Among the gentlemen from Braska visiting the post that afternoon was Mr. Langston, who drove thither full of eager anticipation, and hailed the first glimpse of the bright hues of the flag with a thrill of hope and joy. No spot in all God's green earth at that moment held in his eyes such vivid charm and interest. Ten minutes later no spot in all the world seemed so barren and desolate. The sunshine, the sailing clouds in the vault of blue, the chasing shadows along the slopes, the streaming colors of blue and white and scarlet at the tip of the swaying staff, the glint and sparkle of the accoutrements of the guard, the gaudy lining of the troopers' capes, were absolutely unaltered, yet the light had gone from his eyes—following the trail to the far Ogallalla. To him who loves a woman with all his heart there is more beauty in a mud-chinked hovel in a frontier fort where she may dwell than in all "the castled crags" of storied Rhineland or the cloud-capped towers and gorgeous palaces among the mirror lakes of Alpine Italy.

Langston learned of the departure five minutes after he reached the post, and lost all further interest in the day. He said he would "loaf" at the club room until Burtis and Willett got through their calls, which, said they, would occupy some hours,—two or three at least. Indeed, Willett "didn't know but what he might stay out with Sanders overnight" and let Burtis "tool the trap" back to Braska when he got ready. When, therefore, in less than forty minutes Willett's team was reported being hurriedly harnessed in the post trader's corral and that gentleman himself came bustling in with a pale, scared face that intensified the blue blotch under his eye, Langston was astonished. He was listlessly turning over the leaves of a magazine at the moment and seeking solace in a cigar. Willett looked nervously about him, bade the attendant bring him some brandy and soda, and threw himself into a chair in front of the stove.

"You look used up, Willett," said the elder. "What's the matter? Seen anything more of your midnight antagonist?"

"No, by heaven! I wish I had. I believe the devil himself has gone in league with the gang at this garrison. I never knew such a string of mishaps in all my life. Say, are you ready to go back?"

"Any time; but I thought you wanted to stay."

"Oh, so did you when you came out, Langston, and now you don't, and I'm simply in the same boat."

The attendant brought him a tall glass and poured the soda hissing into the brandy. Willett drank eagerly, then started for the door. "Come, then," he called; "the trap's ready—or ought to be." Langston knew it was not, so temporized.

"How about Burtis?" he asked.

"Burtis? Oh, I don't know or care. He can get back just the best way he knows how. There's an ambulance coming over to town to-night."

"Well, I think you ought to let him know, Willett."

"I have. I sent him word by Sanders, whom I just left."

"Very well, then I'll go with you now. Only stop one minute at Sanders's so that I can say good-by to him. He goes back to the agency to-morrow, I believe."

"Well, he isn't there. He's gone out to pay a call. Jump in."

But as they drove around the level road towards the northwest gate, and the long line of officers' quarters lay to their right front, two officers could be seen in earnest conversation at the front gate of No. 12, the farthest away.

"There's Sanders now," said Langston. "It won't take you five minutes out of your own way. Turn over there, won't you?"

"I can't. I—I've got to hurry, Langston. If you want to see him you can jump out, and I'll wait for you outside the gate."

"Well, if you're in a hurry that'll take much more time than if you drove. I'd have to walk both ways, don't you see?" was the cool answer. "Never mind, though; go ahead. Who's that with Sanders?"

Willett, who had turned red with confusion at his own blunder, turned redder at the question, then went gray again. "That's Lieutenant Davies," said he, briefly.

"Oh, then he's home. Why, how I'd like to meet him again! Here—just let me out, will you? and you go ahead. I'll come back with Burtis."

"No; come on with me, Langston. I'm in a devil of a fix and want your advice."

And as they bowled swiftly along homeward over the smooth, hard, prairie road, Langston admitted to himself, as Willett falteringly unfolded his tale, that the young man was indeed "in a devil of a fix,"—in what Langston, who was an old soldier, found it more descriptive to say, a damnable fix. He pondered over it a moment and then said, "I don't understand what you want me to do, Willett," and his tone was very cold. "I don't see how I can help you. From your own account you have behaved either like a fool or a blackguard, and what I can't fathom is why Davies's commanding officer, or some friend or comrade, did not warn you off weeks ago."

