r, stocking the staff officer with opinions which he hoped and
intended should reach the department commander's ears. The engineer
disbelieved, but was in no position to disprove. His station was at
Omaha, far from the scene of cavalry exploits in fort or field.
Burleigh's office and depot were in this new, crowded, bustling frontier
town, filled with temptation to men so far removed from the influences
of home and civilization, and Burleigh doubtless saw and knew much to
warrant his generalities. But he knew no wrong of Dean, for that young
soldier, as has been said, had spent all but a few mid-winter months at
hard, vigorous work in the field, had been to Gate City and Fort Emory
only twice, and then under orders that called for prompt return to
Frayne. Any man with an eye for human nature could see at a glance, as
Dean saw, that both the aid and his big friend, the quartermaster, had
been exchanging comments at the boy's expense. He had shouted a cheery
salutation to the engineer in answer to his friendly nod, then turned in
saddle and looked squarely at the two on the back seat, and the
constraint in their manner, the almost sullen look in their faces, told
the story without words.

It nettled Dean--frank, outspoken, straightforward as he had always
been. He hated any species of backbiting, and he had heard of Burleigh
as an adept in the art, and a man to be feared. Signaling to his
sergeant to keep the column opened out, as the prairie was almost level
now on every side, he rode swiftly on, revolving in his mind how to meet
and checkmate Burleigh's insidious moves, for instinctively he felt he
was already at work. The general in command in those days was not a
field soldier by any means. His office was far away at the banks of the
Missouri, and all he knew of what was actually going on in his
department he derived from official written reports; much that was
neither official nor reliable he learned from officers of Burleigh's
stamp, and Dean had never yet set eyes on him. In the engineer he felt
he had a friend on whom he could rely, and he determined to seek his
counsel at the campfire that very night, meantime to hold his peace.

They were trotting through a shallow depression at the moment, the two
spring-wagons guarded and escorted by some thirty dusty, hardy-looking
troopers. In the second, the yellow ambulance, Brooks was stretched at
length, taking it easy, an attendant jogging alongside. Behind them came
a