report it to Brierly. Thatâs not up to the officer of the dayâs discretion, whether our orderly is sick or not.â He paused now. âAlso a closed door. Also, half dressed.â
Linus felt his pent-up wrath uncoil; he came slowly to his feet and walked stiff-legged across the room to confront Loring. âAre you trying to say something around that meal in your mouth, Ben Boy?â
âIâm saying a married laundress in an officerâs room with the door closed violates both regulations and propriety.â
âNothing more?â Linus asked softly.
âWhat more is there?â
âNot any,â Linus said wickedly, âbut if you think so and care to state it, Iâll argue it out with you with sabers at the rifle butts.â
Loring looked up at him, and his mouth slacked open in amazement. His broad, pleasant face held genuine surprise. He closed his eyes and said mildly, âGood God, what a thought! Is the heat eating into your brain?â
Linus stared at him uncertainly, and then a grin began and finally broadened; he sheepishly scratched his head and sighed and said, âI think it is,â and turned back to his chair. He picked up the towel, rubbed his chest with it, and wadded it up and threw it on his bed. A wicked restlessness, compounded of anger at himself, at Loring, at the heat, and at the foul realities of just plain living, pushed him into motion. Loring was lying across the bed now, hands over his eyes. Linus prowled past him and glanced at him, uncertain if his own anger had given Loring cause to really wonder at Mrs. Riordanâs presence. Heâd have to smooth it over, make the whole thing seem unimportant.
Toeing the chair out of the way, he hauled up at the window and looked out at the sun-baked parade ground. Across it a handful of enlisted men, in the deep shade of the barracks veranda, were talking. A dog angled swiftly across the hard-packed clay, picking up his feet swiftly; his tongue was hanging out of his mouth and his tail was between his legs.
Linus wheeled away from the window, glancing again at Loring. He asked with elaborate politeness, âMiss Dunnifon enjoy her ride?â
âItâs funny. I think she did,â Loring answered.
âDid you?â Linus asked idly.
âItâs not my time of day.â
But Linus knew this was no time to bait the pompous Loring, and he prowled back across the room and halted before his desk. He looked at his unfinished letter with distaste. His glance lifted to the window, and he saw two riders passing the quartermasterâs storehorse on their way to the corrals. With a cavalrymanâs eye he first regarded the horses, and saw they were runty Indian ponies. He noted next that they were being ridden bareback, with a rope halter, Apache fashion, instead of a bridle, and now his curiosity was aroused.
Full recognition came only belatedly, but when it did he lunged for the open window and yelled through it, âKinsman! Hold on, Ward.â
He wheeled, and now Loring sat up in his bed. âKinsman? Is he here?â
âOutside with old Holly,â Linus said, making swiftly for the door.
As he passed the bed, Loring said, âYoung Lieutenant, youâre out of uniform.â
Linus swore and came back for his shirt, muttering sardonically, âCaptain Army Regulations Loring.â But Loring had hurried out. At the end of the barracks Linus, ramming in the tails of his blue shirt, caught up with him, and they tramped toward the road that ran between the bakery and the storehouses.
Kinsman and Holly had halted, Linus saw. When Ward recognized them, he handed his rein and rifle to Holly, slipped to the ground, and started toward them, his gait slow and easy and effortless. Watching him, Linus felt a vague and nameless excitement; the very sight of the man stirred memory of a score of garrison legends.
When Ward was close, Linus saw the startling smile under