“Yes, sir; found these papers on them.”

The Lieutenant thrust these into his jacket pocket.

“Very well, Hough.  Form the men into column.  Miss McDonald, you will retain the horse you have, and I should be very glad to have you ride with me.  Oh, Corporal, was everything in the coach destroyed?  Nothing saved belonging to this lady?”

“Only the ironwork is left, sir.”

“So I thought; exceedingly sorry, Miss McDonald.  The ladies at Dodge will have to fit you out when we get in.  I am a bachelor, you know,” he added, glancing aside into her face, “but can promise every attention.”

Her eyes sought Hamlin where he stood straight and motionless, respectfully waiting an opportunity to speak.

“Is—­is this what I ought to do?” she questioned, leaning toward him.  “I am so confused I hardly know what is best.”

“Why, of course,” broke in the Lieutenant hastily.  “You may trust me to advise.”

“But my question was addressed to Sergeant Hamlin,” she interposed, never glancing aside.  “He understands the situation better than you.”

The Sergeant held his hat in his hand, his eyes meeting her own frankly, but with a new light in them.  She had not forgotten now the danger was over; she meant him to realize her friendship.

“It seems to me the only safe course for you to take, Miss McDonald,” he said slowly, endeavoring to keep the note of triumph out of his voice.  “Your father is perfectly safe, and will join you within a few days.  I would not dare attempt your protection farther west.”

“You are not going with us then?” she questioned in surprise.

“Not if Lieutenant Gaskins will furnish me with horse and rifle.  I must report at Union, and, on the way, tell your father where you are.”

“But the danger! oh, you mustn’t attempt such a ride alone!”

“That is nothing; the valley is swept clean, and I shall do most of my riding at night.  Any plainsman could do the trick—­hey, Sam?”

Wasson nodded, chewing solemnly on the tobacco in his cheek.

“He ’ll make the trip all right, miss,” he drawled lazily.  “Wish I was goin’ long.  I ‘m sure tired o’ this sorter scoutin’, I am.  Down below the Cimarron is the only place ye ’ll have ter watch out close, ‘Brick.’  Them Comanches an’ Apaches are the worst lot.”

“I know—­night riders themselves, but I know the trail.  Can you outfit me, Lieutenant?”

Gaskins smiled grimly, but with no trace of humor.  His eyes were upon the girl, still leaning over her pommel.

“I ’ll outfit you all right,” he said brusquely, “and with no great regret, either.  And I shall report finding you here in disobedience to orders.”

“Very well, sir.”

Molly’s brown eyes swept to the Lieutenant’s face, her form straightening in the saddle, her lips pressed tightly together.  Gaskins fronted the Sergeant, stung into anger by the man’s quiet response.