Kitty's Conquest

This news in some way strengthened my view of the case. The fact that he had frequently or occasionally gone off in a similar manner went to prove that the ailment was not a new bodily trouble. Knowing what I knew and felt bound to keep to myself, it was not hard to determine that mental perturbations, aggravated perhaps by recent fatigues and excitements, were at the bottom of Amory's strange conduct. None the less, however, I was eager to find and bring him back. He ought not to be away from his command at such a time. Directing the sergeant to say to Mr. Amory that we were in search of him and begged him to wait for us on his return, the aide-de-camp and I hurried down the street; sought a cab-stand; and, jumping into one of the light cabriolets that were then a feature of the New Orleans streets, we drove rapidly down to Vinton's quarters. I thought Amory might have galloped thither. A dim light was burning in the sick-room, as we could see from the front. The door was closed and locked, but I rang, and presently a servant came sleepily through the hall and stared at me in mild stupefaction. "No. Mr. Amory hadn't been there." I brushed past the darky and went noiselessly up the stairs and tapped at Vinton's door. The nurse came and peered at me through the inch-wide crack: not a whit more would he open the door lest the night air should be wafted in.

"We fear that Lieutenant Amory is taken ill," I said in a low tone. "He may come here to see his captain. Try and get him to lie down in Colonel Summers's room until we get back, if he should come." The nurse nodded; said that Vinton was sleeping quietly, and directed me to Harrod's door. I knocked there, and it was opened in a moment.

"What! you, Brandon? Anything wrong?"

"We can't find Amory. He is on horseback and galloping around town all by himself. They think at headquarters that he may be ill with fever like Vinton. Mr. Parker and I are hunting for him. If he should come here, get him into your room and make him lie down, will you?"

"Certainly I will. But, Brandon, had not I better go with you? Are you sure he is ill? I thought him strange enough at Moreau's, but – "

"I cannot say what it is," I broke in, impatiently. "I must hurry off, as he must be found as quickly as possible."

"With that I turned away and retraced my steps through the dimly-lighted hall. Reaching the stairs I paused, for another door had softly opened, and Pauline's voice, low-toned and anxious, was heard.

"Harrod, what is it?"

"Mr. Amory is ill, I'm afraid," was the reply, and I hurried back to the street.

Rapidly we drove to the levee, and there at the depot found Major Williams's sleeping battalion. The aide sprang out and accosted a sentry. A sergeant came with a lantern and ushered the staff-officer in among the snoring groups; for the men had thrown themselves in their blankets upon the wooden flooring. Presently they reappeared, and with them came Mr. Turpin, hurriedly adjusting his collar and cravat.

"Sheep always was a most excitable fellow," he was saying, "but this beats me. He hasn't been here at all, and I've no idea where he can have gone."

Leaving directions what was to be done in case he did appear, we drove away up Canal Street. It was then nearly two o'clock, but there were still loungers around the Clay statue; lights gleaming from one or two "open-all-night" bars and from the cab-lanterns on St. Charles Street. Our driver pulled up, and Mr. Parker sprang out and exchanged a few words with a policeman. I could not hear, but saw that the latter pointed up the street; and the aide came quickly back, —

"Drive on, – right out Canal, and keep a bright lookout for an officer on horseback," were his orders, as we whirled away over the smooth pavement.

"That policeman says he saw a young officer gallop out this way not ten minutes ago, and he's been wondering ever since what was going on. He walked up as far as Dryades Street to find out, thinking he might have stopped at the State-House; but all is quiet there, and the patrols told him the officer went on out Canal, riding like mad."

Evidently, then, Mars had stopped somewhere or had ridden elsewhere before going out towards the swamps. We peered eagerly up and down the dimly-lighted cross-streets as we whirled rapidly past them. The lamps along the broad thoroughfare grew infrequent; the street was deserted. Once in a while we passed a carriage-load of revellers returning from the shell road and a supper at the "Lake End." Well out towards the stables of the street-railway we caught sight of another policeman; hauled up, and hailed him with anxious questioning. No, he had seen no officer on horseback; his beat lay along Canal Street, but he had "taken a turn through a side street after a couple of s'picious-lookin' parties," and might have been gone four or five minutes. Crack! went the whip, and we pushed ahead. Gas-lamps now became few and far between; open stretches of level turf or prairie were visible here and there between the houses or garden-walls; the moonlight was tempered and shrouded by low-hanging clouds, and surrounding objects were only dimly seen. Still we whirled ahead over the smooth-beaten road, and at last drove rapidly between the high walls of the silent cities of the dead that bounded the highway near the crossing of the canal. Two or three loungers were hanging about the dimly-lighted portico of a saloon. Mr. Parker sprang out and made some rapid inquiries, then hurried back to the cab.

"He crossed here nearly half an hour ago, – went right on over the bridge," he exclaimed, as he sprang in and told the driver to whip up. "Turn to the right," he added. "Drive towards Lake End. It's the only place he can have gone." And in a moment more the wheels were whirring over the level track; a dense hedgerow of swamp undergrowth on our left; the dark waters of the canal on our right.

We passed two or three roadside hostelries, whose enticing lights still lured the belated or the dissipated into the ready bars. Mr. Parker scanned them as we drove ahead.

"He never drinks a drop, I hear, and it's no use looking for him there."

Nevertheless, our driver suddenly pulled up in front of a lamp-lighted entrance. "There's a couple of buggies and a horse in under that shed," said he.

The aide-de-camp jumped out and stepped briskly off in the direction indicated by the driver's hand. Our cab again pulled up. Presently he emerged from the darkness of the shed.

