TAPS. 



Mary Gordon Bailey. 



t was Sunday, calm and beautiful 

 — Sunday in Arizona — and the 

 sun poured a wealth of warm light 

 over the quiet little garrison at the 

 foot of Mt. Graham — that grand 

 old tower which has watched the 

 incoming and outgoing of many 

 a century. 



It was nearing the hour for 

 band practice and the balconies 

 along " officers' row " were en- 

 livened by the ladies, as decked in 

 dainty gowns. Yet, at the old stone 

 house, near the east end of the fort, no 

 sign of life appeared. The bright red 

 chairs gleamed invitingly and the green 

 vines looked cool and refreshing. Those 

 vines were the envy of the garrison. 

 The sun beat mercilessly on the white 

 sand all day, sapping the life from the 

 few green things that struggled to grow; 

 but at Captain Raymond's every thing 

 flourished in a magical way. None of 

 the inmates of his quarters were enjoy- 

 ing them this afternoon. The long glass 

 windows were bowed in and the hot 

 wind that swept across the wide stretch 

 of prairie, tossed the muslin curtains 

 silently to and fro. Every thing else- 

 where about the post was calm and tran- 

 quil ; yet in that pretty army parlor a lit- 

 tle tragedy was taking place. Two young 

 people were enacting a scene that must 

 ruin their chances for future happiness. 

 Helen Raymond, in a gown of mull 

 and lace, sat in a low rocker carelessly 

 waving a fan of ostrich feathers. Oppo- 

 site her sat her lover, Jack Willis, the 

 bonniest, cheeriest fellow in the Sixth. 

 His face was grave, thoughtful, careworn. 

 " It is not right," said he. " For two 

 months we have been engaged and no 

 one seems to grasp the fact, although 

 they can readily see I'm hard hit. Last 

 night those fellows hung about you, 

 begging for dances, and with your most 

 winning smiles you favored them, never 

 saving a number on your card for me ; 

 and now you wear that bracelet and tell 

 me it came to-day, from a man. I will 

 bear it no longer. You must take me 

 and announce the fact, or I will give you 



your freedom, though it cost me my 

 heart." 



His face was pale now, as well as 

 grave. He rose to his tall height and 

 came over to the pretty girl who opened 

 wide her brown eyes and an amused 

 smile curled her pink lips. 



" Ah ! Mr. Willis " — she answered 

 after a pause, during which she surveyed 

 him from his crown to his toes ; " you 

 are displaying a good deal of author- 

 ity. Must I reserve even my smiles for 

 you alone ? It is well this trait has de- 

 veloped in time ! " Her eyes flashed and 

 she rose. " I give you your freedom, sir, 

 since you wish to use that word, and I 

 give it gladly ! " 



" Helen," Jack said, " I love you." 



This came low and tender and sweet; 

 yet Helen heard nothing save that he 

 had offered her her " freedom — she, 

 Helen Raymond, who had reigned 

 "Queen of hearts " so long. "Freedom!" 

 How she detested the word ! Turning 

 deliberately she walked to the long win- 

 dow. Jack took up his forage cap and 

 at the door hesitated. 



" When you wish to see me again, 

 Helen, send for me. I will never come 

 until you do." 



An instant of silence, a step, the 

 closing of the hall door and Helen Ray- 

 mond watched her lover cross the porch, 

 pass down the steps and turn up the line 

 to his own quarters. She noted how 

 stern and pale he was, and how soldierly 

 too ; how handsome his uniform, how 

 splendid his easy graceful walk. Then 

 she gazed from him down the endless 

 road to Point of Mountain and saw the 

 stage surrounded by a cloud of dust in 

 the distance, as it toiled on. Across the 

 parade the men lounged on the shady 

 side of their quarters. She stepped out 

 on the porch, plucked a pink geranium 

 and laid it against her delicate dress. 

 All these small things were vividly im- 

 pressed upon her mind, as one who has 

 a great sorrow will note so many trifling 

 incidents and actions. 



Yet Helen declared to herself she had 

 no feeling ; she cared not at all. Several 



