Читать книгу The Unlikely Wife - Cassandra Austin - Страница 9

Rebecca felt like dancing. And of course that was exactly what she would be doing soon, though probably not with the handsome young lieutenant.

After she had left him early that morning, she had gone to General Hale’s office. She had said the lieutenant was reluctant to take them, skirting the fact that he had flatly refused. She had suggested a word from the general about her lifelong experience with the army might allay his fears. A mention of her devotion to her father. An allusion to the need of her grieving aunt and cousin to’ be settled in a loving home.

The general didn’t bite.

Next she had gone home, hoping to enlist the help of Aunt Belle, but found her in the midst of planning a ball with Myrtle and incapable of worrying about anything else. In fact, she suspected that the older woman wasn’t particularly excited about venturing into what she called the wilderness.

Shortly before Hale was expected home for lunch, Rebecca had found an onion in the kitchen, rubbed her fingertips against its sliced side, and waited for the general on the porch steps.

Where logic had failed, tears won. The general assured her he would order the lieutenant to take them and make an ambulance available for their use. The afternoon had been devoted to altering some clothes with Alicia as her skilled, though doubtful assistant.

Now Rebecca sat in the Hale kitchen while Alicia pulled her dark thick tresses into a fashionable coil. With the bulk of it pinned in place and decorated with a carved alabaster comb, Alicia turned to retrieve the curling iron from the stove. Rebecca had already fixed her cousin’s hair and fat blond ringlets caressed the curve of her bare shoulder and neck.

“Every man at the dance will want to touch those curls,” Rebecca said.

Alicia gave her a shy smile. “You did a wonderful job, Rebecca.”

“I wasn’t complimenting my work, I was complimenting the way you look.”

Alicia shrugged. “Hold still. I don’t want to burn you.”

With great care, Alicia turned the wisps of hair around Rebecca’s face to tiny curls, then nodded her satisfaction. “Now all we have to do is wait for Mother.”

“I don’t think Mrs. Hale will allow her to dawdle much longer,” Rebecca said. “She’s certain the dance won’t start without her, and she may be right.”

“Let’s wait in the parlor,” Alicia suggested. “It’s so warm in here we’re liable to wilt. We want the curls to last until the fourth dance.”

“Ah, yes,” Rebecca agreed, slipping her arm through Alicia’s and leaving the kitchen with her. “And anyone who is still in perfect order by the fourth dance hasn’t been dancing and will remain a wallflower the rest of the night”

Alicia sighed dramatically. “Do you know how often I’ve had to run out during the fourth dance to splash a little water in my face and tug at my curls?”

Rebecca shook her head. “Never, I’d wager, unless you were turning the poor boys away. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror, cousin? You’re beautiful!”

To Rebecca’s frustration Alicia shook her head, the pink blush that came to her cheeks making her all the more appealing. “I’m serious, Alicia. You could have all the men falling at your feet with the least bit of flirting. It works for me, and I’m too tall and too skinny and my hair’s impossibly ordinary.”

“And those dimples in your cheeks are just horrid, too.”

Rebecca grinned. “So I have one overworked asset. Men give you more attention than you want, and I have to work so hard to get any.” She gave an exaggerated and unconvincing sigh.

“I saw how hard you worked on the lieutenant. One smile and he would have followed you…well, he did follow you.”

“I know I shouldn’t do it,” Rebecca said, feeling unrepentant in spite of her words. “But they are so nice to touch and…kiss.”

“They? Men in general? Don’t you believe in love?”

“Oh, Lord, I hope not!”

Alicia gave a startled laugh. “Rebecca! All women want to fall in love.”

Rebecca shook her head. “Not me. I think it’s wonderful fun to…to…dazzle a man. It’d be hard to do that with a husband around.”

Alicia looked truly shocked. “You’re awful!”

They heard footsteps on the stairs and knew the others were finally ready. Rebecca leaned close to Alicia and whispered. “True. And I’m willing to teach you everything I know.”

They had to take a carriage to the dance so the ladies wouldn’t ruin their slippers on the way. Alicia was almost giddy, and Rebecca guessed she was torn between wanting to flirt with the men and wanting to hide behind a potted plant. The girl really was shy.

“This is just lovely,” Myrtle said for the fifth time. “We get so few guests.”

