shure, it's not Murphy me noime'd be now, Oi'm t'inkin'."

Left alone, the girl bowed her head on her hands, a hot tear stealing
down through her fingers. As she glanced up again, something that
glittered on the floor beside the bed caught her eyes. She stopped and
picked it up, holding the trinket to the light, staring at it as though
fascinated. It was the locket Keith had taken from the neck of the dead
man at Cimmaron Crossing. Her nerveless fingers pressed the spring, and
the painted face within looked up into her own, and still clasping it
within her hand, she sank upon her knees, burying her face on the bed.

"Where did he get that?" her lips kept repeating. "Where did he ever get
that?"

Chapter XV. Again Christie Maclaire

Keith possessed sufficient means for several months of idleness, and
even if he had not, his reputation as a plains scout would insure him
employment at any of the more important scattered army posts. Reliable
men for such service were in demand. The restlessness of the various
Indian tribes, made specially manifest by raids on the more advanced
settlements, and extending over a constantly widening territory,
required continuous interchange of communication between commanders of
detachments. Bold and reckless spirits had flocked to the frontier in
those days following the Civil War, yet all were not of the type
to encourage confidence in military authorities. Keith had already
frequently served in this capacity, and abundantly proved his worth
under rigorous demands of both endurance and intelligence, and he could
feel assured of permanent employment whenever desired. Not a few of
the more prominent officers he had met personally during the late
war--including Sheridan, to whom he had once borne a flag of truce,--yet
the spirit of the Confederacy still lingered in his heart: not in any
feeling of either hatred or revenge, but in an unwillingness to serve
the blue uniform, and a memory of antagonism which would not entirely
disappear. He had surrendered at Appomattox, conquered, yet he could not
quite adjust himself to becoming companion-in-arms with those against
whom he had fought valiantly for four years. Some of the wounds of that
conflict still smarted. A natural soldier, anxious to help the harassed
settlers, eager enough to be actively employed, he still held aloof from
army connections except as a volunteer in case of emergency.

Just now other considerations caused him to