the cattle ford and the newer log wagon-bridge lower down the
river toward its mouth, where it joins the giant Missouri some two
hundred miles distant. It backs into the brush fringing the wood-lined
river bank, and is dangerously sheltered from the two great Indian
Reservations on the other side of the river. Dangerously, because it is at
all times dangerous to live adjacent to woods when so near such a restless
race as the Indians on the Rosebud and the Pine Ridge Reservations. Still,
it has stood there so long, and yet bears no sign of hostile action
directed against it by the warlike Sioux, that it seems safe to reckon it
will continue to stand there in peace until decay finishes it off. And the
fact is significant.

Those who lived in that hut must have had reason to know that they dwelt
there in safety.

The present tenant of the hut is a white man. He is seated on the tread of
his crazy doorway, holding an open letter in one hand, while he stares in
an unpleasantly reflective manner out across the prairie in front of him.

And the letter, which is slowly crumpling under the clutch of his nervous
fingers, is worthy of attention, for it is written on crested paper which
is blue. And the ink is blue, too, and might reasonably indicate the tone
of the blood of the sender, though hardly of the recipient.

Still appearances are deceptive on the prairie with regard to human
beings, even more so perhaps than elsewhere. This man has a something
about him which speaks of a different life--a life where people live in
greater ease and more refined surroundings. But even so, his face is very
mean and narrow; an appearance in nowise improved by its weather-stained,
unwashed condition.

Nevil Steyne--for that is the man's name--has read the letter, and now he
is thinking about it. And as he thinks, and mentally digests that which a
right-minded man would accept as its overwhelmingly kindly tone, his anger
rises slowly at first, but ever higher and higher, till it culminates in a
bitter, muttered exclamation.

"The crawler!" he said under his breath.

Suddenly he looked down at the paper, and proceeded to straighten it out.
And his pale blue eyes were glittering as he read the letter again from
beginning to end. The very crest at the top was an aggravation to him. And
he conjured meaning between the lines as he went, where meaning lay only
in what was written.

The heading bore a date at New York. It had been written on