“The hall was decorated this afternoon,” Hale said. “My wife called in an entire troop of officers’ wives.”

Myrtle nudged her husband with her elbow. “Don’t you dare make any remark about them being at my command. They all volunteered to help when I told them about our guests.”

The moment the general entered the hall a small band struck up a waltz. Hale escorted his wife to the center of the floor. Myrtle smiled regally as her husband danced her around the room, and in a few minutes a few others joined them on the floor.

“You’d think she was the queen,” Alicia whispered.

“In this society, she is,” Rebecca answered.

“And you will be when you get to Hays. The commanding officer’s daughter.”

Rebecca moved her cousin away from the door to a spot where they could better watch the crowd. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she said. Her eyes scanned the faces, looking for a particular lieutenant.

“The social leader,” Alicia added near her ear. “The standard for propriety.”

“I think I’ll abdicate.”

“There he is.”

“Who?” Rebecca asked innocently, though her eyes had fallen on Forrester at the moment her cousin had spoken.

“Your lieutenant. Will he ask you to dance?”

“I doubt it. If he does, he’ll probably step on my toes—on purpose.”

Before Alicia could reply she was claimed by a young officer. Rebecca smiled as her cousin was whirled away. Soon she was asked as well. After three dances with six different partners, she pleaded exhaustion and sought out the refreshment table.

After a moment Alicia joined her. “I believe I’m adequately wilted, don’t you?”

“In the loveliest sense,” Rebecca said. “Are you having fun?”

Alicia nodded, sipping her punch daintily. “I haven’t dazzled anyone, though.”

Rebecca was about to answer when a decidedly wilted Aunt Belle huffed up beside them. “I’m nearly done in. I’m sure I shouldn’t dance, but Mrs. Hale said it would be cruel not to, there being so few women. How are you girls faring?”

“Quite well, Aunt Belle,” Rebecca answered. “Aren’t the decorations lovely?”

When Belle turned to look around her, Rebecca tipped her head at Alicia indicating her desire to move father from the refreshments.

“They look like leftover Independence Day banners.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Rebecca agreed with a grin. “But they go so well with the gold buttons, don’t you think?”

Beside her Alicia muffled a giggle. Aunt Belle didn’t seem amused. “They’re brass,” she said, pointedly.

Rebecca looked out across the room, taking in the host of blue uniforms, buttons, bars, and braid. “It’s all in how you look at it,” she murmured. “Oh, Aunt Belle, you look absolutely drained. You had better get some punch.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

As soon as the older woman turned away, Rebecca steered her cousin toward an unoccupied corner, leaning close to whisper, “Who would you like to dazzle?”

“Besides your young lieutenant?”

Rebecca glanced up and caught him watching her. She had been at least half aware of where he was all evening. Alicia noticed the slip and the gleam in her blue eyes was positively wicked. Rebecca was almost tempted to turn her loose on him, just to show her she wouldn’t be jealous. Almost. Considering it made her want to grit her teeth. Lord, she would be jealous! Hoping to hide her feelings from her cousin she said lightly, “We better leave him alone. He’s been dazzled recently. It’s a little like being burned.”

“That’s awful, Rebecca. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Rebecca shushed her cousin, looking quickly around to be sure they hadn’t been overheard. “I didn’t hurt him,” she whispered emphatically. “He’s just not thrilled that we’re going with him tomorrow, and he thinks I’d use the…uh…encounter on the train against him if he refused.”

“But wouldn’t that reflect as badly on you as him?”

“Not the way he thinks I’d tell it. Oh, Alicia it gets complicated. Take my word, and pick out somebody else.”

While Alicia was making her choice, Rebecca glanced again in Forrester’s direction. Lord, he was still watching her!

“That one,” Alicia whispered, “with the mustache.”

“Ah, a colonel! Very good, Alicia! Now, you need to watch him until he looks in your direction. Make eye contact, then give him a smile.”

“All right,” Alicia whispered. “But don’t you look at him at all, or he’ll ask you to dance instead.”

“I’ll plead exhaustion and push you into his arms.”

Clark couldn’t hear what the ladies were saying, but they had been whispering together for quite some time, and Miss Huntington had glanced in his direction more than once. He hoped he made her nervous, but he seriously doubted it.

