Minneconjou that afternoon was the vortex of a revolving storm of sensation, speculation, and excitement. The few men at the Club spoke with bated breath and shrugging shoulders, with hands thrust deep in side pockets and with occasional semi-hysterical giggle. Men at the Canteen retailed in whispers, and with possibly unconscious editorialisms of their own, the story of the encounter at the office as heard through the partition in their own premises. Women along the line of officers' quarters and women among the humbler homes of the married soldiers went flitting from door to door gathering in wide-eyed, gossiping groups,

There were three women, however, prominent in this chronicle and others not individually mentioned, who kept within doors and bounds until the sun was well down behind the Sagamore and the line was formed for parade. Even then Mrs. Dwight did not appear, but Mrs. Ray sat for a while with Sandy on the little veranda, and a very red-eyed Priscilla went forth, as she said, for needed exercise. Just what had passed between her aunt and herself was never referred to outside of the family. Mrs. Ray, it seems, had also heard the childish wail of distress, had come down to inquire the cause, but not until Priscilla had succeeded in leading the little sufferer home. Then in the hall, probably, Marion had picked up the official batch of papers; thought it something of Sandy's, for open official wrappers of newspaper clippings are not privileged communications and he who runs upon them may read. Presumably Mrs. Ray had read, and, if so, the meekest, mildest of women in her place would have had a rod in pickle for Priscilla when that energetic maiden returned. It had at least one point in favor of Sandy. It relieved him from the necessity of "interviewing" his cousin. But for the life of him Sandy Ray could not be kind or cordial to Priscilla for many a day. She wrote to him, at her aunt's demand, a letter to be shown to the colonel commanding, and a portion of this letter appeared in his returned indorsement. She admitted that the only instance of officers "carousing" with and tempting the men to drink was when Uncle Will took her to see the Canteen and sipped his glass of Rhenish when the sergeants drank his health. "But," was the ingenuous argument, "if Uncle Will, who is so abstemious and conscientious, could do that much, I naturally reasoned that others whom I knew to be neither abstemious nor, in such matters conscientious, would do infinitely more, and therefore considered my statement justifiable in view of the vital importance of the matter under discussion." As to the other points in her allegation, Priscilla had no better or broader foundation. It was one of those instances of "justifiable vericide" wherein many a worthy woman, and man, has soothed a protesting conscience with "the end justifies the means."

But Priscilla had to promise also to write full confession to the Banner of Light, and it was sent registered. Aunt Marion saw to that; and duly received but never, even in part, was it published—that would be doing violence to editorial ethics.

At three o'clock that afternoon the colonel's adjutant had called ceremoniously at the quarters of Major Dwight, and at four o'clock the colonel's ambulance had followed. Half a thousand eyes, probably, followed that official vehicle as it whirled away townward, a raging captain of cavalry being the sole occupant of the interior, the driver and an orderly conversing in low tones at the front. Major Dwight had come forth with his guest, escorted him down the steps to the waiting wagon, had ostentatiously shaken hands with him twice—thrice; had even held him in conversation as though reluctant to part, and had then gone stalking over to the colonel's quarters with twitching lips and fingers to demand an explanation of this summary expulsion of his guest. If Captain Foster was to be ordered off the post because of a personal encounter with Lieutenant Ray, what was to be done with Mr. Ray? was what the major wished to know, and Colonel Stone, instead of snubbing, censuring or sending him back in arrest, went halfway down the steps to meet him, took him by the hand and said, "I've been expecting you, major, and have much to tell you," beckoned the adjutant to follow and led on into an inner room. The post surgeon was also there, by invitation.

"Major Dwight," said Stone, "I have asked these gentlemen to be present as witnesses to what I have to tell you, and if there's any man of your own corps you'd like to have present, my orderly will fetch him at once. No? Then I'll proceed. I assume you wish to know why Captain Foster was formally invited to proceed on his way this afternoon. You fancy, I believe, and he possibly—probably—told you, it was for attacking Lieutenant Ray at the Canteen. It was not. There are several reasons, and the moment I have told you enough I wish you to say stop. I do not like your fr—your guest, but I desire to say no more at his expense than may be absolutely necessary. Do you understand?"

