ry chaps who camped with us on our trial
march two years ago?"

The young officer's eyes opened wide. "Ah! I see. They told me at the
time that they were friends of the Secretary. That explains it."

"Your success with that troop of enlisted Cheyennes had something to do
with it, too," added the Colonel. "I told those literary sharps about
that experience, and also about your crazy interest in the sign-language
and Indian songs."

"You did? Well, then you _are_ responsible, after all."

The Colonel put his hand on his subordinate's shoulder. "Go and do the
work, boy! It's better than sitting around here waiting promotion. If I
weren't so near retirement I'd resign. I have lived out on these cursed
deserts ever since 1868--but I'll fool 'em," he added, with a grim
smile. "I'm going to hang on to the last, and retire on half-pay. Then
I'll spend all my time looking after my health and live to be
ninety-five, in order to get even."

Curtis laughed. "Quite right, Colonel," and, then becoming serious, he
added, "It's my duty, and I will do it." And in this quiet temper he
accepted his detail.

Captain George Curtis, as the Colonel had intimated, was already a
marked man at Fort Sherman--and, indeed, throughout the western division
of the army. He feared no hardship, and acknowledged no superior on the
trail except Pierce, who was as invincible to cold and snow as a grizzly
bear, and his chief diversions were these trips into the wild. Each
outing helped him endure the monotony of barrack life, for when it was
over he returned to the open fire of his study, where he pored over his
maps, smoking his pipe and writing a little between bugle-calls. In
this way he had been able to put together several articles on the
forests, the water-sheds, and the wild animals of the region he had
traversed, and in this way had made himself known to the Smithsonian
Institution. He was considered a crank on trees and Indians by his
fellow-officers, who all drank more whiskey and played a better hand at
poker than he; "but, after all, Curtis is a good soldier," they often
said, in conclusion. "His voice in command is clear and decisive, and
his control of his men excellent." He was handsome, too, in a firm,
brown, cleanly outlined way, and though not a popular officer, he had no
enemies in the service.

His sister Jennie, who had devotedly kept house for him during his
garrison life, was waiting for him at the gate of his little yard, and