Chance looked down at his arm, the white sling. “Fair,” he said.
Chance was a bit puzzled. He wondered what the colonel was driving at.
“How soon before you’ll be able to assume your duties?” asked the colonel.
Chance sat upright. “What duties?” he asked.
“She hasn’t told you?” inquired the colonel.
“No,” said Chance.
“Oh,” said the colonel.
“My wife and I are going to California,” said Chance.
“Of course,” said the colonel. “California.”
“I’m free to go, am I not?” asked Chance.
The colonel picked up a wooden, steel-pointed pen on the desk, fiddled with it a moment, tapped it twice on the desk and laid it back in its tray, between the two brass inkwells. He looked at it for a minute or so, then picked it up again.
He dipped it into the inkwell on the right side and scratched his signature on a slip of paper beneath two lines of writing.
He pushed the paper over to Chance and Chance picked it up and read it.
It was an authorization, giving him permission to travel across Standing Rock.
In effect, it said to him, You are Free.
“Thank you,” said Chance, standing up. He placed the paper, folded carefully by his right hand on the desk, in his jacket pocket.
“That is, of course,” the colonel said, “to be used only in case of need.”
“I’m free to go, am I not?” asked Chance, wanting to check out this matter very carefully. Something in the colonel’s attitude didn’t strike him exactly right.
“Certainly,” said the colonel. “You’re going to California, that’s it, isn’t it?”
There was a kind of chuckle in the colonel’s voice, which Chance did not quite care for.
“Yes,” said Chance, regarding him somewhat narrowly, “that’s right.”
The colonel stood up and extended his hand. “We shall miss you at Standing Rock,” he said.
Chance, puzzled, smiled. Over the desk the soldier and the physician shook hands.
“Well,” said the colonel, brusquely, “before you leave, you’ll want to say good-bye to your friends.”
“Yes,” said Chance, “I’d like that.”
Now the colonel was straightening his neckerchief. He took his saber and revolver from a peg and belted them about himself. He put on his hat.
Chance followed the colonel from the small office.
They emerged on the roofed, wooden porch that fronted the building.
There Lucia, her yellow hair bright against a blue shawl, was waiting. With her was a white-haired, ruddy, handsome, well-built gentleman.
Lucia entered Chance’s arms, lifting her face to him. She was happy.
He kissed her, gently holding her.
“It’s all right,” he whispered to her. “It’s all right.”
“I know,” she said, “Mr. McLaughlin told me.”
“I’m agent at Standing Rock,” said the white-haired man, extending his hand. “My name is McLaughlin.”
“My name is Edward Chance,” said Chance. “I’m pleased to meet you.” The two men shook hands.
“I’m only sorry,” said McLaughlin, “that we can’t afford to pay more.”
“I don’t understand,” said Chance.
“But,” said McLaughlin, “you’ll have a free hand-no interference from me-you order what you need and we’ll get it.”
“I don’t understand,” said Chance.
“She hasn’t told him yet,” said the colonel to McLaughlin.
Lucia looked down, confused.
“What’s this all about?” asked Chance.
“You’re the new doctor at Standing Rock,” said Lucia.
“The hell I am,” said Chance.
McLaughlin looked puzzled. “The papers have already been processed,” he said.
“I’m going to California,” said Chance, firmly.
Lucia looked up at him. “Mr. McLaughlin is going to rebuild the school.”
Chance looked down at her.
“Standing Rock needs a teacher,” she said.