family, as became a
prosperous and respected citizen.

Dreams of statehood were beginning to waken into hope of reality among
the sturdy men who dwelt in the territory, and during this journey south
Burroughs confided to Bill his ambition to sit in the United States
Senate. Fortune had favored him so far. All that was necessary to
further his ambitions was to be as shrewd and cautious as he had been
hitherto, and all things should be his--with Bill's help. Bill
listened--that was his role for the time being. But he thought well of
the plans, and said so before his chief referred to quite another
subject--Pine Coulee and the boy. Here Bill found no words.

Burroughs opined that the episode with Pine Coulee was nothing. She was
a fool to expect him to continue their relations simply because there
was a child. He would see that they did not suffer. Really Sweet Oil Bob
felt a glow of self-approval as he talked. But few men in the Whoop Up
Country gave a thought to the comfort of the squaws when they left them.
And as for the children--let them go with their mothers! It was the
easiest thing imaginable.

To Danvers it seemed that half the population of Fort Macleod was
leaving, since Scar Faced Charlie had departed months before, and Toe
String Joe had been dishonorably discharged and gone out of the
country. Only the loyal O'Dwyer remained, and to him he sometimes spoke
of Fort Benton friends. To Eva he wrote with every outgoing mail, and
watched eagerly for a sign from her when a chance freighter should bring
the Fort Benton mail. Then fever broke out in the barracks and Danvers
spent his nights caring for the others and had little time for thought.
His splendid constitution seemed able to bear any amount of fatigue, and
he boasted that the loss of sleep was nothing--that he preferred to talk
to some one--he had not enough to do to keep busy!

But he overestimated his strength, and when a mail was brought with no
letter from Eva the disappointment and anxiety told on his already
overtaxed constitution. O'Dwyer was the last to convalesce, and even he
was no longer in need of constant attention. With the relaxing of the
strain came Philip's utter collapse. The fever was on him, and for weeks
he talked deliriously of English lanes, of his sister Kate, of his rise
in the service, but never of Eva Thornhill. It was as if some psychic
power guarded his lips and loyally preserved his secret.

The spring flowers were buddin