m have your horse."

Wasson rolled out of his saddle, muttering something indistinctly,
which might have been an oath.

"I ain't goin' ter stand fer that, Leftenant," he said defiantly.
"Bein' as I ain't no enlisted man, an' this yere is my hoss, 'Brick'
Hamlin don't start on no such ride on that lame brute o' McMasters'.
Here, you 'Brick,' take this critter. Oh, shut up! I'll git to Dodge
all right. Won't hurt me none to walk."

The eyes of the two men met understandingly, and Hamlin took the rein
in his hand. Gaskins started to speak, but thought better of it. A
moment he stood, irresolute, and then swung up into saddle, his glance
ignoring the Sergeant.

"Attention! company," he commanded sharply. "By column four--march!"

The girl spurred her horse forward, and held out her hand.

"Good-bye," she said, falteringly, "you--will be careful."

"Of course," and he smiled up into her eyes. "Don't worry about me--I
am an old hand."

"And I am to see you again?"

"I shall never run away, surely, and I hope for the best--"

"Miss McDonald," broke in Gaskins impatiently, "the men are already
moving."

"Yes," her eyes still upon the Sergeant's uncovered face, "I am coming.
Don't imagine I shall ever forget," she murmured hastily, "or that I
will not be glad to meet you anywhere."

"Some time I may put you to the test," he answered soberly. "If any
trouble comes, trust Wasson--he is a real man."

He stood there, one arm thrown over the neck of the horse, watching
them ride away up the trail. The Lieutenant and the girl were together
at the rear of the short column, and he seemed to be talking earnestly.
Hamlin never moved, or took his eyes from her until they disappeared
over the ridge. Just as they dipped down out of sight she turned and
waved one hand. Then the man's gaze swept over the debris of the
burned stage, and the two mounds of earth. Even these mute evidences
of tragedy scarcely sufficed to make him realize all that had occurred
in this lonely spot. He could not seem to separate his thought from
the cavalcade which had just departed, leaving behind the memory of
that farewell wave of the hand. To him it marked the end of a dream,
the return to a life distasteful and lonely.

Mechanically the Sergeant loaded his rifle, and strapped the old
Confederate haversack to his saddle pommel, staring again, half
unbelieving, at the faded inscription underneath the flap. Yet the
sight of those le