the manner of her taking off was to him a mystery and a
rankling sore.

Last man to be examined was Blakely, and now indeed there was light.
He had been sitting up each day for several hours; his wounds were
healing well; the fever and prostration that ensued had left him weak
and very thin and pale, but he had the soldier's best medicine--the
consciousness of duties thoroughly and well performed. He knew that,
though Wren might carry his personal antipathy to the extent of
official injustice, as officers higher in rank than Wren have been
known to do, the truth concerning the recent campaign must come to
light, and his connection therewith be made a matter of record, as it
was already a matter of fact. Wren had not yet submitted his written
report. Wren and the post commander were still on terms severely
official; but, to the few brother officers with whom the captain
talked at all upon the stirring events through which he and his troop
had so recently passed, he had made little mention of Blakely. Not so,
however, the men; not so Wales Arnold, the ranchman. To hear these
worthies talk, the Bugologist, next to "Princess Natzie," was the
central figure of the Red Rock campaign--the one officer, "where all
had done so well," whose deeds merited conspicuous mention. Byrne knew
this better than Wren. Plume knew it not as well as Byrne, perhaps.
Sanders, Lynn, and Duane had heard the soldier stories in a dozen
ways, and it stung them that their regimental comrade should so
doggedly refuse to open his lips and give Blakely his due. It is not
silence that usually hurts a man, it is speech; yet here was a case to
the contrary.

Now just in proportion as the Wrens would have nothing to say in
praise of Blakely, the Sanders household would have nothing _but_
praise to say. Kate's honest heart was hot with anger at Angela,
because the girl shrank from the subject as she would from evil
speaking, lying, and slandering, and here again, to paraphrase the
Irishman, too much heat had produced the coldness already referred to.
Sanders scoffed at the idea of Natzie's infatuation being sufficient
ground for family ostracism. "If there is a man alive who owes more
than Wren does to Blakely, I'm a crab," said he, "and as soon as he's
well enough to listen to straight talk he'll get it from me." "If
there's a girl in America as heartless as Angela Wren," said Mrs.
Sanders, "I hope I never shall have to meet her." But then Mrs.
Sanders,