“You ’re the sergeant who saved that girl down the trail, ain’t yer?” he asked indolently.  “Thought so; I was one o’ Gaskins’ men.”

Hamlin accepted the hand thrust forth, but with mind elsewhere.

“Do you happen to know who that was with Miss McDonald?” he asked.

“Did n’t see ’em, only their backs as they went in—­nice lookin’ blonde?”

“Yes, rather tall, with very light hair.”

“Oh, that’s Mrs. Dupont.”

“Mrs. Dupont?” the name evidently a surprise; “wife of one of the officers?”

“No, she ’s no army dame.  Husband’s a cattleman.  Got a range on the Cowskin, south o’ here, but I reckon the missus don’t like that sorter thing much.  Lives in St. Louis mostly, but has been stoppin’ with the McDonalds fer a month er two now.  Heerd she wus a niece o’ the Major’s, an’ reckon she must be, er thar ’d been a flare up long ago.  She ‘s a high flyer, she is, an’ she ‘s got the Leftenant goin’ all right.”

“Gaskins?”

“Sure; he’s a lady-killer, but thet ’s ‘bout all the kind o’ killer he is, fer as I ever noticed—­one o’ yer he-flirts.  Thar ain’t hardly an officer in this garrison thet ain’t just achin’ fer ter kick that squirt, but ther women—­oh, Lord; they think he’s a little tin god on wheels.  Beats hell, don’t it, what money will do fer a damn fool.”

Hamlin stood a moment silent, half inclined to ask another question, but crushing back the inclination.  Then he walked down the hall to the quarters assigned “M” Troop, and across to his own bed in the far corner.  There were only a few of the men present, most of whom were busily engaged at a game of cards, and he sat down where he could gaze out the window and think.  Here was a new complication, a fresh puzzle to be unravelled.  He had never expected this woman to come into his life again; she had become a blurred, unpleasant memory, a bit of his past which he had supposed was blotted out forever.  Mrs. Dupont—­then she had not married Le Fevre after all.  He dully wondered why, yet was not altogether surprised.  Even as he turned this fact over and over in his mind, speculating upon it, he became aware of a man leaving the rear door of McDonald’s quarters, and advancing back of officers’ row toward the barracks.  As the fellow drew near, Hamlin recognized the soldier who had been driving the carriage.  A moment later the man entered the room, spoke to the group of card players, and then came straight across toward him.

“Sergeant Hamlin?”

“Yes.”

“I was asked to hand you this note; there is no answer.”

Hamlin held it unopened until the fellow disappeared, hesitating between hope and dread.  Which of the two women had ventured to write him?  What could be the unexpected message?  At last his eyes scanned the three short lines: 

“You recognized me, and we must understand each other.  At ten to-night ask the Clerk of the Occidental—­V.”