He wanted to dance with her. It was ridiculous, but true. He wanted to feel her warm body move against his again. He wanted to know if she had given in to convention and worn a corset. And he hated to think that half a dozen other men already knew.

He realized he had actually started toward her and tried to stop himself. Instead, he thought of excuses for asking her to dance. They would be traveling together; they should be on friendly terms. He didn’t want her imagining that he was afraid of her. He didn’t want to pass up a chance to touch her.

He had made his way across two-thirds of the room when he noticed another man doing the same. The minx seemed to have set her sights on a colonel. Well, why was he surprised? The room probably looked like a huge buffet to her. He had only imagined her glances in his direction.

He stopped and waited for the colonel to claim her. He would dance one dance with the blonde, then leave. He hadn’t wanted to come in the first place. To his surprise, when the colonel moved onto the dance floor, it was the blonde he had on his arm. Miss Huntington was standing alone, holding two cups and smiling after them like a proud mother.

He moved quickly to her side. “Your cousin’s a fast learner,” he said.

She wasn’t surprised to see him, but the comment had taken her off guard. She gave herself a moment then smiled up at him. “Why, whatever do you mean?”

The little tease was mimicking his accent. He would ignore it. “You were instructing her in the fine art of flirting, weren’t you? It’s probably quite a challenge teaching someone something that comes so naturally to you.”

Her dimples deepened. “I do my best. Oh, look, here comes General Hale.”

Her means of escape, if that was what she wanted. And his, too. But he didn’t want to escape.

Rebecca spoke to the general before he came to a complete stop beside her. “General, your wife has given such a lovely party. We’re having a wonderful time.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it, my dear. Lieutenant.”

Clark returned the greeting. He should excuse himself. He would. At the moment he opened his mouth, he felt her hand come down lightly on his arm. The cups were stacked in her other hand, and her attention was on the general. He looked down at the hand to make sure he hadn’t imagined it.

“General, could you do me a favor?”

What trouble did the lady have in mind?

“Anything, my dear,” the general said gallantly. Clark wanted to groan.

“Take care of our cups, will you? The lieutenant has just asked me to dance.”

It happened so quickly he felt a little light-headed. One moment he was ready to face General Hale’s displeasure, the next the dark-haired beauty was in his arms. After a moment he said, “I don’t recall asking you to dance.”

“But you did!” she declared, the picture of innocence. He opened his mouth to disagree only to have her add, “Your eyes did, at any rate.”

“I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes dancing. “I’ll admit I might have seen what I wanted to. But if I hadn’t claimed this dance, you and the general would have started talking about army business, and I would have been bored to death with no graceful way of escape. No one’s asked me to dance for just ages.”

“Two dances.” At her surprised look he clarified, “You haven’t danced for two dances.”

“Keeping track, Lieutenant?”

Clark sighed and held her closer, spinning her around, hoping to distract her. The best policy for dealing with this young lady was to keep his mouth shut. She seemed content to dance, probably savoring her victory. He decided to savor the sensation of her in his arms. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed to feel the stays of a corset under the fabric of her dress.

She sighed gently; he felt it more than heard it. Probably calculated seduction. He would hate for her to know how well it was working. He wanted to hustle her outside to some lonely spot and claim at least a kiss. He didn’t dare. And she knew it.

Her right hand in his left shifted slightly. It felt like a caress, though it was probably calculated as well. They had begun the dance with their hands in the normal position, but now her fingers were wrapped around his thumb. It made her hand look small, vulnerable. A dangerous illusion, he decided.

When the music stopped, they broke away to join in the smattering of applause. He was torn between his desire to ask for another dance and his conviction that his only chance of leaving with a shred of dignity was to leave at once.

“Thank you, Miss Huntington. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Does it have to end so soon? There doesn’t seem to be a line of partners waiting for their turns.”

“Spread that smile around, and there will be. Good night, ma’am.”

Rebecca watched him go. She couldn’t believe she had flirted with him. Of course, it was almost automatic. But he already thought so poorly of her she should have left him alone. And he hadn’t responded at all!

Someone tapped her shoulder. “Would you care to dance?”

She shook her head, waving him away with barely a glance, her attention still on the door through which the lieutenant had gone. How could he be so immune to her when he did such wonderful things to her senses? Her heart was still racing, her fingers were .tingling. No doubt, her cheeks were flushed, perhaps even feverish. And he casually walked away.

