For nearly a week after the home-coming of his beloved daughter John Folsom was too happy in her presence to give much thought to other matters.  By the end of that week, however, the honest old Westerner found anxieties thickening about him.  There were forty-eight hours of undimmed rejoicing.  Elinor was so radiant, so fond, and had grown, so said the proud father to himself, and so said others, so wondrously lovely.  His eyes followed her every movement.  He found himself negligent of her gentle little friend and guest, Jessie Dean, to whom he had vowed to be a second father, and such a friend as she had been to his Pappoose when, a homesick, sad-eyed child, she entered upon her schooldays.  Elinor herself had to chide him, and with contrition and dismay he admitted his fault, and then for hours nothing could exceed his hospitable attentions to Jessie, who, sorely disappointed because Marshall was not there to meet her, was growing anxious as no tidings came from him.  Two whole days the damsels spent in going over the new house, exclaiming over papa’s lavish preparations, but wishing presently that Mrs. Fletcher were not quite so much in evidence, here, there, and everywhere.  Only when bedtime came and they could nestle in one or other of their connecting rooms were they secure from interruption, and even then it presently appeared they could not talk confidentially as of old.  Folsom had taken them driving each afternoon, he himself handling the reins over his handsome bays, Elinor at his side the first time, and Jessie, with Mrs. Fletcher, occupying the rear seat.  But this, Elinor whispered to him, was not as it should be.  Her guest should have the seat of honor.  So, next day, Jessie was handed to the front and Mrs. Fletcher and Pappoose were placed in rear, and in this order they bowled round the fort and listened to the band and talked with several of the women and one or two officers, but these latter could tell nothing about Lieutenant Dean except that they had been expecting him for two days ­he having taken the long way home, which both Jessie and Pappoose considered odd under the circumstances, though neither said so and nobody thought to explain.  But the morning of the third day “Miss Folsom” ­as the veteran was amazed to hear his daughter addressed, yet on reflection concluded that he’d be tempted to kick any man who addressed her otherwise ­seized a favorable opportunity and whisked her fond father into a corner of his library, and there gave him to understand that in Eastern circles the housekeeper might sometimes, perhaps, accompany the young ladies when they were going shopping, or the like, alone, but that when escorted by papa it was quite unnecessary.  It was in fact not at all conventional.

“Bless my soul!” said Folsom.  “I supposed that was what she was for.  What did these women mean by telling me I must have a, companion ­a guide ­etc.?”

“They meant, you blessed Daddy, that they wished to provide you with ­one of their number, and me ­with something I do not want.  If Mrs. Fletcher is to be housekeeper I have nothing to say, but ­don’t you think your big daughter old enough and wise enough to select her own companions?  Daddy dear,” she continued, after a little pause, and nestling close to him with a pathetic look in the big brown eyes, her lips twitching a bit, “I know how loving and thoughtful you have been in all this, and I wouldn’t have you think me ungrateful, but ­did you believe I was always going to be a little girl?  What do you suppose I studied housekeeping for at school?  Mrs. Fletcher is engaged, I presume, and I can’t ask you to undo that now, but I wish you had written to me first.  However, if you don’t mind, there’s somebody I’d rather you would invite to take the fourth seat to-day, and then you can have Pappoose beside you, if you wish.”

“Why, of course, sweetheart, any one you like.”

“Lieutenant Loomis, then, Daddy ­the officer we met on the train.  Jessie likes him and he’s such a friend of her brother ­the only one we have yet seen who seems to know him at all.  Then you could ask him to dinner, too.”

Folsom’s face was a study.  Doubt and perplexity both were twitching in the little muscles about his lips.

“We met three officers, did we not, Elinor, and I had thought ­somewhat of ­asking the major and his guest.  He said he wished to call.  He was here while we were driving yesterday.  I met him later.”

“Yes, I saw his card,” was the hurried, indifferent answer.  “But they are not like Mr. Loomis.  Daddy, I did not at all like that Captain Newhall, or ­for that matter ­”

“They both seemed prodigiously struck with you,” said Folsom, in misguided confidence yet pardonable pride.  “They’ve done, nothing but talk to me about you ever since.”

“They did nothing but talk to me all the way over the mountains, except when they were out taking what I have reason to believe was an occasional drink, Daddy mine.  Jess had Mr. Loomis to herself.  They have found your weak spot, Daddy.  They know you love to talk of your daughter.  You have only known Major Burleigh a little while, is it not so?”

“Only within the year, perhaps, though of course I’ve heard of him a great deal.”

“And this Captain Newhall, whose regiment is in Louisiana while he’s out here on leave ­I thought officers went East when they got leave.”

“Newhall says he’s out here looking over some mining schemes.  He has money to invest, I believe.”

“He should invest some money in a traveling suit, Daddy dear.  That coat and his linen seemed woefully out of condition.  Gentlemen are not careless about such matters.”

“Oh, he explained that his trunks were delayed in Omaha or somewhere, and were coming along next train.  I own I was prejudiced against him, too, but of course if he’s a friend and guest of Burleigh’s he ­he must be all right.  He’s staying with him at the depot.”

“And you’ve got to invite them to dinner?” asked Miss Folsom, after another pause, during which she had been thinking deeply.

“Not if you don’t want it, pet.  Of course they’ll expect it.  Army officers are hospitable, you know, Burleigh has asked me to dine with him a dozen times, though I’ve only been there once.”

“Then you’ll have to invite him, Daddy,” was the answer, with quick decision.  “Only, just wait for a day or two.  Captain Newhall was going right out to the mines, he said, and there may be others we’d be glad to have.  Jessie’s brother ought to be here any hour.”

