The Captain of the Gray-Horse Troop. Garland Hamlin

interjected Lawson.

      "Is he your uncle?" asked Curtis.

      "He's my father's sister's husband—but that doesn't matter; I'd defend him if he were a stranger. I think he has been shamefully treated. The idea of searching his private desk!"

      Curtis looked at her keenly. "I am under orders," he said. "Mr. Sennett is nothing to me, one way or the other. The question for answer is—has he abused his office?"

      "He has not!" exclaimed Elsie. "I know he has not. He is not a man to cheat and steal; he is not a strong man, but he is kind and generous."

      "Too kind and too generous," muttered Lawson.

      "I'm sorry to say that the records are against him," replied Curtis, "and his action is against him. He and his son have gone to Pinon City—riding very like fugitives. I had no orders to hold them; indeed, I was glad to let them go."

      Elsie bit her lips. "He has gone to get aid," she said at last, "and when he comes back you will take a different tone with him."

      Curtis laughed. "I believe he did say he'd have my hide, or something like that."

      Lawson put in a word. "He'll do it, too, if the cattle interest can influence the Secretary. Don't tell us any more than is proper, Captain, but—how do you find his accounts?"

      "In very bad shape. The chiefs say he has been holding back rations and turning in bad beef for some time."

      "You'd take the word of a nasty Indian against my uncle, or any white man, I can see that," said Elsie, in withering scorn.

      Curtis turned upon her a most searching glance. "Miss Brisbane, I don't understand your attitude towards me. As a soldier on special duty, detailed almost against my will, I have no prejudice in this affair. It is my duty to see that the treaties of the government are carried out. You seem to think I am started on a line of persecution of your uncle—" he checked himself. "I beg you will not pursue the subject any further." He turned to Lawson with an effort to put aside unpleasant conversation. "Please don't ask me disagreeable questions when I am curious to know the meaning of this artistic invasion of my territory. Who is responsible for these pictures?"

      Lawson hastened to explain. "This plague of artists is due to me entirely, Captain Curtis. I am doing some studies of the Tetongs, and Miss Brisbane came out to make some illustrations for me. In fact, she suggested coming here rather than to the upper agencies, because of her uncle's presence. Our coming brought others."

      "I am very glad you came," said Curtis, heartily, "and I will do all in my power to further your work. Please do not allow my coming to change your plans in the slightest degree."

      Lawson continued: "Intending to stay some months, we concluded to set up a mess and be comfortable—and permit me to say, we hope you'll eat with us until your own goods arrive."

      "Thank you; I accept with pleasure, for I don't enjoy camping in the tent of my angry predecessor—this company is more to my mind."

      Elsie's red lips were tremulous with indignation. "You can't blame Mr. Sennett for being angry. You would be if treated in the same way. There is no justice in it. I would never have surrendered those keys to you."

      Curtis patiently repeated, "My orders were peremptory."

      "You can't take shelter behind that plea. Your acts are atrocious, and I shall write to my father in Washington and have you investigated." She was beautiful as flame in the glow of her wrath.

      Curtis seemed struck with a new idea. "Are you the daughter of ex-Senator Brisbane?"

      She braced herself. "Well, suppose I am?"

      "Oh, nothing at all—only it explains."

      "What does it explain?"

      "Your attitude. It is quite natural for a daughter of Andrew Brisbane to take sides against these people." He was not in a mood to be gallant, and his glance quelled the angry girl.

      With flushed face and quivering lips she sprang to her feet. "I will not stay to be insulted," she said.

      Curtis rose as she swept from the room, but checked his instinctive words of apology and returned to his seat in silence.

      Mrs. Wilcox relieved the painful pause by saying, "Captain Curtis, you must not misjudge Elsie. She is a much better girl than she seems."

      Lawson was troubled as he said, "She has lashed herself into a great rage over this affair, but as a matter of fact she don't care a hang for Sennett."

      "I can't apologize for doing my duty," said Curtis, "even to Miss Brisbane."

      "Certainly not," replied Lawson, though he was deeply hurt by Elsie's display of unreason.

      As soon as he decently could, he followed her to her studio, where he found her lying in sullen dejection on the big divan. "Bee Bee, you are missing a good dinner," he began, gently.

      She was instantly ready to fight. "I suppose you blame me for this scene."

      "I think you are hasty, and a little unreasonable. I know Curtis by reputation, and he is above any petty malice."

      "You are taking his side against me!"

      "Not at all, Bee Bee, I am merely trying to show you—"

      "He looked at me as no man ever dared to look before, and I hate him. He thinks because he has a little authority he can lord it over us all here. I shall write to father at once, telling him just how this little prig of a lieutenant—"

      "Captain," interrupted Lawson—"for distinguished service."

      His smile made her furious. She flung herself back on the divan. "Go away. I hate you, too."

      Lawson, at the end of his patience, went out and closed the door behind him. "What is the matter with the girl?" he said to Mrs. Wilcox. "I've seen her in temper, but never like this. She has taken the most violent antagonism to Curtis."

      "She'd better let that young man alone," replied Mrs. Wilcox, sagely. "He has a very firm mouth."

V

       Table of Contents

CAGED EAGLES

       Table of Contents

      The word had gone out among all the red people that the old agent was entirely "cut off," and that a soldier and a sign-talker had come to take his place, and so each little camp loaded its tepees on wagons or lashed them to the ponies and came flocking in to sit down before the Little Father and be inspired of him.

      The young men came first, whirling in on swift ponies, looking at a distance like bands of cowboys—for, though they hated the cattlemen, they formed themselves on Calvin Streeter as a model. Each wore a wide, white hat and dark trousers, and carried a gay kerchief slung round his neck. All still wore moccasins of buckskin, beautifully beaded and fringed, and their braided hair hung low on their breasts.

      The old men, who jogged in later in the day, still carried blankets, though they, too, had adopted the trousers and calico shirts of the white man. Several of the chieftains preserved their precious peace-pipes, and their fans and tobacco pouches, as of old, and a few of those who had been in Washington came in wrinkled suits of army-blue. The women dressed in calico robes cut in their own distinctive style, with wide sleeves, the loose flow of the garment being confined at the waist with a girdle. As this was a time of great formality, several of the young girls returned to their buckskin dresses trimmed with elk teeth, which they highly prized.

      As a race they were tall and strong, but the men, from much riding, were thin in the shanks and bowed out at the knee. They had lost the fine proportions