So, making a hasty toilet, Miss Travenion steps out of her stateroom to find the car empty, it having already arrived at the eating-station, and the passengers having departed from it.

On the platform, however, she is greeted by Ferdie, who cries out: "Come along, Miss Lazy Bird. All the rest are in at breakfast. I have got some news for you."

"News about whom?" says the girl lightly.

"About the Indians. There's some off there. You needn't be afraid! I've got my revolver on, and if they act nasty, I'll fix 'em as Cap Lawrence does," says the boy, and he leads her a few steps to one side, where Erma sees a Sioux buck, two squaws and a pappoose—the warrior on a pony and flourishing about in a red blanket and soldier hat, though his leggings are of the scantiest proportions.

The squaws, as is their wont, extend their hands for stray coins, though the Sioux are by no means such beggars as their more degraded cousins, the Piutes on the Central Pacific in Nevada. Looking at these unedifying redskins, Miss Travenion finds that Cooper's novels, which she had once regarded as facts, have immediately become fictions.

"I was going to get my rifle," babbles Ferdie at her ear, "but Buck Powers told me I'd be jugged if I shot at 'em. They're at peace now." Then he goes on confidentially: "I have interviewed Buck about Cap Lawrence, and it cost me about two dollars in indigestible candies and peanuts, but I got the information. Buck says the Cap is a snorter on Injuns."

"Don't use such language in my presence, Mr. Chauncey," cries Erma sternly.

"Oh, I am only quoting Buck," answers Ferdinand. "Buck says the Cap has killed hundreds of buffalo and rafts of Indians—heaps of them. Say! What's the matter with you? I thought you'd like to listen to the history of your Indian killer," continues Ferdie, surprised; for the girl has turned suddenly away from him and is passing on towards the eating-house.

Then he suddenly ejaculates, "Well, I'm blizzarded!" a queer wild notion having got into his brain. And he has guessed very nearly the truth; for Miss Travenion, for some reason, which is at present indefinite to herself, is not altogether pleased at hearing this Western gentleman's name always connected with deeds of blood.

In the dining-room she finds her party seated at a table, at which a chair has been reserved for her, but Captain Lawrence is not with them, and looking about, she sees him at another table.

Then Ferdie, bolting his food, finishes his breakfast in about five minutes, and departs in search of Western adventure and information, not on the main platform of the station, but in out-of-the-way saloons and shanty barrooms; methods of frontier slumming that are productive during his trip of one or two decided sensations to this young gentleman, as well as the rest of his party.

Shortly after Mr. Chauncey's departure, the meal being finished, Miss Travenion wanders with Mr. Ollie to the platform, and notices Harry smoking his cigar, and surrounded by a lot of the train men and station officials, who seem to crowd around him at every stop they make, as if anxious to do him honor, Buck Powers among the number.

A moment after, Mr. Livingston having left her, the news-boy sidles up to her and remarks, having an eye to both business and pleasure, "I've got some prime California peaches saved up for you. You weren't out when I come through the train before breakfast—two dandies at ten cents apiece. The Cap chewed one this morning and said it was fine. Ain't he a stem-winder, though?" goes on the boy. "He was the most popular man on the line when it was built. You needn't pay for them peaches unless they're good."

"Thank you, Mr. Powers," answers the girl, giving the boy a bright smile, for somehow she is quite pleased to note that Captain Lawrence seems so well liked by all who know him.

"Call me Buck! Side-track the Mr. Powers! You make me feel as if you were offish," says the youthful news-agent, giving Erma a glance of admiration.

"Very well, Buck," laughs the girl. "You may bring me the peaches," and would perhaps say more to him, did not Mr. Lot Kruger, who seems somehow to always have his eyes upon her, casting a quid of tobacco out of his ample mouth, approach her and suggest affably, "Prairie air seems to bloom you up this morning, Miss."

Then her party being about her, Erma finds herself compelled to introduce the Western Lot to them all. These introductions are very affably received by Mr. Kruger, who insists on shaking hands with the whole party, an attention not very well received by Oliver, though Mrs. Livingston, thinking from his peculiar toilet he is in some degree a Western border ruffian, and it will be best for her personal safety to be very polite to him, receives him with effusive but nervous politeness, to the joy of Lot's soul. So he seats himself beside her, and goes into a free and easy conversation with the widow, giving her his views of things in general and the West in particular.

