It was already occupied by four men, who were playing cards at a small, round table and smoking vigorously, entirely engrossed in their game.  None of them so much as glanced up, and the intruder hesitated an instant, quickly determining his course of action.  There was little choice left.  The girl would never make an appointment with him except through necessity, and it was manifestly his duty to protect her from observation.  Two of the men sitting there were strangers; the others he knew merely by sight, a tin-horn gambler called Charlie, and a sutler’s clerk.  His decision was swift, and characteristic.

“Gents,” he said, stepping up, and tapping the table sharply, “you ’ll have to vamoose from here.”

“What the hell—­” the gambler looked up into the gray eyes, and stopped.

“That’s all right, Charlie,” went on Hamlin coolly, one hand at his belt.  “Those are my orders, and they go.  Hire a room upstairs if you want to keep on with the game.  Pick up the stuff, you fellows.”

“But see here,” the speaker was upon his feet protesting.  “The old man told us we could come in here.”

“The old man’s word don’t go for this floor to-night, partner.  It’s rented by the post officers.  Now mosey right along, and don’t come back unless you are looking for trouble—­you too, Fatty.”

Right or wrong there was plainly no use continuing the argument, for Hamlin’s fingers were upon the butt of his revolver, and his eyes hardened at the delay.  The gambler’s inclination was to oppose this summary dismissal, but a glance at his crowd convinced him he would have to play the hand alone, so he yielded reluctantly, swept the chips into the side pocket of his coat and departed, leaving behind a trail of profanity.  The Sergeant smiled, but remained motionless until they disappeared.

“The bluff works,” he thought serenely, “unless they make a kick at the office; some peeved, Charlie was.”

He stepped over to the window, and held back the curtain.  A burly figure occupied the bench, with feet upon the rail.  Even in that outside dimness could be distinguished a black beard.  The very man, and the Sergeant chuckled grimly with a swiftly born hope that the fellow might create a row.  Nothing at that moment could have pleased him more.  He blew out the parlor light, partially closed the door, and stepped forth on to the porch.

“Say, you,” he said gruffly, dropping one hand heavily on the other’s shoulder.  “Did you hear what I said to those fellows inside?  Well, it goes out here the same.  Pack up, and clear the deck.”

“Reb” dropped his feet to the floor and stood up, his bearded lips growling profanity, but Hamlin gripped his wrist, and the man stopped, with mouth still open, staring into the Sergeant’s face.  All bravado seemed to desert him instantly.

“Who—­who says so?” and he stepped back farther into the shadow.