Captain Paisley walked slowly from the adjutant’s office at BoisÉ Barracks to his quarters, and his orderly walked behind him. The captain carried a letter in his hand, and the orderly, though distant a respectful ten paces, could hear him swearing plain as day. When he reached his front door Mrs. Paisley met him.

“Jim,” cried she, “two more chickens froze in the night.” And the delighted orderly heard the captain so plainly that he had to blow his nose or burst.

The lady, merely remarking “My goodness, Jim,” retired immediately to the kitchen, where she had a soldier cook baking, and feared he was not quite sober enough to do it alone. The captain had paid eighty dollars for forty hens this year at BoisÉ, and twenty-nine had now passed away, victims to the climate. His wise wife perceived his extreme language not to have been all on account of hens, however; but he never allowed her to share in his professional worries, so she stayed safe with the baking, and he sat in the front room with a cigar in his mouth.

BoisÉ was a two-company post without a major, and Paisley, being senior captain, was in command, an office to which he did not object. But his duties so far this month of May had not pleased him in the least. Theoretically, you can have at a two-company post the following responsible people: one major, two captains, four lieutenants, a doctor, and a chaplain. The major has been spoken of; it is almost needless to say that the chaplain was on leave, and had never been seen at BoisÉ by any of the present garrison; two of the lieutenants were also on leave, and two on surveying details—they had influence at Washington; the other captain was on a scout with General Crook somewhere near the Malheur Agency, and the doctor had only arrived this week. There had resulted a period when Captain Paisley was his own adjutant, quartermaster, and post surgeon, with not even an efficient sergeant to rely upon; and during this period his wife had stayed a good deal in the kitchen. Happily the doctor’s coming had given relief to the hospital steward and several patients, and to the captain not only an equal, but an old friend, with whom to pour out his disgust; and together every evening they freely expressed their opinion of the War Department and its treatment of the Western army.

There were steps at the door, and Paisley hurried out. “Only you!” he exclaimed, with such frank vexation that the doctor laughed loudly. “Come in, man, come in,” Paisley continued, leading him strongly by the arm, sitting him down, and giving him a cigar. “Here’s a pretty how de do!”

“More Indians!” inquired Dr. Tuck.

“Bother! they’re nothing. It’s Senators—Councillors—whatever the Territorial devils call themselves.”

“Gone on the war-path?” the doctor said, quite ignorant how nearly he had touched the Council.

“Precisely, man. War-path. Here’s the Governor writing me they’ll be scalping him in the State-House at twelve o’clock. It’s past 11.30. They’ll be whetting knives about now.” And the captain roared.

“I know you haven’t gone crazy,” said the doctor, “but who has?”

“The lot of them. Ballard’s a good man, and—what’s his name?—the little Secretary. The balance are just mad dogs—mad dogs. Look here: ‘Dear Captain’—that’s Ballard to me. I just got it—‘I find myself unexpectedly hampered this morning. The South shows signs of being too solid. Unless I am supported, my plan for bringing our Legislature to terms will have to be postponed. Hewley and I are more likely to be brought to terms ourselves—a bad precedent to establish in Idaho. Noon is the hour for drawing salaries. Ask me to supper as quick as you can, and act on my reply.’ I’ve asked him,” continued Paisley, “but I haven’t told Mrs. Paisley to cook anything extra yet.” The captain paused to roar again, shaking Tuck’s shoulder for sympathy. Then he explained the situation in Idaho to the justly bewildered doctor. Ballard had confided many of his difficulties lately to Paisley.

“He means you’re to send troops?” Tuck inquired.

“What else should the poor man mean?”

“Are you sure it’s constitutional?”

“Hang constitutional! What do I know about their legal quibbles at Washington?”

“But, Paisley—”

“They’re unsurrendered rebels, I tell you. Never signed a parole.”

