Molly McDonald. Randall Parrish
desperate fighting. Altogether the situation appeared extremely serious and the summer promised war in earnest.
McDonald was rather slow to appreciate the real facts. His knowledge of Indian tactics was exceedingly small, and the utter isolation of his post kept him ignorant. At first he was convinced that it was merely a local disturbance and would end as suddenly as begun. Then, when realization finally came, was already too late to stop the girl. She would be already on her long journey. What could he do? What immediate steps could he hope to take for her protection? Ordinarily he would not have hesitated, but now a decision was not so easily made. Of his command scarcely thirty men remained at Devere, a mere infantry guard, together with a small squad of cavalrymen, retained for courier service. His only remaining commissioned officer at the post was the partially disabled cavalry captain, acting temporarily as adjutant, because incapacitated for taking the field. He had waited until the last possible moment, trusting that a shift in conditions might bring back some available officer. Now he had to choose between his duty as commander and as father. Further delay was impossible.
Devere was a fort merely by courtesy. In reality it consisted only of a small stockade hastily built of cottonwood timber, surrounding in partial protection a half dozen shacks, and one fairly decent log house. The situation was upon a slight elevation overlooking the ford, some low bluffs, bare of timber but green with June grass to the northward, while in every other direction extended an interminable sand-desert, ever shifting beneath wind blasts, presenting as desolate a scene as eye could witness. The yellow flood of the river, still swollen by melting mountain snow, was a hundred feet from the stockade gate, and on its bank stood the log cavalry stables. Below, a scant half mile away, were the only trees visible, a scraggly grove of cottonwoods, while down the face of the bluff and across the flat ran the slender ribbon of trail. Monotonous, unchanging, it was a desolate picture to watch day after day in the hot summer.
In the gloom following an early supper the two officers sat together in the single room of the cabin, a candle sputtering on the table behind them, smoking silently or moodily discussing the situation. McDonald was florid and heavily built, his gray mustache hanging heavily over a firm mouth, while the Captain was of another type, tall, with dark eyes and hair. The latter by chance opened the important topic.
"By the way, Major," he said carelessly, "I guess it is just as well you stopped your daughter from coming out to this hole. Lord, but it would be an awful place for a woman."
"But I did n't," returned the other moodily. "I put it off too long."
"Put it off! Good heavens, man, did n't you write when you spoke about doing so? Do you actually mean the girl is coming—here?"
McDonald groaned.
"That is exactly what I mean, Travers. Damme, I have n't thought of anything else for a week. Oh, I know now I was an old fool even to conceive of such a trip, but when I first wrote her I had no conception of what it was going to be like out here. There was not a rumor of Indian trouble a month ago, and when the tribes did break out it was too late for me to get word back East. The fact is, I am in the devil of a fix—without even an officer whom I can send to meet her, or turn her back. If I should go myself it would mean a court-martial."
Travers stared into the darkness through the open door, sucking at his pipe.
"By George, you are in a pickle," he acknowledged slowly. "I supposed she had been headed off long ago. Have n't heard you mention the matter since we first got here. Where do you suppose the lass is by now?"
"Near as I can tell she would leave Ripley the 18th."
"Humph! Then starting to-night, a good rider might intercept her at Fort Dodge. She would be in no danger travelling alone for that distance. The regular stages are running yet, I suppose?"
"Yes; so far as I know."
"Under guard?"
"Only from the Caches to Fort Union; there has been no trouble along the lower Arkansas yet. The troops from Dodge are scouting the country north, and we are supposed to keep things clear of hostiles down this way."
"Supposed to—yes; but we can't patrol five hundred miles of desert with a hundred men, most of them dough-boys. The devils can break through any time they get ready—you know that. At this minute there is n't a mile of safe country between Dodge and Union. If she was my daughter—"
"You 'd do what?" broke in McDonald, jumping to his feet. "I 'd give my life to know what to do!"
"Why, I'd send somebody to meet her—to turn her back if that was possible. Peyton would look after her there at Ripley until you could arrange."
"That's easy enough to say, Travers, but tell me who is there to send? Do you chance to know an enlisted man out yonder who would do—whom you would trust to take care of a young girl alone?"
The Captain bent his head on one hand, silent for some minutes.
"They are a tough lot, Major; that's a fact, when you stop to call the roll. Those recruits we got at Leavenworth were mostly rough-necks—seven of them in the guard-house to-night. Our best men are all out," with a wave of his hand to the south. "It's only the riff-raff we 've got left, at Devere."
"You can't go?"
The Captain rubbed his lame leg regretfully.
"No; I 'd risk it if I could only ride, but I could n't sit a saddle."
"And my duty is here; it would cost me my commission."
There was a long thoughtful silence, both men moodily staring out through the door. Away in the darkness unseen sentinels called the hour. Then Travers dropped one hand on the other's knee.
"Dan," he said swiftly, "how about that fellow who came in with despatches from Union just before dark? He looked like a real man."
"I did n't see him. I was down river with the wood-cutters all day."
Travers got up and paced the floor.
"I remember now. What do you say? Let's have him in, anyhow. They never would have trusted him for that ride if he had n't been the right sort." He strode over to the door, without waiting an answer. "Here, Carter," he called, "do you know where that cavalryman is who rode in from Fort Union this afternoon?"
A face appeared in the glow of light, and a gloved hand rose to salute.
"He's asleep in 'B's' shack, sir," the orderly replied. "Said he 'd been on the trail two nights and a day."
"Reckon he had, and some riding at that. Rout him out, will you; tell him the Major wants to see him here at once."
The man wheeled as if on a pivot, and disappeared.
"If Carter could only ride," began McDonald, but Travers interrupted impatiently.
"If! But we all know he can't. Worst I ever saw, must have originally been a sailor." He slowly refilled his pipe. "Now, see here, Dan, it's your daughter that's to be looked after, and therefore I want you to size this man up for yourself. I don't pretend to know anything about him, only he looks like a soldier, and they must think well of him at Union."
McDonald nodded, but without enthusiasm; then dropped his head into his hands. In the silence a coyote howled mournfully not far away; then a shadow appeared on the log step, the light of the candle flashing on a row of buttons.
"This is the man, sir," said the orderly, and stood aside to permit the other to enter.
CHAPTER II
"BRICK" HAMLIN
The two officers looked