CHAPTER XXVI

MISS WILLIFRED SURPRISES US

The butt struck me fairly, and I went down as though felled by an ax.  If I lost consciousness it could have been for scarcely more than a moment, but blood streamed into my eyes, and my head reeled giddily.  Yet I knew something of what occurred, heard voices, caught dimly the movement of figures.  Le Gaire ran, rounding the end of the stable, and Hardy, swearing like a trooper, clutching at his empty belt for a weapon, made an effort to follow.  Bell sprang to me, lifting my head, and his face looked as white as a woman’s.  He appeared so frightened I endeavored to smile at him, and it must have been a ghastly effort.  My voice, however, proved more reassuring.

“I’m all right,” I insisted thickly.  “Just tapped a little.  I—­I wasn’t looking for anything like that.”

“I should say not.  Here, can you sit up?  By Heavens!  I hope Hardy catches him.”

“He hardly will,” I answered, struggling into sitting posture, a vision of the chase recurring to mind.  “He was too mad to run.”

Bell laughed nervously.

“I never supposed Le Gaire was that kind of a cur,” he said regretfully.  “I never liked the fellow, or had much to do with him.  Blamed if I could understand why Miss Hardy—­”

“Oh, he played nice enough with her up until the last week at least,” I broke in, aroused by the name.  “Le Gaire is good looking, and pleasant also when things are going his way.  It’s when luck is against him that he gets ugly.  Besides, he had the major on his side.”

“I happen to know something about that,” returned Bell dryly.  “It was talked over at headquarters.  Le Gaire is rich, and Hardy hasn’t much left, I reckon, and the captain filled him up with fairy tales.  Some of them drifted about among the boys.  There were others told also not quite so pleasant, which Hardy did not hear.  You see, none of us cared to repeat them, after we realized Miss Willifred was interested in the man.”

“You mean duelling?”

“No, that was rather mild; fellows in his regiment mostly cut him dead, and say he is yellow; generally in the hospital when there’s a battle on.  But Forsdyke tells the worst story—­he heard it in New Orleans.  It seems Le Gaire owned a young girl—­a quadroon—­whom he took for a mistress; then he tired of the woman, they quarrelled, and the cowardly brute turned her back into the fields, and had her whipped by his overseer.  She died in three months.”

“I guess it’s all true, Bell,” I said, and I told him of the boy.  “He was our guide here last night, and it is just as well for Le Gaire the lad did not know he was present.  Help me up, will you?”

I leaned on his arm heavily, but, except for the throbbing of my head, appeared to be in good enough condition.  With slight assistance I walked without difficulty, and together we started for the house.  At the edge of the garden Hardy appeared, still breathing heavily from his run.  He stared at me, evidently relieved to find me on my feet.