Now, admitting that in the absence of almost all his comrades in the field, and that it was distinctly his duty to protect the honor and interest of his regimental comrade, let us see to what extent Captain Devers felt disposed to exercise his prerogative and act against this indisputable wolf in the sheepfold. Precedents he did not lack. Everybody had heard how Colonel Atherton, of the —th, had served a would-be gallant whose attentions to a lady of the regiment, during the prolonged absence of her husband in the field, had become the talk of a big garrison. Everybody knew how old Tintop, when he made up his mind that Lieutenant B—— was becoming infatuated with Mrs. Captain Potiphar, calmly recommended B.'s immediate and indefinite detail at the Shoshone Agency, an isolated nook in the heart of the Wind River country where the mails got through only once a week in midwinter and no one but the mail rider thought of trying to get out. Colonel Pegleg, in the days of his original wife, had taken a fatherly interest in garrison matters, and instituted a system of post government that was almost patriarchal, especially when most of the men were absent in the field, but Mrs. Stone the second was made of flimsier stuff, and fond of gladness and gayety, dancing and feasting, and what she termed "an innocent flirtation" was harmless occupation so long as her own queendom was unimpaired. There can be no question, however, that she would long since have put her husband on the trail of this new disturber of the garrison peace but for the illness that followed Stone's sudden prostration. The command with its powers having devolved upon Devers, she could do nothing. It is a hard thing for a man to find himself by reason of illness suddenly stripped of the robe of command and forced to become only a lay figure, but it is harder yet to many a woman whose social powers were dependent mainly upon the rank of her husband to see herself, through his prostration, suddenly set aside as though of only vicarious consequence. Naturally, Mrs. Stone could not bear Captain Devers,—few of the women could,—and it was only through his own wife that the gossip of the garrison was apt to reach him, and Mrs. Devers had troubles of her own that seemed to stifle to a great extent her interest in those of her neighbors. She was neither young nor pretty; she shone not in society and had no great ambition in that direction. She had seen Mr. Willett's devotions to Mrs. Davies,—as who had not?—but with only languid interest. Such things concerned her less than they did those belles of the active list, who felt themselves thereby defrauded of attentions that had been quite lavishly, even if impartially, bestowed up to the time of Mrs. Davies's dawning on the social horizon. Actually, therefore, Captain Devers was not so much to blame as Langston thought, for of his own regiment only one officer was present to advise him, and Hastings's advice, as that officer had long since been informed, would be asked for when desired. In point of fact only three officers remained at the post for whose opinions Devers entertained any respect, Leonard, Rooke, and the chaplain, and he had quarrelled with the first and second, and treated with indignity the third, so that no one of the three now felt disposed to confer with him on any subject. This would not have deterred the chaplain in a matter of duty, however, for that honest and stalwart soldier of the cross was as ready to battle with himself as he was to take issue with the devil, but the chaplain had been absent for long days, and returned only when it was supposed that Mira would be whisked away to the agency with the Cranstons, and, safe in Percy's sheltering arms, be beyond the reach of harm or temptation.