After a gentlemanly compliment, true, but still he found her easy to resist. In fact, he had barely talked to her. She felt a smile tug at her lips and let it spread across her face. He had barely talked after he admitted to watching her all evening.

Clark sat behind the field desk, fighting the wind as he went through the last of the figures Sergeant Whiting had provided. The train was due to leave in one hour, but he had a feeling they would be delayed waiting for the women in whatever accommodation General Hale had deemed appropriate. As ordered.

He heard unhurried footsteps and caught a glimpse of uniformed legs on the other side of his desk. “One moment, soldier,” he said, marking his place and placing a rock on the stack of papers. He looked up at his visitor. And leaped to his feet, sending his chair crashing to the ground behind him.

“Miss Huntington?” It was a stupid question. Of course it was Miss Huntington. But she was dressed in a cavalry private’s uniform. He supposed he should be glad she hadn’t decided to outrank him. Her glossy black hair was pulled tightly back from her face and tucked precariously under a broadbrimmed hat Her eyes were brown sparkles and her cheeks were deeply dimpled.

“Am I less temptation now, sir?”

“What?” Clark’s power of reasoning seemed to have fled with his breath.

“You said three women might be temptation for the Indians. Now we look like three more soldiers.”

Clark shook his head. “Ma’am, you don’t look like a soldier.” He was trying hard to keep his eyes on her face and off the shapely body that filled out the uniform blouse and pants in a most unusual way.

“Well, not up close.”

She sounded exasperated, and he tried to pull himself together. An official question seemed to be the best way. “How soon will you be ready to travel?”

She brought her heels together. “Ready now! Sir!” This was followed by a smart salute. His hand moved to answer it before he caught himself. He had the distinct impression he was being mocked.

“We leave in one hour. Soldier.”

She answered his sarcasm with a dimpled grin, turned on her heel and marched away. She had disappeared from view before he realized he was grinning.

Rebecca stuffed her hair under her hat for at least the fourth time that morning. She had expected to have a little trouble with the wind, but Aunt Belle had refused to let her roll up the canvas sides of the ambulance more than a couple of inches for fear someone would see them in their scandalous outfits. As a result, there was barely a breath of air.

And it wasn’t the shaking wagon that caused the problem either; it was her hair. It was too thick and too long and impossible to keep in place. She should have chosen a hat three sizes bigger. The picture she would present with a huge hat perched atop her head made her chuckle.

“What you can find to laugh about is beyond me,” muttered Aunt Belle.

A bench had been fashioned along one side of the wagon and padded with bedding for the ladies’ comfort. Aunt Belle wasn’t impressed. She had been sullen all morning.

“Things aren’t as bad as all that.” Rebecca patted her aunt’s blue-clad knee hoping to improve her temper. “We have more space than we would in a stagecoach, and we have it all to ourselves. Besides, at a stage stop we would only get a moment’s rest while they changed the teams. This way we’ll have more opportunity to walk about as the teams are rested.”

“It’ll take us longer to get there, then,” was Belle’s reply.

Rebecca resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Not as long as it would take if we waited out this war,” she said, forgetting for a moment that she was trying to soothe her aunt.

Aunt Belle shuddered.

“Come over here, Mother, and watch the prairie go by,” Alicia suggested. She had abandoned the seat an hour ago and had curled up on a bedroll where she could peek through the small opening between the wooden box and canvas side.

“There’s nothing out there to see,” Aunt Belle declared.

“There are the soldiers,” Rebecca said, winking at Alicia.

Aunt Belle nearly came out of her seat. “Alicia! Come away from there before they see you!”

“They already know we’re here,” Rebecca reasoned. “Besides, it’s just a crack. What will they see?”

“It’s unseemly!”

Alicia rose obediently. She was short enough to stand upright under the square frame that held the canvas. Rebecca mouthed a “sorry” as her cousin passed to take a seat on the other side of Belle.

Alicia gave her a forgiving smile. “Will we be stopping for lunch, do you think?”

“Of course,” Rebecca assured her. “I’ll ask the driver if he knows anything.” Before her aunt could stop her, she flung herself toward the front of the wagon and scrambled under the canvas and over the back of the seat.

“Mind if I join you for a few minutes?” she asked the driver after he had hastily made room for her. “It’s much cooler out here than inside.”

