y; there's only two stages a week each way, an' they have
regular meeting points."

She sat quiet, eyes lowered to the table, thinking. She liked the man,
and trusted him; he seemed kindly deferential. Finally she looked up.

"When do you go?"

"To-day. I was goin' to wait 'bout yere a week longer, but am gitting
skeered they might quit runnin' their coaches. To tell the truth,
miss, it looks some to me like thar wus a big Injun war comin', and I
'd like ter git home whar I belong afore it breaks loose."

"Will--will you take me with you?"

He moistened his lips, his hands clasping and unclasping on the table.

"Sure, if yer bound ter go. I 'll do the best I kin fer yer, an' I
reckon ther sooner yer start the better chance ye 'll have o' gittin'
through safe." He hesitated. "If we should git bad news at Dodge, is
there anybody thar, at the fort, you could stop with?"

"Colonel Carver."

"He 's not thar now; been transferred to Wallace, but, I reckon, any o'
those army people would look after yer. Ye 've really made up yer mind
to try it, then?"

"Yes, yes; I positively cannot stay here. I shall go as far as Dodge
at least. If--if we are going to travel together, I ought to know your
name."

"Sure yer had," with a laugh. "I fergot all 'bout that--it's Moylan,
miss; William Moylan; 'Sutler Bill' they call me mostly, west o' the
river. Let's go out an' see 'bout thet stage."

As he rounded the table, Molly rose to her feet, and held out her hand.

"I am so glad I spoke to you, Mr. Moylan," she said simply. "I am not
at all afraid now. If you will wait until I get my hat, I 'll be down
in a minute."

"Sutler Bill" stood in the narrow hall watching her run swiftly
upstairs, twirling his hat in his hands, his good-natured face flushed.
Once he glanced in the direction of the bar-room, wiping his lips with
his cuff, and his feet shuffled. But he resisted the temptation, and
was still there when Miss McDonald came down.

CHAPTER IV

THE ATTACK

Slightly more than sixty miles, as the route ran, stretched between old
Fort Dodge and the ford crossing the Arkansas leading down to the
Cimarron; another sixty miles distant, across a desert of alkali and
sand, lay Devere. The main Santa Fe trail, broad and deeply rutted by
the innumerable wheels of early spring caravans, followed the general
course of the river, occasionally touching the higher level plains, but
mostly keeping close beneath t