Turning from them towards her own stateroom, Erma chances to meet Captain Lawrence, who is just entering the car. Allured by the bright nod she gives him, this gentleman ignores the pleasure of an after-breakfast cigar, and sits down to a long conversation with the young lady, which is interrupted by occasional visits from Mr. Oliver Livingston, who comes up at odd times to ask Miss Travenion if he can do anything for her comfort, for he is getting annoyed at Erma's giving her time to an outsider, as he terms the engineer, and were it not that Oliver Ogden Livingston has such an appreciation of his own charms, intellect and social position, he would be jealous, which would be a fearful tax on his placid nerves, that are not accustomed to violent emotions.

As the train passes along, the captain incidentally mentions a few things of interest in sight from the cars, stating to Miss Travenion that they will soon be in sight of the Rockies, and this leads to the girl's asking him about the "Elm Creek" affair, which he puts away, saying that it was not much, though there were a great many wild doings, both by the Indians and the whites, during the construction of the road, and some recollection coming upon him from the past, the young man's face grows dark, and he suddenly changes the subject, saying that Indian fights are not generally half so desperate as some affairs that took place in the late war.

This produces questions from Erma, and she learns a good deal of Lawrence's early life; how his father emigrated from Massachusetts, being a nephew of that celebrated seaman Lawrence, whose words are still remembered—"Don't give up the ship"—and of this relationship and memory the young man seems very proud.

He tells her that his father is now a large farmer in Eastern Iowa, and the girl drawing him out by deft suggestions, learns that he was educated for a civil engineer, but at the breaking out of the war, left college and went to soldiering, and became, after a year or two of fighting, captain of an Iowa battery.

The conversation goes on very pleasantly until he suddenly cries out, "The Rocky Mountains!" and shows her snow-clad peaks looming up amid the blue sky to the west, just as the train is running into Cheyenne, where something occurs that gives Miss Travenion a great shock, and makes her change her opinion considerably about this young gentleman, to whom she has devoted so much of her thoughts in the last twenty-four hours.

Like most of the sensations of this life, it comes unexpectedly.

She has just finished a comfortable sort of dinner in the Cheyenne eating-house, and is sauntering about, watching the change of locomotives, and trying to get a good look at Long's Peak, which is so distant that she can hardly tell whether it is snow or cloud, when she is joined by Mr. Ferdinand, who shocks her by whispering these astonishing words: "Come around the corner and I'll show you a telegraph pole where Captain Lawrence hung a man."

"Hung a man? You are crazy," returns the young lady indignantly; then she sneers, "Buck Powers invents silly stories to incite you to buy more candy."

"Not at all crazy, but rather up to the snuff," retorts Ferdie, who apparently is strongly excited and profoundly impressed. "Besides, Buck didn't tell me this. I have just met a gambler in that barroom over there"—he points to a shanty drinking saloon, some hundred yards down the track—"and he says Cap Lawrence hung his pard, Nebraska Bill, to a telegraph pole."

"Impossible," remarks Erma in angry scorn.

"So I thought at first, but the man showed me the telegraph pole and said that was where Lawrence had murdered his pard."

"And you believe this gambler's likely story," sneers Miss Travenion.

"Of course I do. I am prepared for anything out here. I have been making inquiries since I got the information, and they tell me around here that Captain Lawrence was at the head of the Vigilantes out here four years ago, and used to hang up gamblers in rows, at the rate of about half-a-dozen a night," asserts Mr. Ferdie confidently. "What do you say to that?"

"What do I say to it?" cries Miss Travenion with indignant eyes. "I say that I will never believe such a thing until I have proof of it."

"And have not I proved it?" says Ferdie. "How can you prove it any better?"

"By asking Captain Lawrence," cries Erma. Then, not heeding Mr. Chauncey's expostulations that he does not think any less of the captain, and that every one around says the Vigilantes were a necessity, Miss Travenion goes hurriedly into her car and shuts herself in her stateroom, for she is very much shocked at this revelation, as any girl, brought up far away from the scenes of blood and combat and swift justice of the frontier, would be.

A few moments after this, the train, drawn by two giant locomotives, gets under way, and leaving Cheyenne, begins to ascend the Black Hills towards Sherman.

As it does so, Miss Erma's privacy is invaded by Mrs. Livingston and Ollie.

"You have heard Ferdie's awful tale?" gasps the widow.

"About the murderer you picked up on the train," interjects Mr. Livingston, waving his white cuffs, as if throwing off all responsibility in the matter.