"It isn't Amory's horse. It's a Louisiana pony," said he. "Wait one moment and I'll see who's inside."

With that he sprang up the steps and walked rapidly towards the glass doorways of the bar.

He was in civilian dress except for the forage-cap, which he had hastily picked up when we left the office. Its gold cord and crossed sabres gleamed under the lamp as he sharply turned the door-knob and entered the room. Even without that cap I by this time would have known his profession; he had that quick, springy, nervous walk and erect carriage so marked among the younger West-Pointers. My eyes followed him until he disappeared; so apparently did others.

From the farther end of the gallery two dark forms rose from a sitting posture, and one of them came tiptoeing along towards the doorway. Our cab had halted near the steps at the end opposite them, and, despite our lights, the stealthily-moving figure seemed to pay no attention to us. Before I had time to conjecture what his object could be, the man crouched before the door, his hat pulled low over his forehead, and peered eagerly through the glass. Then he turned his head; gave a low whistle, and, almost at a run, the second figure, in slouch hat like the first and with overcoat pulled well up about his ears, hurried to his side; stooped; peered through, and shook his head.

"Drive up there, quick!" I said. And, as hoof and wheel crunched through the gravel, the pair drew suddenly back; sprang noiselessly down the steps and in among the shrubbery out of my sight. Almost at the same instant Mr. Parker reappeared; took his seat beside me, and, before I could interpose, called out, "Drive on, – Lake End." And away we went, leaving the mysterious strangers in the dusk behind us.

"Amory has not been seen there, nor beyond. There are two young sports in there who came in from Lake End half an hour ago, but they are both pretty full. The barkeeper said there were two more gentlemen who came out from town with another buggy earlier, but they had gone outside."

"I saw them," answered I, "and they are bad characters of some kind. They stole up on tiptoe and peered after you as you went in, then sprang back out of sight as you came out. I wanted to tell you about them. They seemed waiting or watching for somebody."

"Gamblers or 'cappers' probably. Fellows who lie in wait for drunken men with money and steer them into their dens, – fleece them, you know. The streets are full of them day and night."

"Yes; but these men wore slouch hats and overcoats that muffled their faces, and they watched you so oddly. Why did they leap back as you came out?"

"That was odd," said Mr. Parker, thoughtfully. "Could you see nothing of their faces?"

"Nothing at all, except that the first man had a heavy dark moustache, and was tall and stoutly built; the other seemed young and slight; his face was hidden entirely."

The aide-de-camp leaned out and looked back along the dark road; then drew in again.

"No use to look," he said. "Even if they were to follow I could not see; their buggy has no lamps, our rig has to have them. Are you armed?"

"No; I never carry anything."

"Nor I, as a rule; yet had I thought we would come so far at this time of night I would have brought my revolver. Not that any attack is to be feared from those two unless there should be a crowd at their back; otherwise we would be three to two."

"But they are armed, and we are not."

"They think we are, all the same. The average citizen hereabouts goes prepared to shoot if he is on a night-prowl like this. I don't know why I asked if you were armed."

Then for some distance we rattled along in silence. The clouds had grown heavier; a few heavy rain-drops had pattered in on our faces, and the night air was damp and raw. We passed one or two more dark houses, and then came in view of the lights at Lake End. Here, despite the lateness of the hour, one or two resorts seemed still to be open and patronized. Directing the driver to turn towards the lights on the right, Mr. Parker again sprang out, looked in the carriage-shed, then into the bar-room; came out, crossed the way, and made a similar search in a neighboring establishment. Then I saw him questioning a sleepy-looking stableman, and then he came back to me. Perplexity and concern were mingled in his face as he stood there looking up at me in the glare of our lamp.

"Nobody has been here on horseback since midnight. These are the only places open since that hour, and now there are not more than half a dozen people out here – roysterers after a late supper. Where could Amory have gone? Do you suppose he knew his way back by Washington Avenue, and had turned to the left instead of this way?"

"He is an entire stranger in New Orleans, – never was out here before in his life, – and I don't know what to make of it."

He looked at his watch, retook his seat. "We must get back to the bridge," said he. "Driver, stop at Gaston's, – where we were before, – and go lively."

Now through the pattering rain we hurried on our return trip. We were silent, plunged in thought and anxiety. In some way those two skulkers at Gaston's had become connected in my mind with Amory's disappearance. I could not shake off the impression, and, as though the same train of thought were affecting my companion, he suddenly spoke, —

"You say that those men followed me as I went in, and sprang out into the shrubbery as I came back?"

"Yes; as though to avoid being seen by you."

He took off his forage-cap and looked disgustedly at it a moment.

"Confound this thing! Why didn't I wear my hat?" he muttered; then turned suddenly to me: "Mr. Brandon, when we get back to Gaston's let me have your hat, will you? I would like to take another look in there, and if you will stay in the cab, we will stop this side of the entrance, and I'll go ahead on foot. Here, driver, hold up a moment."

Cabby reined in his horse and turned towards us in surprise. The aide-de-camp sprang out in the rain and began working at the lamp.

"Don't put it out, sir; it's against orders," said the driver.

"Never you mind, driver; I'll be responsible for any row there may be over it. There is reason for it, and a mighty good one. Douse that glim on your side. That's right! Now go ahead, lively as you can, and stop just this side of Gaston's."

Then for a while we pushed on in the darkness, and nobody spoke. Finally the driver turned, saying that Gaston's lights were near at hand; presently he reined up. Mr. Parker exchanged head-gear with me; pulled the brim of my roomy black felt well down over his face; and, cautioning us in a low tone to remain where we were, disappeared in the direction of the lights.