tition the crowd had rapidly increased. Not one in a
dozen in the gathering had the faintest expectation of getting a
letter, but there was no harm in asking and much mental solace,
apparently, in cultivating the appearance of a man of the world or a
woman of society who was in the daily habit of receiving and responding
to a dozen. And so teamsters, laundresses, scouts, "Indian-bound" Black
Hillers, and one or two sauntering soldiers were swarming about the
porch and hall-way, and jamming in a compact mass in front of the
little window whereat the postmistress behind her vitreous barrier was
still at work. It was a good-natured, chaffing, laughing crowd, but
still one very independent and self-satisfied, after the manner of the
frontier, where every man in a mixed gathering is as good as his
neighbor, and every woman is as good as she chooses to hold herself. It
had made a passage for the commanding officer and afterward for the
post surgeon, but that was before it had attained its present
proportions. Now when Mr. Roswell Holmes paused at the outskirts with
Corporal Zook by his side, some of the loungers looked around with
their hands in their pockets; some of the cowboys who had earned their
dollars on his ranch nodded cheerily at sight of their employer; but
this was the United States post-office, these were sovereign citizens,
and every man or woman of them, except the half-dozen enlisted men
whose mail was always taken to barracks, had just as much right there
as the capitalist from Chicago,--and knew it. So did Mr. Holmes. He
returned the greetings as cheerily as they were given; made no attempt
to push through, and probably would have remained contentedly until the
crowd dispersed and let him in, had not the notes of the infantry bugle
sounding first call for tattoo summoned Zook and the other soldiers to
make their way to barracks.

"I'm a thousand times obliged to you, Corporal Zook, for all you've
told me, and I assure you I'm as proud of the lieutenant as you are.
Now, I may not be here when the troop gets back to-morrow,--I may have
to go back to see if all is well at the ranch; but after their ride
they'll all be thirsty, and when I'm very thirsty there's nothing I
like better than a glass of cool lager. There is plenty of it on ice at
the trader's, and,--you do the entertaining for me, will you?" And the
corporal found his palm invaded by a fold of crisp greenbacks.

"If it's for the troop, sir, I can't