h.e.l.l of a swell affair; got guests here from Leavenworth, Wallace, and all around. Every room I got is full an' runnin' over--say, there are fellars over thar in them fool swaller-tail coats; d.a.m.ned if there ain't. If the b'ys ever git sight of 'em on the street there 'll be a hot time. Say, ain' that the limit? Injuns out thar thick as fleas on a dog, an' them swells dancin' here in swaller-tails like this yere was Boston."

He was still talking when Hamlin crossed the narrow hall and entered the dimly-lighted, unoccupied parlor. The side window was open, a slight breeze rustled the heavy curtain, and the Sergeant stepped outside on to the dark porch. There was a bench close to the rail and he sat down to wait. A gleam of light from the Palace fell across the western end, but the remainder of the porch lay in shadow, although he could look up the street, and see the people jostling back and forth in front of the Poodle Dog. The sound of mingled voices was continuous, occasionally punctuated by laughter, or an unrestrained outburst of profanity. Once shots echoed from out the din, but created no apparent excitement, and a little later a dozen hors.e.m.e.n spurred recklessly through the street, scattering the crowd, their revolvers sputtering.

Some altercation arose opposite and a voice called loudly for the guard, but the trouble soon ceased with the clump of hoofs, dying away in the distance, the regimental band noisily blaring out a waltz.

Hamlin, immersed in his own thoughts, scarcely observed the turmoil, but leaned, arms on railing, gazing out into the darkness. Something mysterious from out the past had gripped him; he was wondering how he should greet her when she came; speculating on her purpose in sending for him.

It seemed as though he waited a long time before the curtain at the window was thrust aside and the lady emerged, the slight rustling of her dress apprising him of her presence. The curtain still held slightly back by her hand permitted the light from within to reflect over her figure, revealing in softened outline the beauty of her features, the flossy brightness of her hair. She was in evening dress, a light shawl draping her shoulders. An instant she paused in uncertainty, striving to distinguish his face; then stepped impulsively forward, and held out her hands.

"I have kept you waiting, but you must forgive that, as I came as soon as I could manufacture an excuse. Won't you even shake hands with me?"

"Is it necessary?" he asked, almost wearily. "You have come to me for some purpose surely, but it can hardly be friends.h.i.+p."

"Why should you say that?" reproachfully. "I have deserted a rather brilliant party to meet you here."

"That, perhaps, is why I say it, Mrs. Dupont. If my memory serves, you would not be inclined to leave such friends as you have yonder to rendezvous with a common soldier, unless you had some special object in view. If you will inform me what it is, we can very quickly terminate the interview."

She laughed, a little touch of nervousness in the voice, but drew her skirts aside, and sat down on the bench.

"Do you think you can deceive me by such play-acting?" she asked eagerly. "You are no man of wood. Tell me, is there nothing you care to ask me, after--after all these years?"

Hamlin lifted his eyes and looked at her, stirred into sudden interest by the almost caressing sound of the soft voice.

"Yes," he said slowly, "there are some things I should like to know, if I thought you would answer frankly."

"Try me and see."

"Then why are you Mrs. Dupont, instead of Mrs. Le Fevre?"

"Then my guess is true, and you are not so devoid of curiosity," she laughed. "My answer? Why, it is simplicity itself--because I was never Mrs. Le Fevre, but am rightfully Mrs. Dupont."

"Do you mean you were never married to Le Fevre?"

"What else could I mean?"