Turning
back to the front room, Ray found the major, his face gray and
disturbed, holding forth to him an open envelope. Ray took it and
glanced at the superscription. "Lieutenant Beverly Field, Fort Frayne,"
and returned it without a word. Both knew the strange, angular, slashing
hand-writing at a glance, for both had seen and remarked it before. It
was Nanette Flower's.
Dropping the envelope on the table--he had found it on the floor--Webb
led the way to the open air. There was then no time to compare views.
There stood the sergeant.
"Sir," said he, with a snap of the gloved left hand at the brown tube
nestling in the hollow of the shoulder, "Number Five reports that he has
heard galloping hoofbeats up the bench twice in the last half hour, and
thought he saw distant horsemen,--three;--couldn't say whether they were
Indians or cowboys."
"Very good, sergeant," was the major's brief answer. "Send for the
telegraph operator and my orderly."
The sergeant turned.
"One moment," called Ray,--"your pardon, Major--My first sergeant, too,
and--sergeant, have any sentries reported horses taken out from the
stables to-night?"
"Not one, sir," and, stanch and sturdy, the commander of the guard stood
ready to vouch for his men.
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