th the deep tan of his frontier complexion, but he came to the
rescue blithely as ever.

"Ah, Miss Sanford, it would have been easy enough if I had only had
Monarchist; though Dandy did nobly, bless him!"

It was a blissful evening, and all too short, for the doctor simply
ended it by wheeling Ray home at nine o'clock and putting him to bed.
For two days more he was incessantly up the row in his wheeled chair.
Twice Gleason saw him _tete-a-tete_ with Miss Sanford on the piazza, and
the garrison ladies were slyly twitting him with his prospects of being
cut out. The whole garrison by this time saw that he and Ray were not on
speaking terms. Blake, too, had arrived, a little cross and crabbed for
him, as his wounds were painful, consisting mainly of bruises where his
wounded horse had fallen and rolled with him. But he could limp about
and swear, and distort the poetry of the old masters and be savage and
cynical. He hated Gleason, ridiculed him in public, and hailed him as a
military Malvolio.

"See how he jets 'neath his (anything but) advanced plumes!" he spouted,
as Gleason came gallanting some of the garrison ladies down the line,
desperately hoping to make Miss Sanford jealous. Gleason couldn't for
the life of him explain what Blake meant, but he knew there was sarcasm
in it, and hated him all the same. It would be but a few days before
both the wounded officers would be able to perform light duty. There
came a telegraphic inquiry as to that from way up at Fort Fetterman. The
colonel wanted to know, and old Whaling was pleased to send the
response. But it was a blow to Gleason. Within forty-eight hours it
brought other telegraphic orders from division headquarters to send
Lieutenant Gleason at once to Fort Fetterman, to join his regiment at
the earliest possible moment.

There was visible rejoicing in the garrison. Gleason had a vehement
interview with the post commander and galloped off to town, where he
spent much time telegraphing and awaiting replies. Then, to wear off the
tedium of the intervening hours, he resorted to several haunts well
known to the inhabitants of those days, and did more or less betting on
uncertain games, and much more wrestling with an insidious enemy. He was
crazy drunk when lifted from the hack at his quarters late that night;
and his orders were to take stage for Fetterman at three P.M. the
following day. Captain Webb, returning from his Kansas court, would
reach Cheyenne at noon an