did this at Dan
Somers' suggestion, as being the most legal course to pursue, and waited
with the sheriff and several others in the bar for the result.

Good news had greeted the fighting party on their return. The troops were
already on the way to suppress the sudden and unaccountable Indian rising.
Eight hundred of the hard-riding United States cavalry had left the fort
on receipt of the message from Beacon Crossing. The hotel-keeper imparted
the news with keen appreciation; he had no desire for troublesome times.
Plainsmen had a knack of quitting his execrable drink when there was
fighting to be done--and Louis Roiheim was an Israelite.

A silence fell upon the bar-room on the appearance of Julie Roiheim. She
saw Seth, and beckoned him over to her.

"There are initials on the little one's clothing. M. R.," she said. And
Seth nodded.

"Any name?" he asked.

The stout old woman shook her greasy head.

"But she's no ordinary child, Seth. Not by a lot. She belongs East, or my
name's not Julie. That child is the girl of some millionaire in Noo York,
or Philadelphy. She's got nothing on her but what is fine lawn and _real_
lace!"

"Ah!" murmured the plainsman, without any responsive enthusiasm, while his
dark eyes watched the triumphant features of the woman to whom these
things were of such consequence. "And has the Doc. got around?"

"He's fixin' her up," Julie Roiheim went on. "Oh, yes, you were right,
she's alive, but he can't wake her up. He says if she's to be moved, it
had best be at once."

"Good." Just for one brief instant Seth's thoughtful face lit up. He
turned to old Louis. "Guess I'll borrow your buckboard," he went on. "I'll
need it to take the kiddie out."

The hotel-keeper nodded, and just then Nevil Steyne, who at that moment
had entered the bar, and had only gleaned part of the conversation, made
his way over to where Seth was standing.

"Who is she?" he asked, fixing his cold blue eyes eagerly on the face of
the man he was addressing.

"Don't know," said Seth shortly. Then as an afterthought, "Clothes marked
M. R."

The blue eyes lowered before the other's steady gaze.

"Ah," murmured Nevil. Then he, too, paused. "Is she alive?" he asked at
last. And there was something in his tone which suggested a dry throat.

"Yes, she is," replied Seth. "And," he said, with unusual expansiveness,
"I guess she'll keep right on doing that same."

Seth had again betrayed himself.

Nevil seemed hal