There was no one near enough to reach them at the moment. Jimmy was on his feet again in an instant, dazed, half-stunned, breathless, but still unbelieving. Father could not have heard. Father would surely hear; but now the father's hand had seized his arm, and, when the boy again began to gasp his plea, it was almost dragging him across the acequia. Blood was beginning to trickle from the corner of the piteous little mouth. There was foam upon the set and livid lips of the man. "Silence! You've lied enough!" was the savage order, as Dwight thrust the boy through the gate. "Not there, sir!" as Jimmy, dumbly striving to show his loyalty, his obedience, his unshaken trust, would have run on up the steps. "To the cellar!" and in fury he pointed to the walk that circled the house, and Jimmy hurried on. They had vanished from sight as Marion Ray, with terror in her eyes, came almost running up the row, Priscilla and Mrs. Thornton staring, speechless and miserable, after her. A lone trooper, an humble private soldier, riding in from the westward gate, had sprung from saddle, thrown the reins over a post and, with consternation in his face, had started after them. It was young Hogan, faithful henchman of the Rays, still borne on the rolls of Ray's old squadron. They were in the cellar, under the rear of the quarters, when he reached them, and Jimmy's jacket was lying on the floor, while the lad, with streaming, pleading eyes, was looking up in his father's face.

"Your shirt, too, sir!" Dwight ordered, as Hogan came bounding in.

"For the love o' God, Major, don't bate the boy! Sure he never knew he did it, sir. I saw——"

"Out of here, you!" was the furious answer. "Out or I'll——" And in his blind rage the officer grasped the unresisting soldier by the throat and hurled him through the doorway whence he came. "Off with that shirt!" he again shouted, as he turned. It was already almost off. Ah, how white and smooth and firm was that slender, quivering little body, as, for the last time the streaming eyes were imploringly uplifted, the slender arms upraised, the sobbing prayer poured forth only to be heard—only to be heard.

"Face the window! Turn your back, sir!" was the sole answer through the set teeth, while with sinewy hand the father swung a yard-long strip of leather, some discarded stirrup strap the boys had left upon the bench, and poor Hogan, with a cry and curse upon his lips, rushed again to the front in search of aid. One savage swish, one sharp, cruel, crashing snap, one half-stifled, piteous scream, and then the doorway was suddenly darkened, the maddened man was thrust aside, and, breathless, panting, but determined and defiant, Marion Ray had flung herself upon the bent and shrinking child, her fond arms clasping the bared and quivering back to her wildly throbbing heart, her own brave form thrust between her precious charge and the again uplifted scourge. "Jimmy boy, my darling!" she sobbed, as strong and safe and sure she held him. Then, with her blue eyes blazing, she turned on him.

"Oswald Dwight, are you mad?"

Then again the door was darkened as Sandy Ray came limping in. One glance was enough. The strap was wrenched from the father's hand and hurled to the open, empty, black-mouthed furnace. Then both hands were needed, for Dwight, just as on Monday evening at parade, had begun to sway and was groping for support. There was no one to interpose, no one to interfere, when Marion Ray, having at last stilled poor Jimmy's heavy sobbing and bathed his face and hands and helped him to dress, led him unresisting away to her little home, for Madame "in her condition"—as FÉlicie explained individually to the dozen men and women who thronged the major's quarters that unhappy morning—was prostrated, desolated, distracted by the tragedy that had come to arrive. It was as well, perhaps, that at last it manifested itself what monster was this who held this angel in bondage—the monster himself, meantime, having been led to his room by Dr. Wallen. There, half-dazed, half-raving, he resisted and declaimed until at last their measures took effect, both doctors being with him now, and he was partially disrobed and compelled to lie down upon the bed. There one or both of them sat and watched the rest of the livelong day. There, finally, after nightfall a trained nurse took station with attendants in readiness in the hallway, for delirium had set in and Dwight's condition was declared critical.

Bad as it was, this was by no means the sole topic of talk for Minneconjou's seething population. Among the women, Mrs. Ray stood foremost as heroine of the occasion, and half the feminine element of the garrison had been to call and congratulate and praise her before the day was done. But Marion was in no mood for either. It had come to her as a vital question what to do with Priscilla. Sandy had charged his cousin in so many words with having deliberately incited Major Dwight to his furious and unreasoning assault, so Sandy regarded it, upon his only son, and Sandy had for a week or more been looking upon Dwight as a wronged and injured man. Priscilla, as we know, had virtually and virtuously admitted much of her error to Aunt Marion, but persisted that though they both, Mrs. Thornton and she, considered that it was high time Jimmy was punished instead of petted, they never dreamed to what length the father would go. "Punished for what?" indignantly demanded Aunt Marion. "For his having so cruelly hurt Georgie Thornton, and then denying all knowledge of it," was the reply. Words are inadequate to describe the indignation with which Mrs. Ray heard and answered. Jimmy never knew it at the time or heard, until late that night, of what had happened. Hogan, and others for that matter, saw the entire affair. Jimmy was whirling his English-made jacket about his head as he raced in pursuit of the leader, never realizing that Georgie Thornton, swift almost as himself, was close at his right hand. The button had cut its keen-edged way without so much as a shock or pause. Jimmy never even suspected it. In that, as in everything else, said she, he had told his father the entire truth, though Mrs. Ray herself hardly dreamed how much he had to tell. So by noontime Priscilla had again shut herself in her room to ponder over the miscarriage of her excellent intentions, and to pray, as well she might, for future guidance.

