er, all the time wishing it were possible to overtake the
courier, by that time nearly twenty-four hours on his way to Prescott,
that he might amend the wording of that report. He was for sending a
"supplementary" that very evening, but who was there to send? Sanchez
was the only available post courier. The scouts were away with the
cavalry. Both troops were now afield. Barely a dozen horses were left
at the post, and every able-bodied, ambitious cavalryman was with his
comrades on the trail. They who remained were the extra duty men, or
the weaklings. Moreover, when Archer spoke of it to Willett, the latter
very diplomatically argued against it. Wait a day and something _worth_
sending would surely turn up. Two such captains as Stannard and Turner
could not fail to accomplish something. They could be counted on to
find the hostiles and punish them wherever found. Moreover, as yet,
there were only evil tidings to send, for so the wounding of Harris
would be regarded, and the recapture of poor Mrs. Bennett without her
children would hardly compensate. There was still another thing to be
considered, but even Willett balked at saying this. He had said enough
to induce Archer to hold his hand another day at least, so why use more
ammunition until he had to?

Two days, therefore, had gone by without news from the field column or
further message to Prescott. Then it was easy to persuade Archer that
it was best to wait the return of Sanchez, and, for Willett, those two
days, especially the long, exquisite evenings, had been full of- sweet
and thrilling interest. "I should be more with Harris, I suppose you
are thinking," he had said to Lilian Archer, "and there I would be,
but--I cannot rid myself of the feeling that he would rather be alone.
He always was peculiar, and I seem to worry rather than to help him."

"But you were classmates," said she, "and I thought----"

"Classmates, yes," he answered, "but never much together. Even
classmates, you know, are not always intimates."

"Still I should think that now--here----" she began again, her hand
straying listlessly over the strings of her guitar, her slender fingers
trying inaudible chords.

He glanced over his shoulder to where Mrs. Archer and Mrs. Stannard,
fast becoming warm friends, were in chat near the open doorway. Then
his handsome head was lowered, and with it the deep, melodious voice.

"Can you not think that here, and now, I might have greater need of
every