“But the general amnesty—”

“Bother general amnesty! Ballard represents the Federal government in this Territory, and Uncle Sam’s army is here to protect the Federal government. If Ballard calls on the army it’s our business to obey, and if there’s any mistake in judgment it’s Ballard’s, not mine.” Which was sound soldier common-sense, and happened to be equally good law. This is not always the case.

“You haven’t got any force to send,” said Tuck.

This was true. General Crook had taken with him both Captain Sinclair’s infantry and the troop (or company, as cavalry was also then called) of the First.

“A detail of five or six with a reliable non-commissioned officer will do to remind them it’s the United States they’re bucking against,” said Paisley. “There’s a deal in the moral of these things. Crook—” Paisley broke off and ran to the door. “Hold his horse!” he called out to the orderly; for he had heard the hoofs, and was out of the house before Corporal Jones had fairly arrived. So Jones sprang off and hurried up, saluting. He delivered his message.

“Um—umpra—what’s that? Is it imperative you mean?” suggested Paisley.

“Yes, sir,” said Jones, reforming his pronunciation of that unaccustomed word. “He said it twiced.”

“What were they doing?”

“Blamed if I—beg the captain’s pardon—they looked like they was waitin’ fer me to git out.”

“Go on—go on. How many were there?”

“Seven, sir. There was Governor Ballard and Mr. Hewley and—well, them’s all the names I know. But,” Jones hastened on with eagerness, “I’ve saw them five other fellows before at a—at—” The corporal’s voice failed, and he stood looking at the captain.

“Well? Where?”

“At a cock-fight, sir,” murmured Jones, casting his eyes down.

A slight sound came from the room where Tuck was seated, listening, and Paisley’s round gray eyes rolled once, then steadied themselves fiercely upon Jones.

“Did you notice anything further unusual, corporal?”

“No, sir, except they was excited in there. Looked like they might be goin’ to hev considerable rough house—a fuss, I mean, sir. Two was in their socks. I counted four guns on a table.”

“Take five men and go at once to the State-House. If the Governor needs assistance you will give it, but do nothing hasty. Stop trouble, and make none. You’ve got twenty minutes.”

“Captain—if anybody needs arrestin’—”

“You must be judge of that.” Paisley went into the house. There was no time for particulars.

“Snakes!” remarked Jones. He jumped on his horse and dashed down the slope to the men’s quarters.

“Crook may be here any day or any hour,” said Paisley, returning to the doctor. “With two companies in the background, I think Price’s Left Wing will subside this morning.”

“Supposing they don’t?”

“I’ll go myself; and when it gets to Washington that the commanding officer at BoisÉ personally interfered with the Legislature of Idaho, it’ll shock ’em to that extent that the government will have to pay for a special commission of investigation and two tons of red tape. I’ve got to trust to that corporal’s good sense. I haven’t another man at the post.”

Corporal Jones had three-quarters of a mile to go, and it was ten minutes before noon, so he started his five men at a run. His plan was to walk and look quiet as soon as he reached the town, and thus excite no curiosity. The citizens were accustomed to the sight of passing soldiers. Jones had thought out several things, and he was not going to order bayonets fixed until the final necessary moment. “Stop trouble and make none” was firm in his mind. He had not long been a corporal. It was still his first enlistment. His habits were by no means exemplary; and his frontier personality, strongly developed by six years of vagabonding before he enlisted, was scarcely yet disciplined into the military machine of the regulation pattern that it should and must become before he could be counted a model soldier. His captain had promoted him to steady him, if that could be, and to give his better qualities a chance. Since then he had never been drunk at the wrong time. Two years ago it would not have entered his free-lance heart to be reticent with any man, high or low, about any pleasure in which he saw fit to indulge; to-day he had been shy over confessing to the commanding officer his leaning to cock-fights—a sign of his approach to the correct mental attitude of the enlisted man. Being corporal had wakened in him a new instinct, and this State-House affair was the first chance he had had to show himself. He gave the order to proceed at a walk in such a tone that one of the troopers whispered to another, “Specimen ain’t going to forget he’s wearing a chevron.”