le was brewing. Knowing a little of their
"lingo," and something of the sign language, he demanded an explanation,
and got for answer that two of their brothers had been worsted in
conflict with him and his party. Sandy protested he had had no trouble
with any of their people, and got a prompt answer, "Fork tongue!"
"Liar!" and other expletives not printable, and he turned back before
their revolvers, wrathful, helpless, and wondering. He told his tale to
the colonel, and Stone looked solemn:

"Sandy," said he, "you--take chances riding out that way. I--I've been
getting anxious about you--have been on the point of speaking--before."
Whereat Ray suddenly went crimson, through his coat of sun tan, and bit
his lip to control its quiver. "There's mischief brewing with those
people, I fear. Their agent has written me twice. One drunken brawl at
Skid's has led to clashes where whisky wasn't the inciting cause. He
says two of his young men were set upon by some of our troopers here,
and it isn't safe to meet them alone. Indeed, Sandy, I wish you'd ride
in--some other direction."

It was what his mother had very gently said to him but yester morning,
before he had heard of any sign of Indian trouble. How _was_ he to hear,
since he seemed to avoid the society of his kind and to prefer to live
alone? Ray left the colonel's presence with his nerves a-tingle. Had it
come to this then, that his father's old friend should say to his
father's son that--he was riding the wrong way?

Yes. This was another matter that was giving Stone sore trouble. Mrs.
Stone was a woman who paid, ordinarily, little heed to garrison talk.
She and her colonel were the best of chums, and one reason was that,
even when she heard she would never carry to him the little spiteful
rumors often set astir by the envious or malicious. When, therefore,
Mrs. Stone came to him with a story at the expense of man or woman, the
colonel knew there was something behind it. Now, though Mrs. Dwight's
pretty phaeton usually _started_ eastward, it speedily "changed
direction." The country about Minneconjou was very open, almost all
rolling, treeless prairie, and its hard, winding roads could be seen
criss-crossing the gray-green surface in many a mile. It seemed wicked
that Mrs. Dwight should care to stay out so long when her husband had
been so very seriously ill and was still confined to his room. Even
though he did not desire her presence, and was sore angered at and
p