No initials appeared.
The card was otherwise blank, and Hatton and I--well--there's no sense
in telling the absurdity of our beliefs at that time. We were all at
sea."

"Let all that pass," said Holmes, with a grave smile on his face. "The
man that hasn't been a fool in one way or another in this garrison
during the last month or so is not on my list of acquaintances, and I
think I know myself. What I want now is a description of Sergeant
Marsland. One of my Denver friends thinks he has spotted him as a swell
gambler down at El Paso."

And so, that night, a full pen-picture of the lamented
commissary-sergeant was wired to Denver. Two days later a special
detective was speeding southward; and though Roswell Holmes had left
Fort Laramie and gone about his other affairs long before the result
was known, and long before the slow-moving wheels of Wyoming and
military justice had rolled the two later culprits before the courts,
it was his name that came up for renewed applause and enthusiastic
praise when the telegraph brought to the commanding officer the news
that a "rich haul!" had been made on the far-away Texan frontier.
Marsland and over one thousand dollars had been gathered in at "one
fell swoop."

Then came July, its blazing sunshine tempered by the snow-cooled
breezes from the mountain-peaks, and its starry nights made drowsy and
soothing by the softer melody of the swift-rushing Laramie. The roar
and fury of the May torrents were gone and with them the clouds and
storms of human jealousies and suspicions. The crowded garrison had
undergone a valuable experience. The social circle of the post had
learned a lesson as to the fallibility of feminine and masculine--judgment.
Bruce was slyly ridiculing Miller because of his surrender to the
views and theories of his better half, and, even while resenting
verbally the fact that he had been excluded from all participation in
the momentous affairs of the early summer, was known to be devoutly
thankful in his innermost heart that he had not been drawn into the
snarl. Bruce was hand in glove with Captain Forrest now, who, having
set his house in order and silenced the querulous complaints of his
wife at the loss of Celestine, was eager to get back to his troop.
Between Forrest and McLean, too, there had sprung up a feeling of
cordial friendship. Forrest had heard from his sister's lips the story
of how he and Hatton had burned her handkerchief and striven in every
way t