But while at the Rays', and possibly at the Dwights', there was little thought or talk of any other topic all the morning, all over the garrison was buzzing a second story that started soon after the newsboy from town, cantering out on his cow pony just before guard-mounting, sold his three dozen Stars inside of an hour and sent him back for more. The colonel and surgeon were first to receive and read. Dwight received, but never read, and other majors, captains and subalterns—not to mention non-commissioned officers and privates—chased the newsboy in eagerness to buy. It was a paragraph on an inside page, modest and moderate enough in itself—for the frontier press has learned to know the army and not to defame it—but it stirred a sensation at Minneconjou its editor refused to start in town. In brief, it was as follows:

ASSAULT ALLEGED

Just as we go to press a dispatch is received from a representative of the Star, who left last night on the westbound Flyer. The train was flagged at Fort Siding and boarded, with the assistance of a ranchman, by Captain Stanley Foster, of the Cavalry, lately visiting friends at Minneconjou. The officer was bruised, bleeding, and well-nigh exhausted, but managed to tell that he had been held up while driving, had been forcibly carried out on the open prairie, and brutally beaten by ruffians whom he declares to be soldiers, all strangers to him with one exception. The captain names as ringleader a prominent and well-known young officer of the post.

Dr. Fowler, of Sagamore Heights, was called by wire, met the train at the Pass, and went on with the injured man. The story, of course, sounds incredible, and cannot as yet be substantiated.

It was just after lunch time when a messenger came to the Rays. The surgeon asked if the lieutenant could come to Major Dwight a moment, and the doctor himself met Sandy at the door. The veteran's face was very grave. He had known the young officer but a few months. He had known his father long. "Are you feeling fit for a hard interview?" he asked.

"If need be. What's the matter?"

"Dwight is in a fearful frame of mind, and the Lord only knows how it is to end. Dwight realizes now that Jimmy was entirely innocent of any knowledge of that thing the Thorntons charged him with. Your mother sent Hogan and a trumpeter up here. Both had seen the whole affair, and Dwight would see them. He never could have rested till he got the facts. We have persuaded him that he must not question his wife, and that French cat says she cannot leave her mistress an instant. He's raging now to see you, and I reckon it's no use trying more sedatives until you are off his mind. Will you come in?"

Ray pondered a moment, then, "Go ahead," said he.

They found Dwight pacing the floor like a caged and raging lion. He whirled on the two the moment they entered, Wallen vainly preaching self-control and moderation. The misery in the man's face killed the last vestige of Ray's antipathy. It was something indescribable.

"Sandy, I'm in hell, but—it's the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth I must have. Did you—before you joined us at the Grand in Naples—did you meet—did you see Mrs. Dwight?"

"Yes," said Ray.

Dwight halted, resting his shaking hand on the back of a chair, and the shake went down through the back and legs to the very floor.

"Where? How?"

"In front of Cook's Bank. Mrs. Dwight was in an open carriage; why shouldn't I speak to her?" And the head went up and back, so like his father.

"No reason whatever, but why should she lie? Tell me that! Why should she swear that my boy, Margaret's boy, lied? Oh, my God, tell me that!"

"Major, Major!" pleaded Wallen, with outstretched hand. "This will never do. This——"

"Let him alone," said the senior bluntly. "It's got to come."

"Because," said Ray, looking straight at his man, "I was fool enough to fall in love with her the same time you did at Manila. Perhaps she thought I'd be blackguard enough to follow her after she became your wife."

"You—you met her—called upon her—at the Grand, I remember."

"I did, and I'd do the same thing again. I wanted my letters, and I had a right to them. She said that she had burned them all, and that ended it. There's never been a line between us since. I have never seen her since—when I could decently avoid it. I hope to God I'll never have to see her—again."

"There, there, Dwight, that's more than enough," said Dr. Waring, watching narrowly the working features. "Thank you, Ray. Nothing more could be asked or expected." Then, sotto voce, "Get out quick!" and Ray, every nerve athrill, passed forth into the hallway, passed another door, which quickly opened, and out came FÉlicie, finger on lip, eyes dilated, one hand held forth in eager appeal.

"Oh, Monsieur—Mr. Ray, just one second, I implore—Madame implores. She beg to see you." And the hand just grazed his arm, as he burst impetuously, angrily by. "You go to ——" was on his furious lip, but he bit the words in twain and bolted down the stairs and out into the open air, mopping his heated brow.

The adjutant was coming swiftly up the row. He had hastened forth from a vine-covered piazza well toward the eastward end just as Ray, with heart still hammering, came limping again into the glare of the sunlight. As they neared each other—the staff officer with quick, springy step, the subaltern somewhat halting and lame—the latter caught sight of a sabre swinging at the senior's hip. What but one thing at that hour of the day could this portend? One moment brought the answer:

"Mr. Ray, I reg——" with reddened cheek and blinking eyes, began the adjutant, who liked him well. Then, with sudden effort, "I—you are hereby placed in close arrest and confined to your quarters—by order of Colonel Stone."