McDonald was rather slow to appreciate the real facts.  His knowledge of Indian tactics was exceedingly small, and the utter isolation of his post kept him ignorant.  At first he was convinced that it was merely a local disturbance and would end as suddenly as begun.  Then, when realization finally came, was already too late to stop the girl.  She would be already on her long journey.  What could he do?  What immediate steps could he hope to take for her protection?  Ordinarily he would not have hesitated, but now a decision was not so easily made.  Of his command scarcely thirty men remained at Devere, a mere infantry guard, together with a small squad of cavalrymen, retained for courier service.  His only remaining commissioned officer at the post was the partially disabled cavalry captain, acting temporarily as adjutant, because incapacitated for taking the field.  He had waited until the last possible moment, trusting that a shift in conditions might bring back some available officer.  Now he had to choose between his duty as commander and as father.  Further delay was impossible.

Devere was a fort merely by courtesy.  In reality it consisted only of a small stockade hastily built of cottonwood timber, surrounding in partial protection a half dozen shacks, and one fairly decent log house.  The situation was upon a slight elevation overlooking the ford, some low bluffs, bare of timber but green with June grass to the northward, while in every other direction extended an interminable sand-desert, ever shifting beneath wind blasts, presenting as desolate a scene as eye could witness.  The yellow flood of the river, still swollen by melting mountain snow, was a hundred feet from the stockade gate, and on its bank stood the log cavalry stables.  Below, a scant half mile away, were the only trees visible, a scraggly grove of cottonwoods, while down the face of the bluff and across the flat ran the slender ribbon of trail.  Monotonous, unchanging, it was a desolate picture to watch day after day in the hot summer.

In the gloom following an early supper the two officers sat together in the single room of the cabin, a candle sputtering on the table behind them, smoking silently or moodily discussing the situation.  McDonald was florid and heavily built, his gray mustache hanging heavily over a firm mouth, while the Captain was of another type, tall, with dark eyes and hair.  The latter by chance opened the important topic.

“By the way, Major,” he said carelessly, “I guess it is just as well you stopped your daughter from coming out to this hole.  Lord, but it would be an awful place for a woman.”

“But I did n’t,” returned the other moodily.  “I put it off too long.”

“Put it off!  Good heavens, man, did n’t you write when you spoke about doing so?  Do you actually mean the girl is coming—­here?”

McDonald groaned.