Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1896-10-29
CHAPTER I.

The snow was mantling the wild
waste of barren prairie stretching to-
ward the white peaks of the Big Horn,
ehrouding its desolation, hiding its &C.
Customed ugliness and warning scout,
colder or cowboy to look we'll to his
landmarks before venturing forth upon
its trackless sea, for even the cattle
trails were hidden and the stage road
lost to view. Between its banks OF glls-
tcning white the Platte rolled black and
swollen, for q rare thing had happened
one SO rare that old trappers and
traders said they never knew the like
before since first they sighted Lar
mic" peak or forced the passes OF the
Medicine Bow-there had been three
days of softly falling snow and not a
whisper of Wyoming gale. There had
been thaw in the Laramie plains, pre-.
ceded by soft south wind in the park
country of Colorado, and whole feeoy
hillsides, said the natives, were slump
ing off, in the upper waters OF the
river. And that was how the Platte
came to be tossing high its wintry wave
under the old stockade at the ferry and
sweeping in power, instead OF sleeping
in peace, beneath its icy blanket, around
the huge bluff where waved the colors
Of old Fort Frayne.
The roadway winding from the river.
side up to the adjutants office at the
southern end of the garrison was still
unbroken. The guard at the ferryhouse
had been withdrawn, and as for the
veteran stockade, sole relic Of the early
days Of the overland stage route, 1t
looked now in its silence and desola-
ton. heavily capped as it was with its
weight Of snow, like some huge, fat.
tened out charlotte de russe-at least
that was what Ellis Farrar, daughter
of the post commander, likened it to
as she peered from the north window Of
their coy quarters ON the crest Of the
bluff. "And to think of Christmas be-
ing almost here and not q chance Of
getting a wagon through from the rail.
way" she murmured, land l so longed
to make it bright and Joyous for motherl
II is always her saddest season.
These low toned words were addressed
to Captain Leale of her fathers regi-
ment, strong, soldierly looking man
of nearly 40 years, who, with fieldglass
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 freight from
the blazing logs upon the hearth fell
full upon o matronly woman whose
luxuriant hair was already turning gray,
and whose sweet, patient face bore the
unmistakable trace Of deep sorrow. She
was seated at desk, an unfinished let
ter before her, and had paused in the
midst Of her writing and dropped off
into the dreamland Of faraway scenes
and memories From q drawer in the
desk she had taken what was evidently
a portrait, q small photograph, and had
been intently studying it while the only
other occupants of the room were busy
ut the window.
1T is-you know-Royle's, my
brothers. picture" whispered Ellis. II
know it, though I haven't seen it in
ever so long-fve years, think"
Again the captain bowed, inclining
his head in the slow, grave way that
was habitual with him. Il know" he
said briefly. and the gaze he fixed upon
his colonel's wife was full Of anxiety
and sympathy. II have often wished
that your fathers promotion had
brought him to any other garrison in
the army. You remember he was sta
toned here when lieutenant colonel,
and it was from here that Royle went
to West Point"
II remember it but vaguely. That
was nine years ago, captain, and was
but z. We saw him during his cadet
furlough two years later-in lsS3-and
that was the last. Mother only rarely
speaks of him, and father never unless
unless" she added, with timid ap-
peal, she does to you. Does hep
Captain Leale paused moment be.
fore replying. Only that very morning
had his colonel talked with him, the
most trusted of his troop commanders,
Of Ellis 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
in shame and sorrow as my eldest,
and 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, fetted, spoiled,
overindulged by fond, pure hearted
mother, then reared among the isolated
army garrisons of the far west, the
handsome, headstrong. daring youth
but all too early had shown tendency
to wild companionship and reckless liv.
ing Few men in the cavalry arm of the
service were held in higher esteem than
Colonel 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 command of a brigade in the last
campaign and then been commissioned
as q junior major Of cavalry at the re.
organization Of the regular army. The
president himself had rendered Farrar,
long afterward, cadetship for his son,
and it was gratefully yet almost fear
fully accepted. 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
wayward, reckless fellow, intolerant Of
restraint or discipline, would merit
punishment, and, being punished,
- $3.50. .
would resent. Royle stood the ordeal
only fairly we'll at first. Dement'S in
profusion and Eight prison" twice had
clouded his record before the furlough
year, but the mothers eyes rejoiced in
the sight of the handsome, stalwart