Warrior Gap | Page 6

Burleigh's stamp, with the means to entertain and the station to
enable them to do it, had often the ear of officers from headquarters,
and more things were told at such times to generals and colonels about
their young men than the victims ever suspected. Burleigh was a man
of position and influence, and knew it. Dean was a youngster without
either, and did not realize it. He had made an enemy of the
quartermaster on the trip and could not but know it. Yet, conscious that
he had said nothing that was wrong, he felt no disquiet.
And now, homeward bound, he was jogging contentedly along at the
head of the troop. Scouts and flankers signaled "all clear." Not a hostile
Indian had they seen since leaving the Gap. The ambulances with a
little squad of troopers had hung on a few moments at the noon camp,
hitching slowly and leisurely that their passengers might longer enjoy
their post prandial siesta in the last shade they would see until they
reached Cantonment Reno, a long day's ride away. Presently the lively
mule teams would come along the winding trail at spanking trot. Then
the troop would open out to right and left and let them take the lead,
giving the dust in exchange, and once more the rapid march would
begin.
It was four P. M. when the shadows of the mules' ears and heads came
jerking into view beside him, and, guiding his horse to the right, Dean
loosed rein and prepared to trot by the open doorway of the stout,

black-covered wagon. The young engineer officer, sitting on the front
seat, nodded cordially to the cavalryman. He had known and liked him
at the Point. He had sympathized with him in the vague difference with
the quartermaster. He had had to listen to sneering things Burleigh was
telling the aide-de-camp about young linesmen in general and Dean in
particular, stocking the staff officer with opinions which he hoped and
intended should reach the department commander's ears. The engineer
disbelieved, but was in no position to disprove. His station was at
Omaha, far from the scene of cavalry exploits in fort or field. Burleigh's
office and depot were in this new, crowded, bustling frontier town,
filled with temptation to men so far removed from the influences of
home and civilization, and Burleigh doubtless saw and knew much to
warrant his generalities. But he knew no wrong of Dean, for that young
soldier, as has been said, had spent all but a few mid-winter months at
hard, vigorous work in the field, had been to Gate City and Fort Emory
only twice, and then under orders that called for prompt return to
Frayne. Any man with an eye for human nature could see at a glance,
as Dean saw, that both the aid and his big friend, the quartermaster, had
been exchanging comments at the boy's expense. He had shouted a
cheery salutation to the engineer in answer to his friendly nod, then
turned in saddle and looked squarely at the two on the back seat, and
the constraint in their manner, the almost sullen look in their faces, told
the story without words.
It nettled Dean--frank, outspoken, straightforward as he had always
been. He hated any species of backbiting, and he had heard of Burleigh
as an adept in the art, and a man to be feared. Signaling to his sergeant
to keep the column opened out, as the prairie was almost level now on
every side, he rode swiftly on, revolving in his mind how to meet and
checkmate Burleigh's insidious moves, for instinctively he felt he was
already at work. The general in command in those days was not a field
soldier by any means. His office was far away at the banks of the
Missouri, and all he knew of what was actually going on in his
department he derived from official written reports; much that was
neither official nor reliable he learned from officers of Burleigh's stamp,
and Dean had never yet set eyes on him. In the engineer he felt he had a
friend on whom he could rely, and he determined to seek his counsel at

the campfire that very night, meantime to hold his peace.
They were trotting through a shallow depression at the moment, the
two spring-wagons guarded and escorted by some thirty dusty,
hardy-looking troopers. In the second, the yellow ambulance, Brooks
was stretched at length, taking it easy, an attendant jogging alongside.
Behind them came a third, a big quartermaster's wagon, drawn by six
mules and loaded with tentage and rations. Out some three hundred
yards to the right and left rode little squads as flankers. Out beyond
them, further still, often cut off from view by low waves of