The man took the letter, and read the three pages carefully, and then
turned back to note the date, before handing the sheets across the
table.

"The Major sure made his instructions plain enough," he said slowly.
"And yer have n't heard from him since, or seen any one he sent to meet
yer?"

The girl shook her head slowly.

"Well, that ain't to be wondered at, either," he went on. "Things has
changed some out yere since that letter was wrote. I reckon yer know
we 're havin' a bit o' Injun trouble, an' yer dad is shore to be pretty
busy out thar on the Cimarron."

"I--I do not think I do. I have seen no papers since leaving St.
Louis. Is the situation really serious? Is it unsafe for me to go
farther?"

The man rubbed his chin, as though undecided what was best to say. But
the girl's face was full of character, and he answered frankly.

"It's serious 'nough, I reckon, an' I certainly wish I wus safe through
to Fort Marcy, but I don't know no reason now why you could n't finish
up your trip all right. I wus out to the fort last evenin' gettin' the
latest news, an' thar hasn't been no trouble to speak of east of old
Bent's Fort. Between thar and Union, thar's a bunch o' Mescalo Apaches
raisin' thunder. One lot got as far as the Caches, an' burned a wagon
train, but were run back into the mount'ns. Troops are out along both
sides the Valley, an' thar ain't been no stage held up, nor station