"It is understood," said the officials,
"that you know the circumstances under which Lieutenant Lanier became
responsible for the money borrowed at Laramie by or for that young Mr.
Lowndes, also that you know him." There were other matters, but that
came up first. Stannard knew and was quite willing to set forth with a
plain-clothes member of the Omaha force on a mission for and from
headquarters.

In a derby hat and civilian suit of the fashion of '72, the latter much
too snug for him, our squadron leader of the Sioux campaign looked
little like a trooper as he sauntered with his detective companion into
the lobby of the Paxton a few minutes later, and listened to his
modernized tale of the prodigal son. It was all known to the police.
Lowndes had run through the purse and patience of his Eastern kindred
some two years before. Lowndes had been transported to a cattle ranch
near Fort Cushing in hopes of permanent benefit, but speedily neglected
the range for the more congenial society of the fort. He was well born
and bred. He was made free at first at the mess, but wore out his
welcome. He went on the campaign for excitement and got much more than
he wanted. He took to gambling among the scouts and packers and
sergeants, for the officers had soon cold-shouldered him. But he was a
college man, a secret society man, as had been Lieutenant Lanier before
entering the Point. Since the campaign Lowndes had been going from bad
to worse; had gambled away the money sent him by his relatives, and
they were now sorely anxious about him. Moreover, he was needed as a
material witness for the defense in the case of Lieutenant Lanier, and
would answer no letters to his post-office address. He hadn't been near
the ranch in nearly a month, hadn't been seen about Cushing City since
the blizzard; was believed to be somewhere in this neighborhood in
disguise.

And even as the story was being told, there came bounding down the broad
stairway from above, a slender, well-built youth, in whom the
civilization of the East was stamped in the stylish, trim-fitting
travelling suit with cap to match, in the further items of natty silken
scarf and the daintiest of hand and foot covering. It was the erect,
jaunty carriage that caught the major's eye. In build, bearing, and gait
the approaching stranger was Bob Lanier all over. He came straight
toward them, and was tripping lightly, swiftly by when Stannard sprang
to his feet.

"Rawdon!" he cried