ter get food and
field kits and be ready to follow him. Then he hastened to join his
devoted young wife, waiting with Mrs. Ray upon the piazza. Dade, who had
met him at the ford, had still much to tell and even more to hear; but
at sight of those two pale, anxious faces, lifted his cap and called out
cheerily, "I hand him over to you, Mrs. Blake, and will see him later,"
then turned and went to his own doorway, and took Esther's slender form
in his strong arms and kissed the white brow and strove to think of
something reassuring to say, and never thought to ask Blake what he had
in that fine Indian tobacco pouch swinging there at his belt, for which
neglect the tall captain was more than grateful. It was a woman's
letter, as we know, and that, he argued, should be dealt with only in a
woman's way.

Sorely puzzled as Blake had been by the discovery, he had been able on
the long homeward march,--walking until in sight of Frayne and safety,
then galloping ahead on the corporal's horse,--to think it out, as he
said, in several ways. Miss Flower had frequently ridden up the valley
and visited the Indian village across the Platte. Miss Flower might
easily have dropped that note, and some squaw, picking it up, had
surrendered it to the first red man who demanded it, such being the
domestic discipline of the savage. The Indian kept it, as he would any
other treasure trove for which he had no use, in hopes of reward for its
return, said Blake. It was queer, of course, that the Indian in whose
pouch it was found should have been so fluent a speaker of English, yet
many a Sioux knew enough of our tongue to swear volubly and talk ten
words of vengeance to come. There were several ways, as Blake reasoned,
by which that letter might have got into the hands of the enemy. But at
any rate, with everything said, it was a woman's letter. He had no right
to read it. He would first confide in his wife, and, if she said so, in
Mrs. Ray. Then what they decided should decide him.

But now came a new problem. Despite the long morning of peril and chase
and excitement, there was still much more ahead. His men were in saddle;
his troop was afield; the foe was in force on the road to the north; the
battle, mayhap, was on at the very moment, and Frayne and home was no
place for him when duty called at the distant front. Only, there was
Nan, silent, tremulous, to be sure, and with such a world of piteous
dread and pleading in her beautiful eyes. It