of despond. He wrung his white hands, he
bowed his shapely head in shame. He could hardly speak, such was his
humility, but he stuck to it that his story was true. She knew enough of
his past (at least she should know, since he had told her so much of it)
to believe that he had enjoyed the benefits of travel, prosperity, and
education. He had trusted, however, where he should have guarded, and
devotion to his fellows had resulted in his financial ruin. A man who
owed him hundreds, and had promised to pay, was in Rapid City, and came
thence to find him here at the very time Blenke started to find him
there. The failure of this man to keep his promise had involved Blenke
shamefully. He had borrowed much more than the ten dollars he still owed
his benefactress. It was shame and worry, resulting in prostration and
insomnia, that drove him forth at night, that led to his taking Skid's
prescription, for Skid, who was so very grateful for Blenke's conduct at
time of the fire, did not, however, come forward with offer of financial
aid. He was going to do that, he said, when he got his insurance money,
which was still suspiciously withheld. Skidmore gave Blenke Scotch ale,
warranted to produce sleep. It at least led to oblivion, the
disappearance of his watch, and the train of miserable, disgraceful woe
that followed. How could Blenke ever face Miss Sanford again? Not until
ordered could he bear the ordeal, even though her letters had assured
him of forgiveness and further aid and confidence. As to his being with
those Indians, lurking in that tortuous ravine, the explanation was
simple. The man who had tricked him, a contractor, was said to be over
at the reservation--Indians had so told him. They were forbidden to come
to the fort or be seen about Skidmore's. They could only meet him out of
sight of the post and its slum suburb. He and a comrade met them to hear
their report at the crossing of the old road from Fort Siding by way of
Castle Butte to the Belle Fourche country, and catching sight of
Lieutenant Ray, riding slowly along the edge of the timber, the Indians
had led on into the ravine, where they had hardly dismounted and turned
loose their ponies when the phaeton flashed into view around a point of
bluff, almost running them down, then running away. Startled as he was,
Blenke would have grabbed a pony and galloped to Miss Sanford's aid, but
their ponies, too, took fright and stampeded. The Indians went in
pursuit, and