There were other reasons, however, for Devers's inaction, and grave ones. Ever since the ominous visit of the staff officer from division head quarters he had felt that the ground was caving beneath his feet. For years had he been skimming along on the very verge of serious trouble, yet ever adroitly evading trial; always incurring censure, but escaping court-martial. One after another he had alienated or betrayed every commander under whom he had served. One after another he had lost the respect of every officer with whom he associated, and now he realized that if the regiment could but settle down somewhere for a few months, there would speedily follow a crystallization of the sentiment against him,—a deposit of all this floating mass of testimony now apparently held in solution, and the true inwardness of the tragedy of Antelope Springs, the falsity of his insinuations against Davies, the trickery of his methods, one and all be brought to light. Already, through Haney, he heard of the sensation created among the men by his defence of Howard, and of the depth of feeling among the old hands against this airy upstart recruit, not a year in service, who frequently boasted that he had more influence with "Cap." than all the rest of them put together. Haney himself could not cipher out the secret of Howard's importance, and was plainly and palpably jealous. Ever since early in the campaign, when young Brannan was pointed out to Devers as Miss Loomis's patient and as a trooper who wanted to get out of "A" troop and into "C,"—ever since the colonel and the major began interfering with Devers because of his open rebuke of Mr. Davies, it was noticed that Howard, a mere raw recruit, could get the captain's private ear at almost any time, and those were days when a soldier was not supposed to address his company commander on any point until he had first obtained the sanction of the first sergeant. Every man in the troop knew that soon after their arrival at Scott, Howard began to get letters from the East, and some of these contained money orders, which he had cashed in Braska. Some men in the troop, notably that babbling drunkard Paine, declared that in a little strong box he had brought with him Howard had some letters tied up in ribbon that he watched with jealous care. "New hands" who came out in the same batch of recruits said that at St. Louis Arsenal, whither they were shipped on enlistment, Brannan, Howard, and Paine had at first been very intimate, but that some coldness had sprung up and Brannan kept aloof from them. They were wild and full of "gall," Brannan was sad and sober. Howard used to write lots of letters then to some girl, Paine said, and go off and post them in obscure letter-boxes outside the gates when he could get leave, but he had quit writing long since, Haney knew, for he watched the new company clerk with jealous eyes. He knew and knew well that Howard was savagely glad when Brannan was sent to the reservation with Boynton's party. He noted that Howard became of a sudden fitful, restless, sullen, and then reckless and negligent of his work and eager to go frequently to Braska. Presently he heard things of him that made him believe Howard was contemplating desertion, and no sooner had Lieutenant Davies arrived than he became assured of it. "I had to serve under that damned, canting Methodist preacher," said Howard, "and I won't have him nosing around where I am. I'll desert first." Now, Haney had no objection to Howard's "skipping,"—it would be good riddance to dangerous timber,—but he wanted first to find out what was the secret of his dislike of Davies, whom most of the men, and all the better ones, had learned to respect and esteem. He plied Howard with questions, hints, suggestions, and whiskey, but Howard's head, or stomach, was stronger than he thought, and the liquor failed in the short time at his disposal to overcome it. With a few months the result would have been different. Howard once admitted, however, that he hated the lieutenant and had reason to, but that was all that Haney ever wormed out of him, but he and others were morally certain that Howard meant to desert when the very day of Paine's trip to Braska the company clerk disappeared. They counted on his court-martial and downfall when brought back to the post in "cits" by Sanders's squad. They were amazed at the abortive outcome of the affair, and then at last the gang that "had stood in with" the first sergeant as the surest means of keeping on the right side of the captain began to realize that here was a man with more "pull" than Haney, and the latter, feeling his influence going, determined that the time had come to regain it, cost what it might. He knew beyond peradventure who was the mysterious night prowler, knew why Captain Devers had ordered Paine to watch Brannan in hospital, he knew why, or believed he knew why, the captain was so down on Brannan and so fiercely bent on breaking him or driving him out. He knew that he could, if he would, lay before Mr. Leonard certain damaging facts in connection with Brannan's two relapses into drinking, and of Paine's detail to town that day when he was needed, as they knew he would be needed, at the adjutant's office. He required just one or two links more to make a chain so powerful he could twist his troop commander in its coils and dictate the terms of their future relations, but he needed Howard's testimony to complete the chain, and the liquor with which he tempted him, in and out of the office, at last began to take effect. Howard was getting more and more reckless, sullen, savage. He would get up at night and drink and dress and slip out of barracks and be gone an hour sometimes, yet so stealthy was he that when Haney strove to trail him he turned on him like a tiger and damned him for a spy, and still the sergeant felt that perseverance and whiskey would bring him triumph yet, when all on a sudden came the dramatic episode of that still Saturday night,—the flash that revealed him for one instant to the frightened revellers in Willett's sleigh and then covered his track in shadows impenetrable. All on a sudden Howard had vanished,—deserted in earnest this time, leaving his first sergeant in a tangle of unfinished toils and his captain in sore anxiety. It was the contemplation of his own meshes that blinded Devers to those which Willett would have thrown over Mira's pretty, curly, empty head.