“I can stop and help you roll up the sides if you’d like,” he offered.

“That’s kind of you,” she said, trying to locate the lieutenant in the column ahead. “Aunt Belle prefers her privacy. Your name is Brooks, isn’t it?” He had been introduced that morning when he was assigned to drive their wagon, but she had barely noticed the young enlisted man.

“Yes, ma’am. Victor Brooks.”

“Have you heard when we’ll be stopping to rest?” The new recruits were riding four abreast directly in front of their wagon. She stood up for a moment to get a better view beyond, assuming the lieutenant was leading the column.

“Ain’t been in the army long enough to even make a guess. All I know is to mind my sergeant, steer clear of officers, and eat whenever they give me a chance.”

Rebecca laughed. “I hope they give us that chance soon.”

“Me and my messmates are supposed to cook for you ladies as well as ourselves. I reckon that means we roast your rabbit before we boil our salt pork.”

Rebecca turned and studied the soldier for the first time. Judging by his smooth skin, he was in his early twenties, but there was a hardness about his eyes that made him look older. She couldn’t tell if he was resentful of the assignment or had intended his comment as a joke.

“Oh dear,” she said with a sigh. “I seem to have forgotten to set out my rabbit traps so tonight you’ll probably be cooking double rations of pork.”

Brooks gave a mirthless laugh. “Not likely, ma’am. Dixie Boy will be looking out for himself, and for you too, I reckon. I imagine there’s a hunting party out what won’t get a bite of what they kill.”

Dixie Boy? She had a feeling this soldier was headed for trouble. Arguing with him wouldn’t help, though, especially if he turned out to be right. He had evidently heard stories, she had too, of officers who dined in elegance while the troops ate the standard rations. Or substandard as they called them.

“Did you see a hunting party go?”

“Three men were sent ahead a while ago.”

Rebecca scowled. Why would she be so disappointed if Brooks was right? “Maybe they’re scouting out a river crossing,” she suggested.

“I wouldn’t know, ma’am.”

“Tell you what, soldier,” Rebecca said, standing again as the column ahead mounted a rise. “If you turn out to be right, I’ll see you get a share.”

“Why, that’s kind of you, ma’am,” Brooks said.

Rebecca smiled. She had located him finally, riding a bay horse in the lead of the column. She sat down when he was once again hidden by the other soldiers. “But that won’t be till evening anyway. The noon meal is usually too hurried to cook anything. And General Hale’s wife packed us a lunch.”

“I should have guessed.”

She leaned closer and spoke softly. “If it won’t make your messmates jealous, I’ll see if I can’t save something back.”

“What my messmates don’t know, can’t upset’em.”

They caught up with the three outriders at a creek and rested just beyond it. Stock was fed and watered, fires were quickly built and coffee boiled. Rebecca wanted to spread a blanket on the ground and eat Mrs. Hale’s lunch picnic style, but Aunt Belle refused to leave the wagon except for a brief excursion into the trees. Even with Rebecca and Alicia standing guard, she found the experience humiliating.

Brooks offered them coffee, but otherwise they were left alone to eat their lunch in the same confining space they had shared all morning. Rebecca listened to the voices of the men outside and felt like a prisoner. She hoped the lieutenant would come to check on their well-being and comfort but knew Aunt Belle would probably voice her complaints. When he hadn’t come by the time they started down the trail, she told herself it was just as well.

She slipped out to the seat again shortly after they started, bringing the driver two pieces of cold chicken. He seemed surprised, though not particularly pleased to receive the offering, as if he would rather have had his worst notions confirmed than have the chicken to eat. She decided she didn’t like Victor Brooks.

Still, she determined to be nice to him. She and her companions were dependent on him in many respects, and he would no doubt take more care for their comfort if she was kind to him.

Brooks, busily eating the chicken, didn’t seem inclined to talk so Rebecca watched the column ahead, especially the officer when she could get a glimpse of him, and wished she was riding alongside him. As she imagined smiling up at him, the wind took a swipe at her hat. She grabbed for it too late.

“Stop!”

Brooks stared at her. Only after seeing the heat in his eyes did she realize that her hair had come completely unpinned and tumbled around her shoulders.

