. Verily, "In the midst
of life we are in death."

And Russell, too, has had its jubilee--on a more extensive scale, for
here are Webb and Truscott with their fine troops of horse, the band,
the infantry companies, and a brace of old howitzers, with which they
make the welkin ring. No tidings of any account have come from the
front. The Gray Fox is puzzled at the situation. The Indians are out
there somewhere, as he finds every time a scout goes forth, but they
appear to be engrossed in some big council over at the Greasy Grass. One
thing is certain, he can get no word through to Terry on the
Yellowstone, and he cannot afford another tussle with such force as they
show when he does come out. The --th is still down near the Black Hills.
Busy? Oh, yes. Busy is no word for it! They are scampering all over the
south Cheyenne country after small bands of Indians, whose fleet ponies
keep them just out of range of the carbines and just out of reach of the
horses, who, grain-fed all winter, are now losing speed, strength, and
bottom on the scant and wiry grass they find in the sandy valleys.
Truscott and Webb are eager to go forward, but orders say wait. Mrs.
Truscott is again almost in heaven. Jack has been with her nearly a
fortnight. They are domiciled in their new quarters. Mrs. Stannard is
their next-door neighbor; much of their furniture has come, and the army
home is beginning to look lovely. Mrs. Whaling and Mrs. Turner can never
see enough of it, or say enough.

Large numbers of recruits have been sent to the post to be drilled and
forwarded to the cavalry at the front. They are having riding-school all
hours of the day, and the cavalry officers are in saddle from morn till
night teaching them. Mr. Gleason is assiduous in this duty. Whatever
Captain Truscott has heard to the gentleman's discredit in the past, he
admits to himself that it has prepared him for agreeable disappointment.
No lieutenant could be more attentive or subordinate, more determined to
please. Captain Truscott cannot but wish that Mr. Gleason were less
attentive to Miss Sanford, but that young lady is evidently fully able
to keep him at a very pleasant distance. It excites the captain's
admiration to see how perfectly lady-like, how really gracious is her
manner to the aspiring widower, and yet--how serenely unencouraging. No
one understood this better than Mr. Gleason himself. Finding her deeper,
less impressionable than he at first supposed, he s