ere were reasons, indeed, why she was glad Nanette
was gone. All Fort Frayne was devoted to Esther Dade and, however
unjustly, most of Fort Frayne,--men, women and children,--attributed
Field's defection, as they chose to call it, to Nanette--Nanette who had
set at naught her aunt's most ardent wishes, in even noticing Field at
all. Money, education, everything she could give had been lavished on
that girl, and now, instead of casting her net for that well-to-do and
distinguished bachelor, the major, thereby assuring for herself the
proud position of first lady of Fort Frayne, the wife of the commanding
officer, Nanette had been deliberately throwing herself away at a
beardless, moneyless second lieutenant, because he danced and rode well.
Mrs. Hay did not blame Mrs. Dade at that moment for hating the girl, if
hate she did. She could have shaken her, hard and well, herself, yet was
utterly nonplussed to find that Nanette cared next to nothing how badly
Field was wounded. What she seemed to care to know was about the
casualties among the Sioux, and, now that Stabber's village, the last
living trace of it, old men, squaws, children, pappooses, ponies and
puppies and other living creatures had, between two days, been whisked
away to the hills, there were no more Indians close at hand to whisper
information.

She was glad Nanette was gone, because Field, wounded and present, would
have advantages over possible suitors absent on campaign--because all
the women and a few of the men were now against her, and because from
some vague, intangible symptoms, Mrs. Hay had satisfied herself that
there was something in the wind Nanette was hiding even from her--her
benefactress, her best friend, and it seemed like cold-blooded
treachery. Hay had for two days been disturbed, nervous and unhappy, yet
would not tell her why. He had been cross-questioning Pete, "Crapaud"
and other employees, and searching about the premises in a way that
excited curiosity and even resentment, for the explanation he gave was
utterly inadequate. To satisfy her if possible, he had confided, as he
said, the fact that certain money for which Lieutenant Field was
accountable, had been stolen. The cash had been carefully placed in his
old-fashioned safe; the missing money, therefore, had been taken while
still virtually in his charge. "They might even suspect me," he said,
which she knew would not be the case. "They forbade my speaking of it to
anybody, but I si