So then my preacher had turned captain since I saw him last!

"You see, Stevenson," went on Williams easily, "Captain Orme was
formerly with the British Army. He is traveling in this country for a
little sport, but the old ways hang to him. He brings letters to our
Colonel, who's off up river, and meantime. I'm trying to show him what I
can of our service."

"So good of you to bring Captain Orme here, Major. I'm sure he will join
us to-night?" Kitty motioned toward the dancing pavilion, now well under
way. Orme smiled and bowed, and declared himself most happy. Thus in a
few moments he was of our party. I could not avoid the feeling that it
was some strange fate which continually brought us two together.

"The Army's rotten for want of service," grumbled Williams, following
out his own pet hobby. "Nothing in the world to do for our fellows here.
Sport? Why, Captain Orme, we couldn't show you a horse race where I'd
advise you to bet a dollar. The fishing doesn't carry, and the shooting
is pretty much gone, even if it were the season. Outside of a pigeon
match or so, this Post is stagnant. We dance, and that's all. Bah!"

"Why, Major, you old ingrate," reproved Kitty Stevenson. "If you talk
that way we'll not let you on the floor to-night."

"You spoke of pigeon shooting," said Orme lazily, "Blue rocks, I
imagine?"

"No," said Williams, "Natives--we use the wild birds. Thousands of them
around here, you know. Ever do anything at it?"