“Three mortal hours,” said Miss Folsom to her fond little school friend and chum that afternoon, “have I had to sit or stroll with or listen to Major Burleigh.  I never once was able to enjoy the view.  What made him hurry us away from the northeast point, do you suppose?”

“Did you notice that, Nell?  I did, too, and I was so interested in the view.  Away up toward Laramie Peak I could see something through the glasses that looked like a lot of little ants crawling along together.  It was just after that ­just after we looked through the glass, that he marched us round to the other side.  The view toward Green River isn’t half as pretty.”

“And now he’s telling some interminable story to father over their cigars.  What shall we do if he hangs on?  Father will have to ask him to drive with us to the fort, and there won’t be room.”

“Unless Mrs. Fletcher gives up her seat,” said Jessie demurely.

“Mrs. Fletcher isn’t going.  A very different person takes her seat to-day, Jess.  Father left a note for Mr. Loomis at the hotel and he accepted.  Now you see why I don’t want Major Burleigh.”

It was then long after three o’clock.  At five they were to start and Jessie could hardly curb her impatience.  The mail from Frayne, so said Folsom, would arrive that evening, and then surely there would be news of Marshall.  They had slipped away to their rooms after the bountiful luncheon served on their return, in order, as “Pappoose” expressed it, that the gentlemen might have t-heir cigars in peace.  Mrs. Fletcher, after seeing that everything was prepared, had directed the servant to say to Mr. Folsom, on the return of the party, that she would prefer not to appear, and would be glad to keep her room, as she did not feel it at all necessary for the housekeeper to meet strangers, and Folsom felt a sense of relief.  It was so much sweeter not to have any presiding genius other than Pappoose, not that he was forgetful of Mrs. Fletcher’s merits and services ­which were great ­but it was plain to see that his daughter would have been happier had no such office existed as that created for this deserving and destitute widow.  At three Miss Folsom had gone and tapped at the lady’s door ­her room was in the third story overlooking the street ­and was very civilly assured that Mrs. Fletcher stood in need of nothing, but, being wearied, she would like a little sleep.  No, she did not even care for a cup of tea.  Yet Elinor felt confident that the voice that replied to her inquiries came neither from the bed nor the lounge, but from the direction of the front window.

At three the cigars were smoked out and the host and his guest were in the library.  It was Folsom’s custom, when a possible thing, to take a brief nap after the midday meal, and Elinor felt sure he would be glad of the opportunity now, if Burleigh would only go, but Burleigh wouldn’t.  In monotonous monologue his voice came floating up to the second floor, drowsy, unbroken in its soporific flow, and the girls themselves, after the morning’s drive in the clear, bracing air, felt as though forty winks would be a blessing.  Could it be that Burleigh lingered on in hopes of their reappearance below?  Might it not be that if relief came not speedily Papa Folsom would yield to the spell and fall asleep in his easy-chair?  Was it not Miss Folsom’s duty to descend and take the burden of entertainment off those elder shoulders?  These thoughts oppressed the girl, and starting up, she cried: 

“It’s simply wicked of me staying here and letting poor papa be bored to death.  Do come down, Jess, dear, unless you’re dreadfully sleepy.  He acts just as though he intended never to go.”

And Jess promised reluctantly to come down in ten minutes, if he didn’t leave; but she hated him, and had hated him ever since he spoke so of Marshall in the car three days before.

The upper hall had been quite dark when Miss Folsom went up to inquire how Mrs. Fletcher was just after luncheon.  The door to her little room was tightly closed.  The blinds in all the other rooms aloft were drawn against the glare of the sunshine in the cloudless atmosphere; yet now, as Pappoose stepped suddenly out upon the landing, she was surprised to see that the upper floor was much lighter than when she went up half an hour earlier.  The maid had not gone thither from the kitchen, and Mrs. Fletcher wished to doze.  Who, then, could have opened both blind and door and let in that flood of light?  Impulsively the active girl flew up the winding stairs to the third story, and some one suddenly withdrew from the balcony rail, and an instant later, as Miss Folsom reached the top, all became dark again.  Mrs. Fletcher’s door had unquestionably been open, and was now shut to.  She must have been out there listening, and gravely the young girl asked herself what it meant ­Mrs. Fletcher’s agitation in the library that morning as she peered out at the major’s wagon; her absence from luncheon on account, as she pleaded, of not desiring to appear when company was present; and now, despite her desire to sleep, her vigil at the third-floor landing, where she was surely listening to the sounds from below.

Pondering over the facts, Elinor Folsom slowly retraced her steps and went downstairs.  She reached the library none too soon.  Old John’s eyes were closed, and he was slowly toppling, over come with sleep.  The sound of her cheery voice aroused him, and he started, guilty and crestfallen.

Burleigh’s heavy face brightened visibly at her coming.  He cared no more for music than does a cat, but eagerly followed her across the broad hall into the parlor when she suggested showing him the beautiful piano papa had given her; and old John, blessing her, lurched for the sofa, buried his hot head in a pillow, and was asleep in ten seconds.  Major Burleigh was alone with the lovely daughter of the veteran trader.  He was a man of the world; she an unsophisticated girl just out of school ­so said Burleigh, albeit a most charming one; and he, who had monopolized her time the entire morning, bore down once more upon his prize.

She had seated herself at the piano, and her long, taper fingers were rippling over the keys.  She knew full well he did not care what she played, and as for herself she did not care just then to play at all.  She was thinking of his insinuation at Marshall Dean’s expense.  She was still pondering over Mrs. Fletcher’s stealthy scrutiny of the quartermaster’s team.  On these two accounts, and no other, he was possessed of certain interest in Elinor’s dark-brown eyes, and they were studying him coolly, searchingly, as he drew a chair near the piano stool, and seated himself and met her look with a broad, encouraging smile.

