"Because it was in the breast pocket of my khaki--the thing I wore when we said good-night; but it seemed to grow chilly--or I did. I changed to the blue coat before going out at twelve. Lucky, too, for I had to go out front and help with some poor devils brought in from Skid's. I saw your light when coming home over the parade and wondered if the row had kept you awake." "You--came in the _front_ way, Sandy?" And the blue eyes seemed to implore him to stop, to reflect, to remember. "Why, certainly, mother. I was afraid you'd hear me trying the front door or hobbling round on the planks. What brought----Why, _mother_!" With her heart almost stilled, with her hands on her breast, with a blanched face and stricken eyes, Marion slowly found her feet, then rested one hand upon the table before she could steady herself to speak: "Sandy, think! Do you mean you were not--_there_ when the sentry No. 4 called; that you did not come hurrying home and stop there--at the back gate?" "Mother, dear, what can you mean? When I met you at the door I had just come round from the front, from over near the guard-house. The officer of the guard had his hands full and----Priscilla, quick!" And Priscilla came at speed, and, after one swift look as they lifted the drooping form to a sofa, whispered: "The doctor! Run!" And though running was beyond him, Sandy limped in frantic haste, for the mother's heart and health had seemed failing her for weeks, and this was most alarming. Even at ten o'clock she had not fully regained consciousness, but was mending, and by that time both doctors had come to her, and Mrs. Stone was at her bedside, while Priscilla, calm, grave and self-poised, was answering the many anxious, sorrowful inquiries, for no woman at Minneconjou was loved and honored more than Marion Ray, who, believing the evidence of her own senses sufficient to confirm an ever-growing, dreadful suspicion, had gone down under the blow.