The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1895-03-31
CHAPTER /.

The snow was mantling the wild waste
Of barren prairie stretching toward the
white peaks Of the Big Horn. shrouding
its desolation, hiding it's accustomed
ugliness and warning scout, soldier or
cowboy to look we'll to his land marks
before venturing forth upon its track
less sea, for even the cattle trails were
hidden and the stage road lost to view
Between its banks of glistening white
the Platte rolled black and swollen. for
rare thing had happened-one so rare
that old trappers and traders said they
never knew the like before since first
they sighted "Larmie'' Peak or forced
the passes of the Medicine Bow-there
had been three days of softly-falling
snow, and not a whisper of a Wyoming
gale. There had been a thaw in the
Laramie plains. preceded by a soft south
wind in the park country Of Colorado.
and whole feecy hillsides, said the ma
tives. were slumping off into the upper
waters of the river. and that was how
the Platte came to be tossing high it's
wintry wave under the old stockade at
the ferry and sweeping in power, in
stead of sleeping beneath it's icy
waved the colors of old Fort Frayne.
The roadway, winding from the river
side UP to the adjutant's office at the
southern end of the garrison, was still
unbroken. The guard at the ferry house
had been withdrawn. and as for the
veteran stockade, sole relic Of the early
days Of the overland stage route. it
looked now in it's silence and desolation,
heavily capped as it was with its weight
of snow. like some huge, fiattened out
Charlotte De Russo. at least that was
what Ellis Farrar. daughter Of the post
commander. likened it to as she peered
from the north window of their cory
quarters on the crest of the bluff "And
to think of Christmas being almost here
and not chance of getting wagon
through from the railway she muir.
INJURED. land SO long to make it bright
her saddest season.
These low-toned words were addressed
to Captain Leale, of her fathers regi-
ment, strong. soldierly-looking man of
nearly forty years, who, with field glass
In hand, had been studying the wintry
landscape to the north and east. He
turned as the young girl spoke, and.
lowering his glasses, followed her eyes
and looked anxiously across the bright
army parlor to where the fire light from
the blazing logs upon the hearth fell
full upon a matronly woman whose
luxuriant hair was already turning gray
and whose sweet. patient face bore the
unmistakable trace of deep sorrow. She
WA Qaafod "A a a Lot
ter before her. and had paused in the
midst of her writing and dropped off
into the dreamland of far away scenes
and memories. From drawer in the
desk she had taken what was evidently
a portrait, a small photograph, and had
been intently studying it while the only
other occupants of the room were busy
at the window.
1T is-you know-Royles. my broth
er's picture" whispered Ellis. II know
It, though L haven't seen it in ever so
-7ong-five years. think
Again the Captain bowed, inclining
his head in the slow, grave way that
was habitual with him. II know" he
said, briefly, and the gaze he fixed upon
his colonel's wife was full of anxiety
and sympathy. Il have often wished
that your fathers promotion had brought
him to any other garrison in the army.
You remember he was stationed here
when lieutenant colonel. and it was
from here that Royle went to West
Point
IT remember 1t but vaguely. That
was nine years ago, Captain, and / was
but seven. We saw him during his
cadet furlough two years later-in 1885
and that was the last. Mother only
rarely speaks of him, and father never,
unIess-unless," she added, with tiniia
appeal. "he does to you. Does hep
Captain Leale paused a moment be-
fore replying. Only that very morning
had his colonel talked with him, the
most trusted of his troop commanders,
of Ellis's long-missing brother. Only
within an hour had Farrar sought again
his advice as to one whom he could not
bring himself to name. and referred to
= i'm in shame and sorrow as my eldest"
md only rarely as my son." First
born of the little flock the boy had been
given his fathers name. The only child
for several years. petted. spoiled, over !
INDUCED by a fond, pure-hearted mother.
then reared among the isolated army
garrisons of the far West, the hand
some. headstrong, daring fellow had de-
veloped into vigorous youth. but all too
early had shown tendency to wild
companionship and reckless living. Few
men in the cavalry arm of the service
were held in higher esteem than Col.
Royle Farrar, who. entering the service
with the first regiment to be sent to the
front from New York city in the spring
of 1861, had fought his way to the COM
mand of a brigade In the last campaign,
and then been commissioned as junior
major of cavalry at the reorganization
Of the regular army. The President
himself had rendered Farrar long after
wards, cadetship for his son, and it
was gratefully yet almost fearfully ac-
cepted. The mother could not be brought
to believe her boy would not strive to
do honor to his name at the Point. The
father dreaded that the maynard, reck-
less fellow, intolerant of restraint or
discipline. would merit punishment. and.
being punished, would resent. Royle