Trill and ripple, ripple and trill her white fingers raced over the keyboard.

“I’m sure you know this waltz, major,” she was saying.  “They played it beautifully at the Point two summers ago.”

“I ­ah, yes, it’s a charming composition ­charming, though I don’t recall it’s name just now.”

“This? why it’s one of Godfrey’s ­’The Hilda,’ don’t you know?  I’m sure you waltz, major.”

“I ­ah, used to, yes.  I was very fond of a waltz,” answered Burleigh, whose best efforts in that line could result in nothing better than a waddle.  “But of late years I ­I ­since my bereavement ­have practically withdrawn from society.”  Then, with a languishing smile, he added, “I shall be tempted to re-enter the list now,” and the major drew his chair nearer by full an inch, and prepared to be further “killing.”

“Jessie dances divinely,” said Miss Folsom.  “She simply floats round a room.  You should see her waltz with her brother, Major Burleigh.  They might be waltzing here this very minute if he were only home.  What can have detained him, do you think?”

“I wish I knew,” said the quartermaster slowly.  “It makes those who are ­ah ­his friends, you know, anxious in more ways than one, because there is ­er ­nothing to warrant delay ­nothing to ­excuse it.  He should, in fact, have been at his post, where his troop is sorely needed, full four days ago,” and Burleigh looked heavy with portent.

“Is it not possible that he has found something along the lower Laramie ­something where his troop is needed much more than here doing stable guard?”

“How can it be possible?” said Burleigh.  “The only thing to warrant his delay would be Indians, and there are none south of the Platte; or horse thieves, and they hung the last of the gang three months ago.  Mr. Dean, I ­ah ­regret to say, is fonder of fishing and hunting than of his legitimate duties, and this, I fear, is why he is not here to welcome his sister.”

The piano went rippling on, but the brown eyes kept up their steady gaze.  In the deep bass chords now her slender fingers were entangled.  Slowly and thoughtfully the rich melody swung in the proud waltz rhythm through the airy room and floated out upon the summer breeze.  A little line was setting deep between the dark, arching eyebrows, a symptom Pappoose’s schoolmates had learned to note as a signal for danger, but Burleigh knew her not, as yet.

“It is odd,” said she dreamily, “that at the Point the officers spoke so highly of Mr. Dean, and here you seem to think so differently of him.  It is a deep disappointment to his sister that he is not here; but, do you know, major, we were saying only this morning before you came that there was some excellent reason for his delay, and we’d know it within another day.”

“Oh, ah ­er ­of course I hope so.  I think, pardon me, that that must be a messenger from my office now,” for spurred boot-heels were coming briskly up the wooden walk.  There was a bounding step on the piazza, a ring at the bell.  The servant bustled through the hall and threw open the door.  It was not a messenger from the depot, but a stalwart, sunburnt man in rough ranch garb, who whipped off his broad-brimmed hat and stood abashed within the hall as he asked for Mr. Folsom.

And all of a sudden over went the piano-stool with a crash, and out into the hall, joyous, bounding, light as a fairy, a vision of dark, girlish beauty, went Pappoose.

“Why, Ned Lannion!” she cried, as she seized the swarthy young fellow’s hands and shook them up and down “Don’t you know me ­Winona that used to be?  Why, how well you look!  When did you leave the ranch?  How did you leave them?  Is Hal here ­or coming?”

And at sound of her voice old Folsom had started up from his sofa and came trotting out into the hall, just roused from his sleep, and blinking a bit as he, too, held forth cordial, welcoming hands.  It was a moment before they could let Ned tell his story, and then it came by jerks.

“We left there early yesterday morning, mum.  They’re all well now, ’cept Jake, and he’ll come out all right, but we had a close call.  A war party of Sioux jumped as Wednesday afternoon, and they’d a got away with us but for Lieutenant Dean and his troop.  They come along just in time ­”

“Ned!” gasped Elinor, “you don’t mean they attacked the ranch?”

“No’me.  We was down the Lar’mie ­rounding up horses.  There was a dozen bucks in the party.  It’s the first time they’ve come across in a year that I know of, and they won’t be apt to try it again.  We shot two of ’em and the cavalry drove ’em a running fight, so hard that they had to leave one of their wounded behind them.  He died in a minute.  It was ­” and then Ned Lannion gulped and stumbled and choked in embarrassment.

“Who was it?” demanded Mr. Folsom, his rugged face pale and twitching, his eyes full of anxiety.

“Chaska, sir. You know.”

Folsom gripped him by the shoulder.  “And Burning Star ­did you see him?  Was he there?”

“Yes, sir; but those boys of Lieutenant Dean’s gave them a lickin’ they’ll never forget.  The ranch is safe as if it was here in Gate City, only Hal he couldn’t come himself, and he knowed you’d be anxious for full particulars, so he sent me in with the cavalry.  They’re out at the fort now.”

“Jessie!” cried Elinor, in delight that overmastered the emotion with which she had listened to the tale of her brother’s recent peril.  Marshall’s here ­almost home.  It’s just as we said, Jess.  Do come down.  He was there just in time to save my brother’s life ­to drive the Indians back to the river.  Come quick ­I want to hug you!” And her dark eyes, flashing with joy and excitement, danced full upon the bulky form of the major, slowly issuing from the parlor door, then beyond as she went bounding by him, all eagerness to clasp her bonny friend in her arms, and shower her with congratulations.  And so it happened that both the girls were at the rear of the hall entwined in each other’s arms at the foot of the stairs when the ranchman answered Folsom’s next question, and then broke out with the abrupt announcement, “I never see a young officer handle his men better.  We’d all been in hell by this time if it wasn’t for him, yet, by God, sir, the moment he got into the post they clapped him in arrest.”