A Trooper Galahad Part 5

"But he's up. The light's in his window. He's writing--or something.

Look here, Brayton, you know what's got to come of this. That d.a.m.ned Irishman must challenge him, or be cut and kicked about by all his kind in the cavalry. It isn't Barclay's fight; it's mine. The more I think of it the more I know that, contemptible a blackguard as Bralligan is, he is still an officer of the regiment. He has been knocked down, and has the right to demand the only satisfaction there is for a blow. You know it as well as I do. What I've got to do right here and now is to take that fight off Barclay's hands, and you've got to help me."

"S'pose he don't want it taken off his hands," said Brayton, st.u.r.dily.

"He told him plain enough he was ready to meet any demand----"

Winn reddened even in the pallid moonlight. "I say no man in this garrison fights on my wife's account except me--or with me. They're up with Bralligan now, two or three of them, and I want you to go there with me at once as my witness. I mean to cowhide him to-night. Then if he wants a meeting in the morning, I'm his man." And as he spoke Winn thrashed nervously at the railing with the stout whip he carried in his hand.

"That won't fix it," answered Brayton, "and you ought to have sense enough to know it. Barclay has the precedence. The Mick couldn't challenge you until he'd fought him--or been refused a fight. You go to bed, Winn," and Brayton spoke even lower. "Your wife must have heard you just now, and first thing you know Barclay will hear you, and"--with almost comical irrelevance--"you don't want to meet him this way, when you haven't even called on him."

Winn reddened again. There was a tinge of bitterness in his tone as he answered,--

"Don't trouble yourself about Mrs. Winn's hearing. She's placidly asleep--long ago. As for my not calling, you know I've only been out of my bed three days or so, and Captain Barclay must understand that a man burdened as I have been is in no mood for social observances. This is all begging the question. You're the only man I can ask to be my second.

Finish your dressing now and come."

"Winn, I won't do it," said Brayton, with flatfooted decision. "This is my captain's affair, and, from what I've seen of him since he joined, I'm bound to say what's his is mine. Besides, you've got no business mixing up in the matter. You've got your wife to think of, and you've got that commissary business to straighten out. Barclay and I have no enc.u.mbrances of either kind." At the moment, I fear me, the young gentleman could have added, "Thank G.o.d!" for, with all his appreciation of the physical perfections of his cla.s.smate's wife, Mr. Brayton was keenly aware of her many extravagances.

"Of course I've a wife," answered Winn, hotly. "It's because of her I feel bound to take this up. As for that commissary money, every cent will be here to square the shortage, whether I am or not. I'll tell you what others---- No! I can't even tell you, Brayton. But an old friend of my father's has offered his help. Now, once more, will you come or not?"

"No, Winn. You know well enough I'd see you through if---- Hus.h.!.+ There's Mullane and some one else coming out of his quarters now."

"Then, by G.o.d! I'll go alone," exclaimed Winn, "and it's got to be done before they get away." And he would have gone springing down the steps, but Brayton seized and held him.

"For G.o.d's sake, Harry, be quiet to-night. Don't go near him. Quiet, man! Can't you see? Those fellows are coming this way now!"

True enough, Mullane and his companion, who had issued from the fourth set of quarters down to the left, turned northward the moment they reached the walk, the moonlight gleaming on the b.u.t.tons of their uniform frock-coats, but the sight and faint sound of scuffling on Winn's porch seemed to attract their attention. They stopped as though to reconnoitre, and just then the front door of Brayton's hall opened wide, and, with the broad light at his back, Captain Barclay stepped quietly forth.

"Brayton," he said, "you left the door ajar, and it was impossible not to hear the latter part of this conference.--Mr. Winn, I presume," he continued, with calm, courteous bow, as the two young men, unclasping, turned and faced him. "I infer that you purpose going to Mr. Bralligan's quarters--now. Let me urge that you do nothing of the kind. Brayton is right. I see that, late as it is, some of their party are moving this way. Pray remember that as yet this is entirely my affair."

There was no time for other answer than a bow, a mumbled word or two, an embarra.s.sed acceptance of the hand extended by the captain. Just as he said, Mullane and his friend were coming rapidly up the walk. They pa.s.sed the Winns' gate, entered that of Brayton, and then it appeared that Mullane's friend was the ubiquitous Hodge, that Mullane was manifestly in his glory, and that both were perceptibly in liquor.

