“Do you think you could find out for me where Mr. Jones is?”

“Wall, I reckon it could be done.  It may take some days, as I must trust to the luck of running upon old Dofunny again.”

Kate started.  “Old Dofunny”—­the unsuspecting humorist meant her father by this jocular nom de guerre, and she dared not resent it.  How should she gain her end and yet save herself from the humiliation of seeming to spy upon her father?  It wouldn’t do for Elkins to go to him, for he would at once suspect, inquire, and learn that she had come upon his tracks.  If she could only see him face to face, she would be spared all this odious complotting.  But she dared not reject the means Providence had put in her hands.  And yet, how use them, and avoid throwing suspicion upon her father in cautioning Elkins not to approach him?  She was not equal to the invention of a plan on the moment, and said in a doubting, reflective way: 

“Never mind.  I may be able to learn from some of his friends where he is.  The gentleman you speak of does not live in this city, and you would hardly be able to find him.  If I could, find him I could find Mr. Jones.”

“Ah, yes; jes’ so.  Wall, I think I can find him in another way.  I remember the carriage that took him from the station, I can find out from the driver.  ’T’wan’t no mystery, I reckon.”

Kate looked into the innocent blue eyes as the young fellow scratched his tow head, wondering whether he was as simple-minded as he seemed.  He stood the scrutiny with blushing restiveness, in which there was nothing of the malign, and she resolved that he was to be trusted.

“Very well,” she said, indifferently, “that does seem the shortest way to find out the poor fellow’s whereabouts.  Get the facts, and you shall be well paid for your trouble.”

“’Tain’t no trouble, miss, if it’s a service to you.  It would make me powerful glad to do anything for a comrade or his sister.”

Kate smiled at the astute mingling of sly fun and questioning implied in the gently rising inflection in this query.

“Yes,” she said, “you will be relieving the anxious heart of a sister if you find what I am seeking.”

“Nuff said, miss.  Just as soon as I get my relief I’m off like a shot.  Where shall you be?”

“Ah, yes; you can come to me at the Alburn House.  Here is my card, and you will doubtless be at some expense.  Here is money to pay—­spare no expense.”

The big eyes opened in wonder as Kate handed him three new ten-dollar greenbacks, just then something of a novelty to soldiers especially, who got their pay infrequently.  It was a bold stroke to intrust her name to this unconscious agent of her father, for, if he were really playing a part, his first act would be to reveal her visit and thus set her father on his guard.  But she trusted him implicitly.  His wide-open blue eyes, the artless admiration mingling with his bashful diffidence, all were proof that he could not be deceiving her.  She took rooms at the Alburn House, which was not the chief hotel, as being better adapted for her purpose of seclusion.  At the big hotel she was known, and if her father were in town she would be under his espionage without the solace of writing him.  Late in the evening her agent came in radiant.  He had found the man.