The Captain of the Gray-Horse Troop. Garland HamlinЧитать онлайн книгу.
spoken.
The drowsy hush of mid-day again settled down upon the little cluster of buildings—news, even when it passes swiftly among red people, makes no noise. It walks with velvet foot, it speaks in a murmur; it hastens, but conceals its haste.
IV
THE BEAUTIFUL ELSIE BEE BEE
As Jennie entered the mess-house she uttered a little cry of amazement. Outwardly, it was a rude barrack of whitewashed cottonwood logs, but its interior glowed with color and light. Bright rugs were on the floor, and a big divan in one corner displayed a monstrous black bear-skin. A capacious fireplace, which dated back to the first invasion of the army, filled one end of the hall, which had been enlarged by the removal of a partition. Oil-paintings, without frames, were tacked against the walls, and the odor of fresh pigments lingered in the air.
"This is our general meeting-place," explained Lawson.
"It smells like a studio," Jennie replied, after a glance around her.
A plain, quiet little woman, with a look of inquiry on her face, appeared at the dining-room door, and Lawson called out:
"Mrs. Wilcox, this is Miss Curtis, who will stay with us for a few days." As they greeted each other he added: "There is a story to tell, but we are late, and it can wait. Where is Elsie?"
"Still at work. She never would come to her meals if we didn't call her."
"I'm disposed to try it some day. Will you take charge of Miss Curtis while I go fetch the delinquent?"
Under Mrs. Wilcox's direction Jennie prepared for luncheon in an adjoining room, wondering still at the unexpected refinement of the furnishings, and curious to see the artist.
As she re-entered the sitting-room a tall girl rose languidly to meet her, and Lawson said: "Miss Curtis, this is Miss Brisbane, the painter of the pictures you see about."
Miss Brisbane bowed in silence, while Jennie cried out: "Oh! did you do them? I think they are beautiful!"
The sincerity of her voice touched the young artist, and she said: "I'm glad you like them—sometimes I think they're pretty 'bum.'"
A slang word on the red lips of the handsome girl seemed wofully out of place to Jennie, who stared at her with the eager curiosity of a child. She was slender and dark, with an exquisite chin, and her hands, though slim and white, were strong and capable. Her eyes were very dark, of a velvety brown-black, and her hair was abundant and negligently piled upon her small head. Altogether she had a stately and rather foreign presence, which made Jennie feel very dowdy and very commonplace.
Mrs. Wilcox hurried them all out into the dining-room, where a pretty table was spread for six people. Jennie's attention was absorbed by the walls, which were also lightened with sketches of small, red babies in gay cradles, and of glowing bits of tawny plain and purple butte.
"Did you do all of these beautiful things?" she asked.
Lawson interposed. "She did, Miss Curtis. Be not deceived. Miss Brisbane's languid manner springs from her theory of rest. When work is finished she 'devitalizes'—I think that is the word—and becomes a rag. But she's a horrible example of industry, spineless as she now appears."
Miss Brisbane remained quite unmoved by Lawson's words; smiling dreamily, her red lips, as serene as those of a child, softly shaped themselves to say: "The strung bow needs relaxation."
"I think you are right," said Jennie, with sudden conviction.
Elsie opened her eyes wide and murmured, "Thank you."
Jennie went on: "Now my trouble is just that. I'm always nerved up. I can't relax. Won't you teach me how?"
"With pleasure. Are you going to live here?" asked Elsie, with faint accession of interest.
"As long as my brother does."
"I suppose you've come to teach these ragamuffins?"
Lawson here answered for Jennie. "Miss Curtis is a sister to Captain Curtis, who has come to displace your uncle."
Miss Brisbane looked up blankly. "I don't understand."
Lawson became explicit, and as she listened the girl's hands clinched.
"How abominable!" she cried, with eyes aflame.
"Not at all. If Mr. Sennett is an honest employé of the government, he should be willing to be searched—if he isn't, then no measure is too harsh. He'll get a thorough raking over, if my impression of the new agent is correct."
"My father would not put a dishonest man in this place," insisted Elsie, "and I don't believe Uncle Sennett has done wrong."
"Well, now, we'll suspend judgment," retorted Lawson, who knew just when to change his tone. "Captain Curtis is an officer of known ability, and no one can accuse him of prejudice. His living doesn't depend upon pleasing either Mr. Sennett or your father. Undoubtedly the government has good reasons for sending him here, and I for one am willing to accept his judgment."
Elsie rose in swift resolution. "I say it is an outrage! I am going to see that Uncle Sennett is not persecuted."
Lawson laid his hand on her arm and his voice was sternly quiet. "I think you would better finish your tea. Whatever protest you feel called upon to make can be made later. If you like," he added, in a gentler voice, "I will represent you in the matter and go with you to see Captain Curtis during the afternoon. I don't think we should trouble him now."
Elsie resumed her seat without either accepting or rejecting his offer, and the meal continued in some constraint, although Lawson summoned his best humor to cover Elsie's passionate outburst.
A few minutes later Elsie sullenly retired to her studio, and Lawson said: "I am going out to see what is going on, Miss Curtis; please make yourself at home here."
When the door closed behind him Jennie turned to Mrs. Wilcox. "Why does Mr. Lawson use that tone with Miss Brisbane—are they engaged?"
Mrs. Wilcox laughed. "That's just what none of us knows. Sometimes I think they are husband and wife—he lectures her so."
When Curtis joined the mess in the evening he was weary and a little sombre. Vastly preoccupied with his difficult task at the office, he had given but little attention to Jennie's announcement of having been taken into the bosom of an artistic family messing at the barracks, and when Elsie met him in a regal gown, glittering and changeful, he pulled himself up in surprise and admiration.
Elsie, on her part, was eager to see him and ready to do battle, but as he faced her, abrupt, vigorous of movement, keen-eyed and composed—almost stern of countenance—she was a little daunted. He was handsomer than she had expected, and older. His head was impressive, his frame muscular, and his movements graceful. Plainly he was a man of power, one it would be politic to treat with respect.
As they took up their napkins at the table Lawson opened out: "Well, Captain, we don't want to seem inquisitive, but we are dying to know what you've been doing this afternoon. We feel on the outside of it all."
"Yes," Elsie quickly added, "we want to know whether there is to be a revolution, or only a riot."
Curtis turned to her smilingly and replied: "You'll all be disappointed. I've been looking over accounts and holding humdrum audience with my clerks—a very busy but very quiet afternoon—nothing doing, as the phrase goes."
"Where is Uncle Sennett?" inquired Elsie. "I tried to find him, but your men would not let me into the office."
"You