en Snaffle dare not "take
him on" again.

The snows lay long and deep in the ravines and hollows. It was not until
mid-May that the poor victims of the blast and blinding storm were
uncovered, and the bodies of the missing were found, save that of
Cary--Cary, who, having been given up for lost, turned up most
unexpectedly the very day that Fitzroy, applicant for reenlistment, was
summarily turned down. But Cary came not of his own volition. He marched
with a file of the guard. Cary's story was simple enough. Rawdon and
Lowndes had hardly got away on the train when Sergeant Stowell and his
party came searching. Cary hid. He was still half drunk. Some one told
him of Kelly's arrest, and charged him with that and with running off
the Fosters' sleigh. He dared not face the music. He forgot his precious
missive to Dora Mayhew until next day. Then the storm held him. Not
until the fire night did he summon up courage to sneak home. He had no
money left and could buy no more liquor. He stole into Lanier's back
door to return the civilian suit and recover the cavalry blouse and
trousers left hanging in Rafferty's room. He could hear the lieutenant
moving about overhead. He had to strike a light; he struck several
matches; found the clothes, slipped out of the "cits" and into his own.
He was cold and numb. He knew there was liquor on the sideboard in the
middle room. The craze was on him, and he risked it. He struck more
matches and threw the burning stumps to the floor, drank his fill, then
stumbled away, intending to give himself up to his first sergeant for
absence without leave. Back round by way of the store and the east front
he went, but before he could reach the barracks came the appalling cry
of fire--Lanier's quarters! His doing beyond doubt, and now, in dismay
and terror, he fled from the post. Some ranch folk took him in next day,
and cared for him awhile, then sent word to the fort. Poor Cary had
Lanier to plead for him before his trial, but three months' hard labor
was the least the law would allow. He was still "doing time" when his
happier friend of college days came back with his sweet young wife.

By which time, too, another wedding was announced as near at hand. Only
two days did Mr. Arnold and Aunt Agnes allow Miriam in which to prepare
for the homeward journey, but it is safe to say that in that brief time
their views of frontier life and people had undergone marked amendment,
for they had found an old expou