"Gintlemen," said the doughty captain, halting at the foot of the steps and raising his forage-cap with magnificent sweep, "gintlemen, I am the beerer of a missige from me frind Mr. Bralligan. Have I the honor of addhressin' Captain Barclay?" Fondly did Mullane imagine that he impressed his hearers as did Sir Lucius O'Trigger; and much did he remind one of them, at least, of Captain Costigan of blessed memory.

"This is Captain Barclay," that gentleman answered, in low tones, with a smile of amus.e.m.e.nt at Mullane's grandiloquent prelude, yet stepping quickly forward to meet the envoys. Winn could not but note that the captain's movement accomplished at once two objects. It left him and Brayton in the shade; it kept Mullane and Hodge in the moonlight and off the steps. "Pardon my suggesting that a lady sleeps in the front room aloft there, and that you speak low, so as not to disturb her. Where is your message?"

This was trying. Mullane loved his chest tones as he did his whiskey.

His low voice was apt to be thick and husky and unimpressive, and to-night he was over-weighted with the sense of the gravity and importance of his mission, if with nothing else.

"Sorr," he said, with another flourish of the cap, "in accordince with the practice of gintlemen in the old arrumy, I am the bearer of a verrbal missige----"

The Quaker captain had already amazed the old dragoon sergeants by the intricacy and extent of his knowledge of their manners and customs. Now came a surprise for the officers.

"Pardon my interrupting," he said. "I do not a.s.sume to instruct in such matters, but there is manifestly only one kind of message 'according to the customs of the old army,'" and here he smiled quietly, "that should come from Mr. Bralligan now, and it must come in writing. I decline to recognize any other." Here Brayton nudged Winn approvingly, but the subalterns maintained a decorous silence.

"I've niver hurr'd of a challenge being refused on that account," said Mullane, majestically, "and if me wurreds are not sufficient, here's me frind Mr. Hodge----"

"Your words are not brought into question, Captain Mullane, but the manner of your message is. Let your friend put it in writing, and it will be received. Good-night to you, sir."

And, to Mullane's utter amaze and confusion, quickly followed by an explosion of wrath, Captain Barclay coolly turned and walked within-doors.

"Hould on dthere!" cried Mullane, as he started to spring up the steps, but Brayton stepped in front of him, and Hodge nervously grabbed his arm. Neither knew much of the "code" of the old days, but each had learned that Barclay rarely made a mistake. Winn, too, tall and strong, stepped in front of the angry Irishman as he broke out into expletives.

"No more of that here, captain," he cried, forgetful of any consideration of rank. "This noise will wake the post. Rest a.s.sured your princ.i.p.al will get all the fight he wants;" and then, with growing wrath, for Mullane was struggling to come to the steps, "so will you, by G.o.d, if you advance another foot."

"Winn--Winn, for heaven's sake, I say!" cried Brayton, seizing the uplifted arm. "Go home, Mullane. d.a.m.n it, you're in no shape to handle such a matter to-night. Go home, or I swear I'll call the officer of the day. He's coming now!" he exclaimed; and it was true, for the sound of excited voices had reached the adjoining quarters, and out from the doorway, sashed and belted, came the ma.s.sive form of Captain Blythe, his sabre clanking on the door-sill. Out, too, from Winn's hallway shot a broad beam of light, and hastening along the porch came a tall, graceful form in some clinging rose-tinted wrapper, all beribboned and fluffy and feminine. The men fell away and Mullane drew back as Mrs. Winn scurried to her husband's side and laid her white hand on his arm. Forth again on the other side of Winn came Barclay, and his deep tones broke the sudden silence.

"Captain Mullane, leave this spot instantly," he ordered, stern and low.

"I'll answer to you in the morning."

"Come out of this, Mullane," demanded Blythe, striding in at the gate.

"Delay one second, and I'll order you under arrest."

Up slowly went Mullane's cap with the same incomparable sweep. "In the prisince of leedies," said he, "I'm disarrumed. Captain Barclay, I'll see ye in the marrnin'."

But when the marrnin' came both Mullane and his princ.i.p.al, beside bewildering headaches, had graver matters to deal with than even a very pretty quarrel.

CHAPTER IX.

