ind and cordial. The colonel himself had paid a brief
visit to camp, his adjutant in attendance, and had given Mr. Dean ten
minutes of talk concerning a country Dean knew all about, but that
"Pecksniff" had never seen. "It is a responsibility I own I should have
expected to see placed on older shoulders," said he, "but prudence
and--and, let me suggest, cool-headedness--will probably carry you
through. You will be ready to start----"

"Ready now, sir, so far as that's concerned; but we start at three."

"Oh, ah--yes, of course--well--ah--it leaves me practically with no
command, but I'll hope to have you back, Mr. Dean. Good-by." Then as he
passed Folsom the colonel whispered: "That's ten thousand dollars as
good as thrown away."

"Ten thousand dollars!" answered the trader in reply. "What do you
mean?"

"That's what those boys are to run the gauntlet with. My--ah--protests
are entirely unavailing."

For a moment Folsom stood there dumb. "Do you mean," he finally cried,
"that--that it's beyond Frayne that they're going--that it's money
they're to take?"

"Hush! Certainly, but it mustn't be known. Every road agent in Wyoming
would be out, and every Indian from the Platte to Hudson's Bay would be
on the watch. He's to take ten men and slip through. The money comes out
from Burleigh to-night."

The colonel turned away, and, beckoning to his staff officer to join us,
stumped onward to the garrison. The prolonged wail of the bugle, aided
by the rising night wind, sent the solemn strains of taps sailing down
the dimly-lighted valley, and with staring eyes old Folsom stood gazing
after the departing officers, then whirled about toward the tents. There
in front of Dean stood Pappoose, her hands clasped lightly over the hilt
of the saber the "striker" had leaned against the lid of the mess chest
but a moment before, her lovely face smiling up into the owner's.

"You'll come back by way of Hal's, won't you?" she was blithely saying.
"Perhaps I can coax father to take us there to meet you."

"By heaven, Burleigh," muttered the old trader to himself, "are you the
deepest man I ever met, or only the most infernal scoundrel?"

CHAPTER XV.

A sleepless night had old John Folsom, and with the sun he was up again
and hurriedly dressing. Noiseless as he strove to be he was discovered,
for as he issued from his room into the dim light of the upper hall
there stood Pappoose.

"Poor Jess has been awake an hour," said