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It was a lovely June Saturday afternoon, the hebdomadal half holiday of the military bailiwick, and the dingy brown frontier fort looked merry as sunshine, music, and sweet faces could make it. Seeing the ladies upon the piazza, there was a general movement among the officers on the walk indicative of a desire to join the party, and Mr. Gleason gritted his teeth and went for more chairs. Mrs.
I rode right through a bunch of cattle. I held on with more zeal than did old Fisheye Gleason when he fell on the back of the hippopotamus at the start of the Grand Entry.... Say," the midget interrupted his reverie, "just about how far away from this Paradise Bowl is this Bar-O hangout?" "The Bar-O is the lid to yer Gravy Bowl," replied the Nestor.
Anna Cresswell has been invited down to Gleasonton to visit at the Senator's. Mrs. Gleason is arranging quite a party of Exeter girls as soon as they can have a free Saturday." "Elizabeth and I were invited to-day," said Mary. "We were to let Mrs. Gleason know what Saturday we would have free." "They have fine times there so they tell me," Azzie said. "I've never been invited to see for myself."
This, then, was something like the cavalry life of which she had heard so much. Marion Sanford, despite Eastern education and refinement, was so unconventional as to find something more attractive in Mr. Ray in this same field rig than in Mr. Gleason in faultlessly accurate uniform. "Why, Mr. Ray, how very well you look!" was Mrs. Turner's exclamation, "and somebody said you had been ill."
"Who's that?" he shouted, turning half round to find Ray standing less than ten feet away with a cocked six-shooter gleaming in his hand. There was dead silence a moment, then Ray's placid tones were heard, "Sit down, Gleason." Gleason stood glaring at him an instant, a ghastly pallor stealing over his face, his rickety legs trembling beneath him. "Do you hear? Sit down!"
Gleason started for Fetterman; he didn't know what it was about, but had overheard some of the language from the back kitchen, and the last thing Lieutenant Ray had said was, "'If ever you breathe a word of this to a soul, or something like that, 'I'll shoot you like a dog." He was sure of the last words, and he thought then he wouldn't like to be in Mr. Gleason's place.
That remained for some time a mystery, for Miss Gleason firmly refused to believe that such a girl could be in love with a man so much her inferior: the conception disgraced not only her idol, but cast shame upon all other women, whose course in such matters is notoriously governed by motives of the highest sagacity and judgment. Mrs.
"See here, Gleason, Captain Truscott and I have come to inquire what you know of the charges against Mr. Ray. You are to go back at once, I'm told, as witness against him. There won't be a soul there of his regiment or his friends, for we know well you're not one, to speak for him. By thunder! what have you against him?"
Gleason will be glad to see you." "Well, I suppose I might," assented Tom, who, truth to tell, did not relish spending the evening alone. Bessie and her mother had, of late, been assigned as Red Cross workers to a hospital in the environs of Paris, and ant times they could come into the city for a rest.
Some one laughed. Gleason, the superintendent, gazed at the outlaw pony and fingered his belt. "That's the fourth!" he said slowly and distinctly. "She ain't worth it." "The fourth Oro rider," said a voice. "You ain't countin' any Moonstone riders." "Ain't seen any to count," retorted Gleason, and there was a general laugh.
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