From the night of her brilliant appearance at the garrison ball, not once had Mrs. Winn an opportunity to exchange a dozen words with Captain Barclay. Her husband, as has been said, had failed to call on his new next-door neighbor, although Winn had been well enough to be about for several days, and until he did call it was impossible for Barclay to enter their doors, and expedient that he should avoid Mrs. Winn wherever it was possible to do so. This might not have been difficult, even though the same roof covered both households,--that of the Winns on the south and that of the Barclay-Brayton combination on the north side,--but for Laura Winn herself, who seemed to be out on the porch every afternoon as the captain came walking back from stables; and the women who were apt to gather at Mrs. Blythe's at that time declared that there was something actually inviting, if not imploring, in the way Mrs.

Winn would watch for him, and bow, and seem to hover where he could hardly avoid speaking to her. Three times at least since that memorable party had she been there "on watch," as Mrs. Faulkner expressed it, and though his bow was courtesy itself, and his "Good-evening, Mrs. Winn,"

most respectful, and even kindly, if one could judge by the tone of his voice, not another word did he speak. He pa.s.sed on to his own gateway, Brayton generally at his side, and his stable dress was changed for parade uniform or dinner before he again made his appearance.

After the manner of the day, most of the cavalry contingent stopped in at the club-room on the way back from evening stables. Brayton used to do so, but, though no one could say his captain had preached to him on the subject, some influence either of word or of example had taken effect, and the young bachelor seemed entirely content to cut the club and the social tipple, and to trudge along by his new companion's side.

They had been getting "mighty thick" for captain and second lieutenant, said some of the other officers; but, serenely indifferent to what others thought or said, the two kept on their way.

"Thought you were goin' to wear mournin' for Lawrence the rest of your natural life, Brayton; and here you are tyin' to Barclay as if Lawrence had never lived," said Mr. Bralligan, only a day or two before Lawrence's return, and Brayton started almost as though stung. What Bralligan said was not half as ill grounded as most of his statements, and Brayton was conscious of something akin to guilt and self-reproach.

In common with most of the regiment, he had felt very sore over Lawrence's going. He had been much attached to that gallant and soldierly captain, but now that another had taken his place, and he could compare or contrast the two, the youngster began to realize with something like a pang of distress--as though it were disloyal to think so--that in many ways Barclay was "head and shoulders" the superior man.

Lawrence never rose till eight o'clock except when in the field.

Lawrence rarely read anything but the papers and interminable controversies over the war. Lawrence, despite the claims of Ada and little Jimmy, often spent an evening at the club, and always stopped there on his way from stables. Lawrence never studied, and off the drill-ground never taught. Indeed, almost all the drills the troop had known for months and months Brayton himself had conducted. No wonder the boy had wasted hours of valuable time. No wonder there was a little game going on among the youngsters in Brayton's "back parlor" many a day. He had simply been started all wrong.

But even before Barclay's books were unpacked the new captain had found means to interest the young fellow in professional topics that Lawrence had never seemed to mention. Barclay had evidently been taking counsel with progressive soldiers before joining his new regiment, had been reading books of their choosing, and among others was a valuable treatise on the proper method of bitting horses, and he found that here was a matter that Lawrence and Brayton had never thought of and that Brayton said was never taught them at the Point,--which was strictly true. To the amaze and unspeakable indignation of Denny Sullivan, who was soon to be overhauled on graver points, the doughboy had taken his lieutenant from horse to horse in the troop as they stood at rest during drill, and shown him at least twenty bits out of the forty-five in line that were no fit at all. He showed him some that were too broad from bar to bar and that slid to and fro in the tortured creature's mouth; others that hung too low, almost "fell through;" others whose curb-chain or strap, instead of fitting in the groove, bore savagely on the delicate bones above it and tormented the luckless charger every time his rider drew rein. Barclay gave the boy his own carefully studied hand-book; not another cavalry officer then at Worth had read it, though several had heard of it. The youngster was set to work fitting new bits by measurement to the mouth of every horse in the troop.

