Of him there came sad news but the day after his crack-brained,
Quixotic essay. Infatuated with Elise, and believing in her promise to
marry him, he had placed his savings in her hands, even as had Downs
and Carmody. He had heard the story of her visiting Blakely by night,
and scouted it. He heard, in a maze of astonishment, that she was
being sent to Prescott under guard for delivery to the civil
authorities, and taking the first horse he could lay hands on, he
galloped in chase. He had overtaken the ambulance on Cherry Creek, and
with moving tears she had besought him to save her. Faithful to their
trust, the guard had to interpose, but, late at night, they reached
Stemmer's ranch; were met there by a relief guard sent down by Captain
Stout; and the big sergeant who came in charge, with special
instructions from Stout's own lips, was a new king who knew not
Joseph, and who sternly bade Shannon keep his distance. Hot words
followed, for the trooper sergeant would stand no hectoring from an
equal in rank. Shannon's heart was already lost, and now he lost his
head. He struck a fellow-sergeant who stood charged with an important
duty, and even his own comrades could not interpose when the
infantrymen threw themselves upon the raging Irish soldier and
hammered him hard before they could subdue and bind him, but bind him
they did. Sadly the trooper guard went back to Sandy, bringing the
"borrowed" horse and the bad news that Shannon had been arrested for
assaulting Sergeant Bull, and all men knew that court-martial and
disgrace must follow. It was Shannon's last run on the road he knew so
well. Soldiers of rank came forward to plead for him and bear witness
to his worth and services, and the general commanding remitted most of
the sentence, restoring to him everything the court had decreed
forfeited except the chevrons. They had to go, yet could soon be
regained. But no man could restore to him the pride and self-respect
that went when he realized that he was only one of several plucked and
deluded victims of a female sharper. While the Frenchwoman ogled and
languished behind the bars, Shannon wandered out into the world again,
a deserter from the troop he was ashamed to face, an unfollowed,
unsought fugitive among the mining camps in the Sierras. "Three stout
soldiers stricken from the rolls--two of them gone to their last
account," mused poor Plume, as at last he led his unhappy wife away to
the sea, "and all the work of one woman!"