stockaded
inclosure. Two or three employees lounging about the gate were gazing
curiously within. Silently they let him pass them by, but a sound of
angry voices rose upon the heated air. Just within the gate stood the
orderly trumpeter holding two horses by the reins, one of them Marshall
Dean's, and a sudden idea occurred to Folsom as he glanced at the open
windows of the office building. There was no mistaking the speaker
within. It was Burleigh.

"Leave my office instantly, sir, or I'll prefer charges that will
stick----"

"Not till I've said what I came to say, Major Burleigh. I've abundant
evidence of what you've been saying at my expense. You asserted that I
lost my nerve the day we met Red Cloud's band--you who never dared get
out of the ambulance until the danger was over. It's common talk in the
troop. At Frayne, at Reno, and here at Emory you have maligned me just
as you did in the cars to my friend here, Mr. Loomis, and in hearing of
my sister. I will not accept your denial nor will I leave your office
till you swallow your words."

"Then, by God, I'll have you thrown out, you young whipsnapper!"

And then Folsom, with fear at his heart, ran around to the doorway to
interpose. He came too late. There was a sound of a furious scuffle
within, a rattling of chairs, a crunching of feet on sanded floor, and
as he sprang up the steps he saw Dean easily squirming out from the
grasp of some member of the clerical force, who, at his master's
bidding, had thrown himself upon the young officer, who then deftly
tripped his heels from under him and dropped him on the floor, while
Loomis confronted the others who would have made some show of obeying
orders. And then there was the whirr of a whip-lash, a crack and snap
and swish, and a red welt shot across Burleigh's livid face as he
himself staggered back to his desk. With raging tongue and frantic oath
he leaped out again, a leveled pistol in his hand, but even before he
could pull trigger, or Folsom interpose, Loomis's stick came down like a
flash on the outstretched wrist, and the pistol clattered to the floor.

"Good God, boys! what are you doing?" cried the trader, as he hurled
himself between them. "Stop this instantly. Sit down, Burleigh. Come
out, Dean--come out at once! And you, too, Loomis."

"I'm entirely ready--now," said the cavalry lieutenant, though his eyes
were flaming and his lips were rigid. "But whenever Major Burleigh wants
to finish this he c