Dwight bowed gravely. "I think I do, sir," was his answer, and the party settled into chairs and for the moment into silence.

Then Stone began again:

"When Captain Foster arrived here he took occasion to tell me he had just dropped in for a day or two—that he was expecting his orders any moment. Connor, lieutenant-colonel commanding the —th, is a classmate of mine, and in writing me two weeks ago he spoke of the shortage of officers. He said that Foster's application for a month's delay had been negatived by him and that he was then expecting him any moment. Thursday last came another letter. Short as he was of officers, three of his best had been taken away for court-martial duty. Foster's troop was commanded by a sergeant, and going to seed. Foster was apparently lost, for a copy of his order to report without delay had been there a week. His adjutant had wired to Foster's address and got no answer. That evening, as it happened, I met Foster again, and he went out of his way to tell me he couldn't imagine what had become of his orders. He had left directions with his home people to open everything that came and wire him here at once, and nothing had come, at least to him. This was queer. Friday he repeated it. That afternoon at the telegraph office in town the operator asked me if a Captain Foster was at the post. Three messages had come for him, two calling for reply, and he had sent by wire, at least, no answer. Two, said the operator, were from New York, saying important orders were there, and what should they do with them? Now, I don't like double dealing, Dwight. I at once wired Connor that his lost captain was found—here—claiming to be without orders. Connor probably wired the War Department, and on Monday noon came this." Saying which, the colonel took from his desk and held forth a telegram, which Dwight solemnly received and read, then sat one moment in silence. It was from the War Department, Washington, and as follows:

Commanding Officer,

Fort Minneconjou.

If Captain Stanley Foster, —th Cavalry, is still at your post notify him that his orders were sent June —— to his address, New York City. Secwar directs that he proceed at once to Fort Wister and report to his regimental commander for duty. Acknowledge receipt and report action.

"Secwar" being the official telegraphic abbreviation for Secretary of War, that order was beyond appeal. Without a word Dwight carefully refolded the message, arose, and handed it to the post commander. Then, after a moment's pause, straightening up, he spoke.

"I have been wrong, sir, and I—beg your pardon. I, too, had been led to suppose he was awaiting orders. Moreover, he led me to suppose his virtual expulsion was due to his resenting insulting language from Lieutenant Ray. I—will you?—have I your permission, sir, to be absent from parade and the post this evening?"

The surgeon bent quickly forward, his eyes on Stone. The colonel started, faltered, then, pulling himself together, arose, once more extended his hand, which Dwight took mechanically, and then, after a moment's reflection, spoke:

"Major Dwight, I have the highest respect for you as a soldier and as a man, but I ask you to withdraw that request. Frankly, sir, it is my desire that you do not quit the post—to-night."

A moment later when the door had closed upon the tall, spare, almost angular form, the colonel mopped his brow and said: "If I let that man go he'll follow Foster to the station and throttle him—he so hates a liar and a lie."

"I thought Foster got away in time for the Flyer," said the doctor, after a pause. He had been intently watching Dwight's every move and gesture.

"In plenty of time," answered the colonel, "though he planned it otherwise, and don't know it even now. He was scheming to miss to-day's Overland and so wait until to-morrow, but I sent the adjutant, with a man to help him pack, and the word that the ambulance would call for him at four. He could decline the help, but he couldn't the ambulance. Now, as luck would have it, they wire me that the Flyer's five hours late."

"If that's the case at Valentine," said the adjutant, "she'll be six behind by the time she strikes Minneconjou."

"Then," said Dr. Waring, "we may not have seen the last of Stanley Foster. Is Ray, too, confined to the post?"

"No," said the colonel, "I hadn't thought about that at all."