“Yes,” said Folsom dubiously.  “I’ve been thinking about him ­I’ve been wishing ­”

But he hesitated and faltered and could not meet the deep brown eyes, so full of searching inquiry and keen intelligence.

“You’ve been thinking ­what, Daddy?” she asked, and now her slender hands were on his shoulders and she was turning him so that she could study his face.  “You have been hearing something you do not wish us to know, Daddy dear.  I heard Major Burleigh say something to Mr. Loomis about ­about Lieutenant Dean, and I know Mr. Loomis did not like it, and Jessie and I can’t believe it.  Father, where is he?  Why doesn’t he come?  Why do these ­these people at the fort hem and haw and hesitate when they speak about him?  Jessie is getting so troubled.”

“I’m getting troubled, daughter,” answered Folsom impulsively.  “I never met a likelier young fellow or one that promised to make a better officer.  He may be all right, too, only it isn’t so much what they do say as what they don’t say that troubles me.  Burleigh here and old Stevens out at the fort and one or two others I’ve asked about him.  Burleigh says he ‘lost his nerve’ when they met Red Cloud’s big band.  A boy might be excused for that so long as he didn’t misbehave.  It was big responsibility for a young lieutenant.  But these people, as you speak of them out at the fort, really know very little about Dean.  Burleigh says he’s in a position that enables him to know so much more about the character and habits of the young officers.”

“Surely he can say nothing against Mr. Dean!” exclaimed Pappoose, looking up with quick indignation in her brown eyes.  “No one knows how good and generous he has been to Jessie and his mother.”

They were standing at the moment in the corner of the library farthest from the doorway.  The front windows opened to the north, giving a fine view of the rolling hills rising higher and higher and looking down upon the grass-grown slopes spread out at their feet, criss-crossed and traversed by hard-beaten roads and trails.  Immediately in front of the house Folsom had seeded and watered and coaxed into semblance of a lawn the best turf to be had in that section of Wyoming, and inclosed it in a spick and span white picket fence.  The main road between the fort and the railway station passed directly in front of his gate.  The side window of the cozy room looked out to the west over the valley of a rushing stream, once rich in trout, but now much infested by the mules from Burleigh’s corral, which lay half a mile away to the southeast, out of sight of Folsom’s house except from the upper windows.  Eager to stock the library with standard works against his daughter’s coming, the old trader had consulted a friend among the officers and had sent a lavish order to a house in Chicago.  Books, therefore, were there in plenty on the handsome shelves, and they were not ill-chosen either, but it was Mrs. Fletcher who pointed out how stiff and angular everything looked, who introduced the easy lounge, the soft rugs, the heavy hanging portieres of costly Navajo blankets.  It was her deft touch that draped the curtains at the windows and softened and beautified the lines the hand of man would have left crude and repellent.  And that library had been her favorite haunt; but since the coming of the girls Mrs. Fletcher had seemed to retire to her own room aloft, and to spend no time below stairs that was not demanded by her household duties.  Now as the father and daughter were talking earnestly together, they heard Mrs. Fletcher moving about overhead as though looking over the work of the housemaid.  Jessie had gone to her own room to write a short letter to her mother.  Major Burleigh was to come at 10.30 to drive them out to Pinnacle Butte, a sharp, rocky height far across the valley, from the summit of which a wonderful view was to be obtained.  It lacked but five minutes of the time and suddenly Mrs. Fletcher’s voice was heard on the floor above.  It was a well-modulated voice, gentle and controlled, with a clear, vibrant ring in it that made the words distinctly audible to the hearers below.

“The major’s carriage is coming up the street, Miss Dean.  There are two officers.”

“Two!” exclaimed Jess, starting to her feet, thinking only of her brother.  “Oh!  I wonder if ­” And then they heard her go pit-a-pat through the hall to the front of the house, heard Mrs. Fletcher more deliberately follow, heard presently the beat of horses’ hoofs on the hard roadway, and the whir of coining wheels.  “I’ll go out to meet them, Elinor ­I’ll ­I’ll talk to you more about this some other time.  You don’t care to go on this ride this morning one bit, do you dear?” he added uneasily.

“No, father; frankly, I don’t ­but he has been polite to you and attentive to us.  There’s no help for it.”

And so Folsom went alone to the door to meet his visitors on the porch without, and did not hear, did not see Mrs. Fletcher, who came hastily down the stairs, her face singularly pale, a glitter of excitement in her eyes.  On tiptoe she hastened along the broad hall, reaching the library door just as Folsom stepped out on the porch.  On tiptoe she darted in, closed the door behind her, almost rushed to the north window, and there grasping the curtain she crouched, heedless of the possibility of observation, and for half a minute clung and crouched and stared.  Then, as Folsom’s genial, powerful voice was heard in welcoming accents, and heavy footsteps came along the broad board walk, the woman straightened suddenly and, noiseless as before, hurried back across the room and came face to face with the daughter of the house.

“Oh, Miss Folsom!” she faltered, her bosom heaving in violent agitation.  “I did not know you were here.  I ­excuse me ­” and hastened out of the room and up the winding stairs.

“Pappoose” never hesitated.  Coolly, quickly, she stepped to the window.  Major Burleigh had just reached the top step and was exchanging greeting with his host.  The stylish team and glistening wagon were just spinning away.

“It’ll be back in five minutes,” she, heard the quartermaster explain to her father.  “Newhall has to meet come people coming in by stage from Green River.  I thought I’d rather spend the time here.”

And on the back seat, affably waving his hand in adieu, and jauntily lifting his rakish forage cap in salutation general to any of the young ladies who might be watching, sat the gentleman whose regiment was in Louisiana while he was up here on leave looking after mining investments.