into a buffalo wallow, shot both horses, and got behind them.  It was all done in the jerk of a lamb’s tall.  They had two Henry rifles, and the ‘rookie’ kept them both hot.  He got some of the bucks, too, but of course, we never knew how many.  There were twenty in the party, and they charged twice, riding their ponies almost to the edge of the wallow, but Hamlin had fourteen shots without reloading, and they could n’t quite make it.  Dugan said there were nine dead ponies within a radius of thirty feet.  Anyhow it was five hours before ‘D’ troop came up, and that’s what they found when they got there—­Dugan laid out, as good as dead, and Hamlin shot twice, and only ten cartridges left.  Hell,” he added disgustedly, “and you never even heard of it east of the Missouri.”

There was a flush of color on the Sergeant’s cheeks, but he never moved.

“There was nothing else to do but what I did,” he explained simply.  “Any of the fellows would have done the same if they had been up against it the way I was.  May I ask,” his eyes first upon one and then the other inquiringly, “what it was you wanted of me?”

McDonald drew a long breath.

“Certainly, Sergeant, sit down—­yes, take that chair.”

He described the situation in a few words, and the trooper listened quietly until he was done.  Travers interrupted once, his voice emerging from a cloud of smoke.  As the Major concluded, Hamlin asked a question or two gravely.

“How old is your daughter, sir?”

“In her twentieth year.”

“Have you a picture of the young lady?”

The Major crossed over to his fatigue coat hanging on the wall, and extracted a small photograph from an inside pocket.

“This was taken a year ago,” he explained, “and was considered a good likeness then.”

Hamlin took the card in his hands, studied the face a moment, and then placed it upon the table.

“You figure she ought to leave Ripley on the 18th,” he said slowly.  “Then I shall need to start at once to make Dodge in time.”

“You mean to go then?  Of course, you realize I have no authority to order you on such private service.”

“That’s true.  I ’m a volunteer, but I ’ll ask you for a written order just the same in case my Troop commander should ever object, and I ’ll need a fresh horse; I rode mine pretty hard coming up here.”

“You shall have the pick of the stables, Sergeant,” interjected the cavalry captain, knocking the ashes from his pipe.  “Anything else?  Have you had rest enough?”

“Four hours,” and the Sergeant stood up again.  “All I require will be two days’ rations, and a few more revolver cartridges.  The sooner I ’m off the better.”

If he heard Travers’ attempt at conversation as the two stumbled together down the dark hill, he paid small attention.  At the stables, aided by a smoky lantern, he picked out a tough-looking buckskin mustang, with an evil eye; and, using his own saddle and bridle, he finally led the half-broken animal outside.