"Picked up on the train?" cries Erma, very sternly, rising from her seat, her figure growing more erect, and her eyes becoming burnished steel. "What do you mean to insinuate?"

"Oh, nothing, of course, as regards you," replies Ollie, who is somewhat quick of speech and also hasty of retraction. "Of course you did not know who he was any more than I did when that duffer, Southmead, brought him into our supper party at Delmonico's."

"Ah, you are referring to Captain Lawrence, Mr. Livingston," says the girl, haughtily.

"Certainly. Mr. Kruger, that friend of your father, who seems very affable and pleasant, though not a highly cultured man, confirms Ferdinand's information," answers Mrs. Livingston, taking this interview out of her son's hands, as he does not seem to be succeeding very well. "This Mr. Kruger, who is acquainted with the West, has informed us that this Captain Lawrence is a very blood-thirsty individual; that he is, in fact, amenable to the laws of this country for the crime of murder."

"Yes, cold-blooded, deliberate assassination," interjects Ollie, anxious to impress the girl. "Captain Lawrence headed the Vigilance Committee, and hung up a number of unoffending citizens."

To this Miss Travenion says shortly, "I don't believe you."

"Not even your father's friend?" cries Mrs. Livingston.

"No, neither he nor any man else who would say such awful things of Captain Lawrence. Oh, I cannot believe it!" Then she mutters, "The tones of his voice are as gentle as a child's," and turns away.

"So were Johnny Slade's," inserts Ferdie, who has just now joined the party and conversation. "Besides, Buck Powers says the Cap was a terror to gamblers and desperadoes out here,—though I like him all the better for it."

But here Miss Travenion astonishes them all. She says calmly, though there is a tremor in her voice:

"I refuse to give any opinion of Captain Lawrence's conduct until I have spoken to him."

"What! You are going to—to speak to that awful man again?" gasps the widow, turning pale. Then she suddenly whispers, "Don't tell him what I said about him. He might murder us." And seemingly frightened at the thought of the blood-thirsty captain's vengeance, she takes her departure hurriedly for her own stateroom, and locks herself in.

She is very shortly followed by Ferdie and her son, to whom his half-way sweetheart says as he departs: "Permit me to satisfy myself upon this affair in my own way!"

Then, they having gone from her, she sinks down and shudders, though all the time she does justice to the man of her thoughts, and defends him, and says, "I don't believe it. He is too gentle," and finally, having persuaded herself that it is all a tissue of falsehoods, unlocks her door and steps out into the main car, to find herself face to face with this so-called desperado, who is calmly reading one of Harper's Monthlies, his "deeds of blood" not seeming to hang very heavily on his conscience.

A moment after, Miss Travenion remarks suddenly: "Captain Lawrence, will you pardon me if I ask you a question?" and her eyes grow bright, but her cheeks are pale, and her lips tremble as she speaks.

"Certainly," says Harry.

As he turns to her, the girl hesitates and falters, for it has suddenly come to her, if this man is innocent, he will not forgive; but forcing herself to the ordeal, she falters out: "People tell me what I will not believe, that—that—you, while occupied here in the arts of peace, have hung up men by the dozens to telegraph poles? Is it true, Captain Lawrence?"

And he, some strange fear in his eyes, rises to her question, and though he stands apparently calm, the strong fingers of his hand tremble a little as they grasp the arm of the seat, and his face grows also pale, and there is a slight twitch on one corner of his moustache as he murmurs sadly: "And they say that of me?"

"Yes!—Is it true?"

Then, after a moment's pause, the young man answers firmly and perhaps proudly: "In the troublous times of 1867 and '68, surrounded by gamblers, desperadoes and cut-throats, who daily sacrificed the lives of innocent men and made a mockery of both law and justice, I did what I considered my duty as a good citizen. Do you blame me for it?"

"You—you hung men without trial by law?"

"Yes—do you blame me?"

But her only answer is a frightened, "Oh! how could you?" and Erma has swept past him into her stateroom, the door of which closes suddenly after her.

He makes one step after her, as if to say words of vindication or defence; then bows his head and moves slowly out of the car, steadying himself with his hand. So, standing upon the front platform, Harry Lawrence looks down on the Laramie Plains, to which the train is descending, and there are tears in his eyes. For the strong man is thinking of the last words of Curley Jack just before they strung him up for the murder of an unfortunate creature of whom he was jealous. "Some day, Cap, some woman will make you crazy with misery as I was when I shot Kansas Kate," and he wonders if the prophecy of the dying desperado is coming home to him.

