"Laramie;" Or, The Queen of Bedlam. A Story of the Sioux War of 1876King, Charles
General
"Laramie;" Or, The Queen of Bedlam. A Story of the Sioux War of 1876
King, Charles
Dakota Indians -- Wars, 1876 -- Fiction
The soldier demurred and would have argued, but Mr. McLean silenced
him, and presently, in his best blue fatigue-coat and with a white silk
handkerchief around his neck and his fatigue-cap tilted over one eye,
the young officer, leaning on the attendant's arm, slowly made his way
into the open air and was soon comfortably ensconced in the big
arm-chair again. Several men of his company, smoking on the piazza of
the quarters across the parade, arose, put away their pipes, and came
over to stand attention and salute their popular lieutenant, and to say
how glad they were to see him able to sit up again. It touched McLean's
sad and lonely heart to see the pleasure and the trust and faith in
their brown, honest faces, and the tears came welling up to his eyes as
he held out his hand, calling them by name to step up on the gallery
where he could see them better and give each man a cordial though
feeble response to the hearty pressure of their brawny hands. Then he
bade the attendant, after a little chat about Mr. Hatton's condition
and the more hopeful news, to take them in and give them a drink of
Monongahela; but Corporal Stein promptly declined: he wouldn't have it
thought they came with that hope, when their sole wish was to
congratulate their young officer; and, though one or two of them, not
so sensitive as the corporal, doubtless took him to task at a later
moment, they one and all upheld him now. They would not go in and
drink, but presently returned to their barracks, comforted with the
reflection that they had done the proper thing.
Meantime, Miss Forrest had seen their approach, and, hearing the voices
on the lower gallery, readily divined that Mr. McLean must be sitting
up and taking the air. Five minutes after the men were gone, and as
that young gentleman was wondering about what time the carriage would
return, he heard a quick, light footstep along the wooden floor, the
rustle of feminine skirts, and almost before he could turn, the
cordial, musical voice of the Queen of Bedlam:
"Mr. McLean, how rejoiced I am to see you sitting up! This is simply
delightful."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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