L'ENVOI
Nearly two years later, with the old regiment still serving along the
storied Platte, they were talking of her one moonlit evening at the
flagstaff. The band, by this time a fixture at Frayne, had been playing
delightfully, and some of the girls and young gallants had been waltzing
on the Rays' veranda. A few new faces were there. Two faces, well known,
were missing,--those of Esther Dade and Beverly Field. The latter had
never been the same man since the tragic events that followed so closely
on the heels of the Lame Wolf campaign. Wounds had slowly healed.
Injuries, physical, were well nigh forgotten; but, mentally, he had been
long a sufferer. For months after the death of Nanette, even when
sufficiently restored to be on duty, he held shrinkingly aloof from post
society. Even Webb, Blake and Ray were powerless to pull him out of his
despond. He seemed to feel,--indeed he said so, that his brief
entanglement with that strange, fascinating girl had clouded his soldier
name for all time. To these stanch friends and advisers he frankly told
the whole story, and they, in turn, had told it to the general, to the
colonel commanding the regiment and to those whose opinions they most
valued; but Field could speak of it to none others.
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