The Shadow of Victory: A Romance of Fort Dearborn

"Come on out for a bit," suggested Robert; "I want to talk to you."

They went north along the river bank in silence until they were out of sight of the house, then Robert turned suddenly and faced him.

"Say," he said, "did you tell any one about my – about yesterday, you know?"

"No," answered Ronald, meeting his eyes squarely; "why?"

"Oh – nothing. Are you sure you didn't say anything that would lead any one to suspect?"

"'Nary peep, unless I talked in my sleep. When I found out that you'd drained my flask of everything but the smell, I went to Doc after a new supply, and when he asked me what had become of it I told him you'd taken to drink, but that was all. Now, I'll ask you a few questions. Why doesn't Miss Manning want me to come over?"

"Why, I don't know," replied Forsyth, wonderingly; "doesn't she?"

"Doesn't look like it," grumbled the other. "Didn't you see her gallop into the house the minute I opened the gate?"

"I didn't notice."

"You would, if she'd done it to you." Ronald was plainly in a bad humour. "What's more, if I speak to her, she never answers me decently. A girl never treated me like that before," he fumed; "just wait till I get my new uniform!"

"When is it coming?" asked Forsyth, glad of the chance to change the subject.

"Dunno – the boys are going to start early in the morning, but there's no telling when they'll get back."

"Are you going?"

"Indeed, and I am not. How can I go when there's no horse for me?"

"I thought you were going to – to borrow," stammered the other.

"Hardly!" The Ensign stopped and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Suffering Moses!" he said, "wouldn't she be mad!"

"Yes, I think she would, but I don't see why. She lets you lead Queen, doesn't she?"

"Oh, Lord, yes! I'm allowed to lead the beast twenty times around the Fort every day for exercise – she said we both needed it, and she didn't want to ride while it was so hot, – but she particularly impressed it upon me that under no circumstances was I to mount. A groom – a stable boy, – that's what she thinks I am! I believe I'll tell her to lead her own nag!"

"I wouldn't," returned Forsyth.

"Why not?" demanded the other. "What do you know about women?"

"Not very much," admitted Robert, laughing; "but we're all at sea there, I fancy."

Gradually Ronald's temper improved, and in a short time he was his sunny self again. Peace dwelt in the woods along the river, and where the young officer stretched himself full length under an overhanging willow, the quiet coolness of the unsunned spaces put an end, insensibly, to his irritation.

"Say," he said, "did you ever write poetry?"

Forsyth smiled, remembering certain callow attempts in his college days. "Yes, I called it that."

"Then you're the very man for me," announced George, "for I'm going to write a poem!"

"What about?"

"Oh – er – anything. Poems don't have to be about anything, do they? It's to go with a present – a birthday present, you know."

"To a girl?"

Ronald laughed long and loud. "No," he cried; "of course not! It's a little tribute of affection for the Captain! Lord, but you're green!"

"How can I help you with it if I don't know the circumstances?" demanded Forsyth. "What is the present?"

"The present isn't much – the poem is the main part of it. It's an Indian basket that Mrs. B. P. made for me in return for two fists of beads." Ronald took off his cap, felt around carefully inside of it, and at length produced a slip of paper, much worn. "I've got some of it," he said, "and I thought if I kept it on my head it might stimulate thought, but it hasn't."

"Let's hear it."

The poet cleared his throat and read proudly:

"Lovely lady, take this basket;
'Tis your willing slave who asks it."

Robert bit his lips, but managed to turn a serious face toward Ronald. "Is that all you've got?"

"That's all, so far. I thought myself into a headache about it, but I couldn't write any more. What shall I put in next?"

"I don't want to seem critical," observed Forsyth; "but you've got a false rhyme there."

"What's a 'false rhyme'?"

"'Basket' and asks it' – 'ask it' would be all right."

"It doesn't fit. We'll leave that just as it is – nobody but you would notice it, and you're not getting the present."

"What do you want to say next?"

"Well, I don't know, exactly," replied Ronald, confidentially. "Of course, I want it to be personal in a way, with a delicate reminder of my affection at the end of it."

"You've got a 'delicate reminder,' as you call it, in the second line."

"Never mind that; go to work."

"Lovely lady, take this basket;
'T is your willing slave who asks it,"

repeated Robert, thoughtfully. "It was made by an Indian maiden – how would that do?"

"That's all right, only it was a squaw."

"It was made by an Indian squaw, then," continued Robert. "What rhymes with squaw?"

"Dunno."