His meditation must be potent, for two hours afterwards, when the train stops at Laramie for supper, and his old-time railroad friends gather around him, they wonder what has happened, and the station agent remarks, "The Cap looks as busted up as if he had lost on four aces," for he goes about in a broken kind of a way, and once or twice, seeing some neighboring telegraph poles, turns from them with a shudder.

As for Miss Travenion, she has perhaps a harder two hours of it than Harry Lawrence, for some indefinite emotion is in her mind that makes her wildly nervous and extraordinarily excitable. Three or four times she says to herself, "Why should I care if this man has all the crimes of the Decalogue on his soul? A week ago I did not know him. Twenty-four hours back I had seen his face but once. He shall pass out of my life as quickly as he entered it." Next she remarks, "He said he did his duty as a citizen." Then she laughs: "Pshaw, I am growing nervous! I am defending this man!" and grows very angry at, and perchance unjust to, Lawrence on account of this idea.

Anxious to get away from the subject, she comes out and joins the Livingston party, and laughs and jokes with them, apparently in high spirits, though there is a feverish flush upon her cheeks; and once to the widow's remark, "Did he admit his crimes?" and Ferdie's laughing inquiry, "How many did the Cap acknowledge to swinging up?" she replies shortly:

"Enough for me to drop his acquaintance as rapidly as I made it. From this time on I shall cut him!" emphasizing the last with a wave of her hand and an excited laugh, in so vigorous a manner that Ollie is quite delighted and happy, thinking that Erma will have no further thoughts of the man whom he has grown to imagine his rival—a conclusion he would not so hastily have come to had he studied Miss Travenion in particular, or the sex in general.

So the party stroll out to supper, but Erma, apparently gay, has no appetite further than a cup of tea, and hardly tastes her supper.

Declining attendance, she walks back to her car, and, seated by an open window, looks out upon the beautiful scene, gazing toward the north, where the Black Hills fade away in the distance, and wonders, as the setting sun shines upon her face, how this land, which seems to her so peaceful and which might be so happy, is the home of men who regard human life so lightly.

But even as she does so, as luck will have it, additional evidence on the subject that is racking her brain and making her head ache, though she will not admit it, comes to her.

Two men beside the track are in conversation. The breeze wafts their words into the car.

One remarks: "Cap Lawrence came in from the East to-night, and I reckon every gambler in town is hunting his hole."

"Why, are they afraid of him yet?"

"You bet! He put his mark on 'em so heavy they don't forget him. Why, I remember one morning, three years ago, seeing Little Jimmie, the bartender, hanging up as graceful as life to that telegraph pole, with his natty white handkerchief tucked in his hip-pocket, and his white sleeves, with rubber bands on 'em which held them up while he was mixing drinks. He looked so all-fired natural that I called out: 'Give me a whiskey cocktail, Jim.' You see, they took James from behind his bar so quick he had no time to let down his sleeves and prepare himself for the future."

But the girl hears no more; she has hurried to the other end of the empty car.

Had she remained to listen, she would have also heard that Little Jimmie, the barkeeper, was as bad a man as had lived or died in the West, and the night before his sudden demise he had murdered and robbed two railroad men who had just been paid off.

But not knowing this, Erma has a very stern look on her face a few minutes after, when she sees Harry enter the car. He makes a movement as if to approach and address her, but the young lady turns her head away with a sudden shudder.

Noting this, the Westerner leaves the car and commences to walk about the platform, chewing nervously the end of a cigar he has forgotten to light. Then, curiously enough, the girl peeps after him, and stands aghast, for there is indignation in his look as he strides about, his athletic figure well displayed by a loose shooting coat, and he tosses his brown locks back from his forehead, as if he were facing an enemy, and his dark eyes are gleaming so potently that Erma gasps, "Why, he looks like a Vigilante now!"

Soon the train is crowded once more, and they begin to run over the Laramie Plains, where Ferdie excites them all by seeing a buffalo, and would get his gun to shoot at it, did not Mr. Kruger remark: "The critter is nigh onto three miles off, and you will throw away your lead, sonny."

As for Captain Lawrence, he has not entered their car, and is now in a forward smoker, puffing away desperately, and thinking with some regrets of the early days of the building of the Union Pacific Railway, those times which tried men's souls; but after turning over the matter in his mind he exclaims to himself: "By Heaven! I am glad I did my duty, even if it loses me—" Here he clenches his teeth, and a little spot of blood comes upon his lip, where he has bitten it.