“That is exactly what I mean, Travers.  Damme, I have n’t thought of anything else for a week.  Oh, I know now I was an old fool even to conceive of such a trip, but when I first wrote her I had no conception of what it was going to be like out here.  There was not a rumor of Indian trouble a month ago, and when the tribes did break out it was too late for me to get word back East.  The fact is, I am in the devil of a fix—­without even an officer whom I can send to meet her, or turn her back.  If I should go myself it would mean a court-martial.”

Travers stared into the darkness through the open door, sucking at his pipe.

“By George, you are in a pickle,” he acknowledged slowly.  “I supposed she had been headed off long ago.  Have n’t heard you mention the matter since we first got here.  Where do you suppose the lass is by now?”

“Near as I can tell she would leave Ripley the 18th.”

“Humph!  Then starting to-night, a good rider might intercept her at Fort Dodge.  She would be in no danger travelling alone for that distance.  The regular stages are running yet, I suppose?”

“Yes; so far as I know.”

“Under guard?”

“Only from the Caches to Fort Union; there has been no trouble along the lower Arkansas yet.  The troops from Dodge are scouting the country north, and we are supposed to keep things clear of hostiles down this way.”

“Supposed to—­yes; but we can’t patrol five hundred miles of desert with a hundred men, most of them dough-boys.  The devils can break through any time they get ready—­you know that.  At this minute there is n’t a mile of safe country between Dodge and Union.  If she was my daughter—­”

“You ’d do what?” broke in McDonald, jumping to his feet.  “I ’d give my life to know what to do!”

“Why, I’d send somebody to meet her—­to turn her back if that was possible.  Peyton would look after her there at Ripley until you could arrange.”

“That’s easy enough to say, Travers, but tell me who is there to send?  Do you chance to know an enlisted man out yonder who would do—­whom you would trust to take care of a young girl alone?”

The Captain bent his head on one hand, silent for some minutes.

“They are a tough lot, Major; that’s a fact, when you stop to call the roll.  Those recruits we got at Leavenworth were mostly rough-necks—­seven of them in the guard-house to-night.  Our best men are all out,” with a wave of his hand to the south.  “It’s only the riff-raff we ’ve got left, at Devere.”

“You can’t go?”

The Captain rubbed his lame leg regretfully.

“No; I ’d risk it if I could only ride, but I could n’t sit a saddle.”

“And my duty is here; it would cost me my commission.”

There was a long thoughtful silence, both men moodily staring out through the door.  Away in the darkness unseen sentinels called the hour.  Then Travers dropped one hand on the other’s knee.