es a
stoutly-built, soldierly-looking man in rough scouting dress, whose
only badge of rank is the tarnished shoulder-strap with the silver
leaf on the shabbiest old fatigue-coat to be found in the battalion,
most of whose members, however, wear no coat at all.

"Hullo, Wing!--didn't mean to disturb your _siesta_,--Drummond here?"
says the commander in his off-hand way, and at sound of the well-known
voice Drummond, too, is on his feet in a twinkling.

"Seen the papers that came in to-day?" queries the colonel,
obliterating from his sentences all verbal superfluities.

"Not yet, sir; any news?"

"Hell to pay in Chicago, so far as heard from. The railway strike has
taken firm hold there. Police and militia both seem unable to do
anything against the mob, and the authorities are stampeded. Your
home, isn't it?"

"It was once, sir, but that was many a long year ago."

"W-e-ell," says the colonel, reflectively, stroking his grizzled
beard, "it's my belief there is worse to come. It isn't the striking
railway hands that will do the mischief, but every time there's a
strike all the thieves and thugs and blackguards in the community turn
out. That's what happened in Pittsburg,--that's what's the matter in
Chicago. It looks to me as though the plea for regular troops would
have to be granted."

"Think we can get there, sir?" asks Wing, eagerly.

"Can't say. We're supposed to have our hands full covering this
section of Nebraska, though I haven't heard of a hostile Sioux this
summer. Besides, they have full regiments of infantry at Omaha and
along the lakes. Doesn't Mrs. Wing say anything about the trouble?"

"Her letter is four days old, sir, and only says her father looks upon
the situation as one of much gravity; but women rarely see troubles of
this kind until they come to their doors."

"Well, this is the _Times_ of two days ago. It reached Sidney at
breakfast-time this morning, and Hatton brought two or three copies
out when he came with the mail. I thought you two might be
interested." And with that the colonel goes strolling along down the
bank of the stream, pausing here and there to chat with some officers
or give some order relative to the grazing of the horses,--one of his
especial "fads."

And this evening, just as the sun disappears over the low bluff line
to the west and the horses are being picketed for the night, while
from a score of cook-fires the appetizing savor of antelope-steak and
the aroma