tood stroking the arching neck
of her spirited horse--"Harney" again.

"Did they--were there any Indians--killed?" she asked, with anxiety
scarcely veiled.

"Oh, they downed one of them," answered the captain, eying her closely
the while and speaking with much precision, "a fellow who cursed them
freely in fluent English." Yes, she was surely turning paler.--"A bold,
bad customer, from all accounts. Blake thought he must be of Lame Wolf's
fellows, because he--seemed to know Kennedy so well and to hate him.
Kennedy has only just come down from Fort Beecher, where Wolf's people
have been at mischief."

"But what became of him? What did they do with him?" interrupted the
girl, her lips quivering in spite of herself.

"Oh,--left him, I suppose," answered the veteran, with deliberate
design. "What else could they do? There was no time for ceremony. His
fellow savages, you know, can attend to that."

For a moment she sat there rigid, her black eyes staring straight into
the imperturbable face of the old soldier. No one had ever accused Dade
of cruelty or unkindness to man or woman, especially to woman; yet here
he stood before this suffering girl and, with obvious intent, pictured
to her mind's eye a warrior stricken and left unburied or uncared for on
the field. Whatever his reasons, he stabbed and meant to stab, and for
just one moment she seemed almost to droop and reel in saddle; then,
with splendid rally, straightened up again, her eyes flashing, her lip
curling in scorn, and with one brief, emphatic phrase ended the
interview and, whirling Harney about, smote him sharply with her whip,
and darted away:--

"True!" said she. "Civilized warfare!"

"If that girl isn't more than half savage," said Dade, to himself, as
Harney tore away out of the garrison on the road to the ford, "I am more
than half Sioux. Oh, for news of Ray!"

Ray indeed! It was now nearly four o'clock. Telegrams had been coming
and going over the Laramie wire. "The Chief," as they called their
general, with only one of his staff in attendance, had reached Cheyenne
on time, and, quitting the train, declining dinner at the hotel and
having but a word or two with the "Platform Club,"--the little bevy of
officers from Fort Russell whose custom it was to see the westbound
train through almost every day--had started straightway for Laramie
behind the swiftest team owned by the quartermaster's department, while
another, in relay, awaited him at the Chu