officers stopped and said they would wait until he got his letters,
and, as he took his place near the window, Mrs. Griffin was just
handing a little packet to the colored girl. The light fell on the
topmost letter, addressed in bold, legible hand to Miss Fanny Forrest;
and Holmes could plainly see the post-mark and device on the upper
corner, showing that it came from the Red Cloud Agency, and old Camp
Robinson. "Halloo!" thought he to himself, "I had forgotten that we
were as good as cut off from them now, and they are sending around by
way of Sidney and Cheyenne." Quickly the girl turned over the letters,
made some laughing remark expressive of disappointment at getting
nothing from her beau; then, facing Mr. Holmes and showing her white
teeth, with a coquettish toss of her head accosted him: "Good-evening,
Mr. Holmes. S'pose you don't know me; I'm Celestine,--Miss Forrest's
girl. Miss Griffin, yere's Mr. Holmes waitin' for his mail. Ain't no
use you lookin' for anything for this trash," she said, contemptuously
indicating the two or three intervening frontier folks. "Han' it to me
an' I'll give it to him."

But just at this moment there was a stir at the door. The loungers who
had never budged an inch for Mr. Holmes drew promptly back, making way
for a tall young lady, who entered, all aglow from a rapid walk, her
dark eyes gleaming, her fine, mobile lips wreathed with pleasant smiles
the instant she caught sight of the doctor, who, cap in hand, advanced
to meet her. It was Miss Forrest herself, and behind her came her
escort, the adjutant.

"I thought I heard Celestine's voice," she said, looking questioningly
around; and Holmes quickly noted that the girl had suddenly slunk back
behind a little group of camp-women. Finding it useless to evade the
searching glance of her young mistress, the girl came forth.

"Yes, Miss Fanny. I got your letters, miss," she said, but the
confident tone was gone. Holmes marked the look in Miss Forrest's
flashing eye as she took the little packet with no gentle hand. He was
near enough, too, to hear the low-spoken but clearly enunciated words:

"And I told you never again to touch my letters. This must be the last
time."

XI.

Four days had passed since Terry's fight down the river. McLean,
painfully wounded, but very quiet and plucky, had been re-established
in his old quarters at "Bedlam." Dr. Bayard, after one or two somewhat
formal visits, had relinquished the ent