The conversation between Sanders and Davies was very brief and decidedly grave. Sanders had at first assumed the light air of superiority of the old cadet toward the plebe, and, to head off questioning, plunged into that species of deprecatory and officious advice which is generally prefaced by, "Now, my dear boy, let me as a friend," etc., etc. Like the chaplain's wife, Sanders started with the best intentions, and just as she had excited Mira's resentment so had Sanders aroused Davies's wrath.

"Stop right there, Sanders, and say nothing about friendship until you explain that scene. Where is the packet you were asked to deliver to my wife?"

"I haven't it. I wouldn't touch it. You don't suppose I'd be a party to such a thing. The man was an ass to ask me, and I told him so."

"He doubtless reasoned that a man who could accompany the wife of a brother officer to a place of such miscellaneous character as Cresswell's would not be above carrying secretly to her that which he dare not send openly."

"He had no right to judge by it, Davies! Lots of ladies go there,—and Mrs. Stone matronized us."

"No ladies of our regiment have ever gone there, Sanders, until you accompanied my wife,—an inexperienced and ignorant child. What Mrs. Stone or her associates may have seen fit to do is no concern of mine. You know and I know that women like Mrs. Cranston, like Mrs. Truman, like Mrs. Leonard or Mrs. Wright would not go there under any circumstances, and the fact that a party of women from the fort was in one room simply served to attract a party of—very different women to the next."

"Then I'll bust Cresswell's head for him inside of twenty-four hours," exclaimed Sanders. "The idea of his daring to allow such people in there at such a time!"

"The idea of your not standing my friend—you, the only fellow-graduate of my regiment here at the post—and preventing my wife's being taken there at any time. Think of that, Sanders."

"Why, damn it, Parson, don't be so brutally unjust. I supposed if you cared a rap you'd have stopped it before."

"Stopped it before? Why, Sanders, what are you saying? You don't mean she—my wife—had been there before?" And all the indignation had gone from Davies's face. It was now white, almost awe-stricken.

For a moment Sanders knew not what to say. All at once there dawned upon him the realization that now through him, in this utterly untoward, clumsy, miserable way, was Davies for the first time being made aware of what common, every-day rumor said of his wife. He would have cut his tongue out rather than wilfully put in circulation a word of scandal, yet it had been reserved for him to bring to a husband's ears the first ill-omened tidings of a wife's misdoing.

"God forgive me, Davies, if I've blundered!" he burst out at last. "I'll never forgive myself. I supposed—they all talked of it so fully—freely together—I supposed you knew all about it. I never dreamed of harm in it. Mrs. Flight—or rather Mrs. Darling and she together—occasionally went there, and the other ladies had their husbands as a rule, or at least sometimes, and there was good sleighing, you know, between here and town, and absolutely nowhere else were the roads beaten. They sort of had to go there, don't you see?"

"Go there with whom?" said Davies, grasping the rail of the fence and breathing hard.

"Why, with Willett, of course; he was the only fellow that had a good turnout. He used to come for them, I believe, and sometimes he had Mrs. Darling and Mrs. Davies—he and Burtis—and sometimes Mrs. Flight."

"And do you mean that they—that these four, went there to Cresswell's? Do you know this, Sanders?"

"Well," said Sanders, "they were all talking and laughing about it, never dreaming of anything harmful or unbecoming. Why, Parson, old man, you mustn't be too strait-laced out here. You know it's the way of the West."

But Davies threw out his hand as though imploring silence, seemed about to speak again and ask another question, but finally turned without another word, and leaving Sanders standing dejectedly at the gate, re-entered his hall and closed the door behind him.