"Good Lord, no!" heartily, "though I reckon yer might not think my home
wuz much better. I 'm the post-trader down at Fort Marcy, jist out o'
Santa Fé. I 'll be blame glad ter git back thar too, I 'm a tellin'
yer."

"That--that is what I wished to ask you about," she stammered. "The
Santa Fé stage; when does it leave here? and--and where do I arrange
for passage?"

He dropped knife and fork, staring at her across the table.

"Good Lord, miss," he exclaimed swiftly. "Do yer mean to say ye 're
goin' to make that trip alone?"

"Oh, not to Santa Fé; only as far as the stage station at the Arkansas
crossing," she exclaimed hastily. "I am going to join my father;
he--he commands a post on the Cimarron--Major McDonald."

"Well, I 'll be damned," said the man slowly, so surprised that he
forgot himself. "Babes in the wilderness; what, in Heaven's name, ever
induced yer dad to let yer come on such a fool trip? Is n't thar no
one to meet yer here, or at Dodge?"

"I--I don't know," she confessed. "Father was going to come, or else
send one of his officers, but I have seen no one. I am here two days
earlier than was expected, and--and I haven't heard from my father
since last month. See, this is his last letter; won't you read it,
please, and tell me what I ought to do?"