She ’d queer the whole game, an’ we ’ve got an extra horse.  They jerked me forward so roughly, and I was so frightened that—­that I must have fainted.  At any rate I remember nothing more distinctly until we had crossed the river, and I was on horseback wrapped in a blanket, and tied to the saddle.  Some one was holding me erect; I could not move my arms, but could see and hear.  It was dark, and we were moving slowly; there were two Indians ahead, and a white man riding each side of me.  They thought me unconscious still, and spoke occasionally; little by little I recognized their voices, and understood their words.”

Her voice broke into a sob, but the Sergeant’s eyes were still gazing vigilantly out over the snow-clad hills.

“It is hard to tell the rest,” she said finally, “but I learned that it was not robbery, but the betrayal of trust.  My father was guilty, and yet at the same time a victim.  I only got the truth in snatches, which I had to piece together, although later I learned other details.  Mrs. Dupont had bled my father through some knowledge she had gained of his sister’s family.  I cannot even imagine what this could have been, but it was sufficient for her purpose.  He gave her all he had, and then—­then she heard of this government money being sent to Ripley.  She had known about that for several days through the Lieutenant, and had ample time to arrange the plot.  My father must have been crazy to have entered into the scheme, but he did, he did.  The woman compelled him to it.”

“I understand, Molly,” broke in Hamlin, anxious to spare her the details.  “They were to pretend robbery, but with the Major’s connivance.  An officer impersonating him was despatched to Ripley by stage.  This would prevent any immediate pursuit.  Later the Major was to be released, to return to Dodge with his story.  The projection of yourself into the affair disarranged the entire plot, and then a quarrel occurred, and your father was killed.”

“Yes; it was over what should be done with me; although I believe now they intended to kill him, so as to retain all the money.  The older Indian fired the shot treacherously.”

“And Connors?”

“Dupont killed him; they were both drunk, and the soldier fired first, but missed.”

“And after that?”

She covered her face with her hands.

“It was all a dream of continuous horror, yet through it all, I do not recall consciousness of physical torture.  I seemed to be mentally numbed, my brain a blank.  It was a realization of my father’s guilt more than my own danger which affected me—­that and his death.  They were not unkind nor brutal.  Indeed I do not clearly recall that I was even spoken to, except when some necessary order was given.  One night I heard them discuss what should be done with me; that I was to be hidden away in Black Kettle’s camp.  Generally Dupont spoke to the Indians in their own tongue, but that night he thought me asleep.  I—­I had no hope left—­not even faith that you could ever rescue me.”