Then Barclay drew him into the discussion of the cavalry system of saddling as then prescribed,--the heavy tree set away forward close to the withers,--and Brayton could only say that "that was tactics and the way they'd always done it." But Galahad pointed out that the tactics then in use were written of a foreign dragoon saddle with a long flat bearing surface. It was all very well for that to be set as far forward as it would go, because even then the centre of gravity of the rider would be well back on the horse. "But," said he, "you take this short McClellan tree, place that away forward, and then set a man in it; his centre of gravity will rest in front of the centre of motion of the horse,--will throw the weight on the forehand and use up his knees and shoulders in no time." This, too, set Brayton to studying and thinking, while Mullane and Fellows declared Sir Galahad a crank, and even Brooks and Blythe, wedded to tradition, thought him visionary. Then when the books came, Galahad unpacked, and just where the poker-table used to stand it stood now, but it was covered with beautiful maps of Alsace and Lorraine, and Galahad's desk with pamphlets sent him from abroad, the earliest histories of the memorable campaign about Metz and Sedan. The next thing Brayton knew he was as deeply interested as his captain, and, lo, other men came to look and wonder and go off shaking their heads,--those of them who were of the Mullane persuasion sneering at those "book-generals," while others, like Blythe, pulled up a chair as invited and followed the junior captain through his modest explanation with appreciative eyes. Those were days when there was all too little time for study and improvement, thanks to the almost incessant Indian scouting required; but here was Worth, a big post, and here was a four-troop battalion with a gentleman and not a bad soldier at its head, and it had not occurred to him to teach them anything or to require of them anything beyond the usual attention to stables, troop-drill, and an occasional parade. If his men were reasonably ready to take the field in pursuit of Kiowa, Comanche, or horse-thief, and to furnish escort for ambulance and train when the disbursing officers went to and fro, that was all that could be expected of him or them in those halcyon days. And now "this blasted doughboy subst.i.tute" had come down here and was proposing to stir them all up, make them all out "so many ignoramuses,"

said Mullane. "Bedad, the thing is revolutionary!" And that was enough to d.a.m.n it, for revolution is a thing no Irishman will tolerate, when he doesn't happen to be in it himself.

Still another thing had occurred to make Barclay something apart from the bachelors. No sooner had his modest kit of household goods arrived than the unused kitchen of Brayton's quarters was fitted up; Hannibal was ensconced therein; a neat little dining-room was made of what had been designed for a small bedchamber on the ground-floor, and Barclay amazed the mess by setting forth champagne the last evening he dined there as a member, and then retired to the privacy of his own establishment, as he had at Sanders. The Winns' house-maid had of course dropped in to see how Hannibal was getting along, and dropped out to tell her discoveries, which were few. Then Brayton found the mess saying things about Barclay he could not agree with, and he, too, resigned and became a messmate of his captain,--a change for the better that speedily manifested itself in the healthy white of his clear eyes and a complexion that bore no trace of fiery stimulants such as were indulged in elsewhere. Then there was talk of others leaving the "Follansbee family" and asking to join at Brayton's, and this gave umbrage to Erin as represented in the bachelors' mess. And so an anti-Barclay feeling had sprung up at the post, among the unlettered at least, and these were days in which the unlettered were numerous. "Sorry for you, Brayton, me boy," grinned the senior sub of Fellows's troop. "It must be tough to come down to this after Lawrence." And he was amazed at Brayton's reply.

"Tough? Yes, for it shows me how much time I've wasted."

"Wait till we get Galahad out on the trail wid his new-fangled bits and seats," sneered Mullane but a day or two before. "That'll take the d.a.m.ned nonsense out of him. Faith, whin he goes I hope I may go along too to see the fun."

And, sooner than he thought for, the Irish captain had his wish.

One o'clock had just been called off by the sentries, and the moon was well over to the west, when the door of the major's quarters was opened and he with his lingering guests came forth upon the broad piazza, the red sparks of their cigars gleaming anew as they felt the fan of the rising breeze. Clear and summer-like as was the sky, there was a reminder of the snow-peaks in the wings of the wind, and Lawrence huddled his old cavalry cape about his shoulders as he faced it. He was talking eagerly, perhaps a little bombastically, of this great new mining company in which Buffstick was prominent as a director. He was full of hope and antic.i.p.ation and disposed to patronize a trifle his friends who, wedded to the humdrum of the army, were debarred from so fine an opportunity of making money in abundance. So many of the number were going to do so much in the same way when first they left us for the broader paths of civil life.

"I tell you, Brooks," he said, enthusiastically, "I wouldn't take ten thousand dollars cash this night for my chance of making twice that sum within the year. Buffstick turns everything he touches into gold."