Blakely, meanwhile, had summoned his
servant:
"Take this pony at once to Mr. Hart," said he, "and say I'll be back
again as soon as I've seen the commanding officer."
When Downs, the messenger, returned to the house about half an hour
later, it was to find his master prostrate and bleeding on the bed in
his room, Dr. Graham and the hospital attendant working over him, the
major and certain of his officers, with gloomy faces and muttering
tongues, conferring on the piazza in front, and one of the
lieutenant's precious cases of bugs and butterflies a wreck of
shattered glass. More than half the officers of the post were present.
A bevy of women and girls had gathered in the dusk some distance down
the row. The wondering Milesian whispered inquiry of silent soldiers
lingering about the house, but the gruff voice of Sergeant Clancy bade
them go about their business. Not until nearly an hour later was it
generally known that Captain Wren had been escorted to his quarters by
the post adjutant and ordered to remain therein in close arrest.
If some older and more experienced officer than Duane had been there
perhaps the matter would not have proved so tragic, but the latter was
utterly unstrung by Wren's furious attack and the unlooked-for result.
Without warning of any kind, the burly Scot had launched his big fist
straight at Blakely's jaw, and sent the slender, still fever-weakened
form crashing through a case of specimens, reducing it to splinters
that cruelly cut and tore the bruised and senseless face.
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