She gathered it into her fist, and Brooks came to his senses, hauling on the reins. He jumped from the wagon and Rebecca leaned around the side to see if the next team had already trampled her hat. The freight wagons were still a few yards behind, and Brooks sprinted to her hat, bringing it back to her at a run. He was in the seat and calling to the team before the next wagon was forced out of line.

“Thanks,” Rebecca said, brushing at the dust on the hat.

“My pleasure, ma’am.”

Rebecca frowned. She would have to go back inside the wagon and try again to pin up her hair. She probably ought to stay there. Aunt Belle didn’t approve of her spending time with the driver. Of course, Aunt Belle didn’t approve of anything.

Still, until she found a way to keep her hat in place, she would have to stay inside. Stopping the ambulance to retrieve it would be considered a nuisance by a certain officer in charge.

That evening, Clark set up the field desk and took out his journal. He had written half a page when a uniformed figure approached his desk. His first reaction was to finish the sentence. Then he remembered his experience of the morning. He looked up and came instantly to his feet, barely avoiding knocking over his chair again.

“Ma’am. This will take some getting used to.” Her hat was in her hand and her dark hair was loose around her shoulders. He was sure he had never seen a woman’s hair like that outside the bedroom. He shook off the image.

“Not for me.” She gave him a conspiratorial grin that nearly disarmed him. “All this time I thought women were clumsy, but we hobble ourselves with our dresses.”

Clark had no response for that. Feeling like a fool as he did every time she was nearby, he escaped behind his military training. “Is there something I can do for you, ma’am?”

“I have a problem,” she said, but she didn’t look particularly concerned.

“What’s his name?”

The girl looked positively hurt. He almost regretted his bluntness, but it had been a reasonable guess.

“Not that kind of problem. Aunt Belle took my scissors.”

Scissors? “Would you like her arrested, ma’am?”

She shot him a grin that told him she liked the idea. “No, I don’t want her arrested. I wanted to know if you have a pair I can borrow.”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“A knife?” she asked.

He drew a large bowie knife out of a sheath at his waist, certain the size would change her mind. “May I ask what you need it for?”

She looked from the knife to his face and grinned. “I’m having trouble keeping my hat on over all this hair. Would you do the honors?” She spun around, tossing her hair over her shoulders. It cascaded down her back in dark, shimmering waves.

Clark stared. “Ma’am?”

She turned to face him, sighing in exasperation. “I want you to cut my hair.” She paused, but he was speechless. “I can’t pass as a soldier like this, can I?”

“Ma’am,” he pleaded, making a mental note to thank Mrs. Evans for hiding her scissors. “I could never explain this to your father.”

“Lieutenant, we are probably being watched or will be as we travel farther west. You said yourself that women might tempt the hostiles to attack. With this much hair showing, I am plainly a woman.”

“Or an Indian scout,” he interjected hopefully.

She chose to ignore him. “If I don’t keep my hat on I’m going to be sunburned. I could die of sunstroke. Do you want to explain that to my father?” She paused a moment, to give him time to digest her comment, he supposed, then turned her back again. “Slice it off at about my shoulders.”

“Perhaps you could stay in the wagon.” Even as he said it he knew that would be too much to ask of someone like Rebecca.

She spun around. “With Aunt Belle? All day, every day? For a week? I’ll go mad. Wouldn’t you?”

She turned her back on him again. When he made no move toward her, she tossed, “Lieutenant,” over her shoulder. There was just enough threat in her voice to irritate him. He stepped around the desk and took the dark tresses in his left hand. She deserved this, he thought. Let her explain it to her father.

His knife was sharp, and it took only a moment. When the final cut was made she tossed her head, turning the bluntly cut locks into curls. Placing the hat firmly on her head she sent him a grin. “Thanks,” she said as she walked away.

Clark looked after her, down at the knife and handful of dark, soft hair, and back at the retreating figure. He realized with a start that his hands were shaking and his breathing had become labored. He returned the knife to its sheath but stared at the hair for a long moment while the wind tried to pull it from his grasp. He had the fleeting feeling that he had just scalped her.

He drew a white handkerchief from his pocket and, entering his tent, spread it on his bunk. Carefully, not wanting to miss a strand, he placed his treasure on top and folded the handkerchief around it, tying it with a string from his pack. Then he unbuttoned his blouse and, without pausing to analyze his actions, tucked the bundle into the pocket in the lining, next to his heart.