"Caught in Chicago; shipped back to the guard-house; shammed crazy, sir, till he fooled every surgeon in the Cheyenne Valley; got ordered to the government hospital for the insane; got supply of Skidmore whisky, properly doped; got the corporal drunk who went in charge of him, and, by gad, sir, got the corporal's outfit and papers and turned _him_ over at Washington as the insane man; got his receipt and vanished--the last ever heard of him. What became of her? Oh, after her flare-up with that poor devil Foster--you know the child didn't live--she got back to Mexico somehow: women like her never die--but she'll never be able to bother Dwight. That marriage, of course, wasn't legal. He'd simply been tricked. No, old Dwight's a free man, and I reckon he'll think twice before he tries it again." Whereupon Stone was swiftly kicked in the shin by the long-legged lieutenant-colonel of cavalry at his side, for, in his enthusiasm, the colonel had turned and addressed his closing remarks to the two ladies in the nearmost carriage, and one of them was reddening like the rose. "Dwight's here, you owl," said Blake, in explanation, later. "Came in on the _Sheridan_ this very afternoon, and he isn't so confounded free as you were in your remarks. Why--hadn't you _heard_? May be another case of 'out of the frying-pan into the fire'--a toss-up 'twixt 'Cilla and Charybdis, but----" "Good Lord!" cried Stone, "and what did I say? You don't mean she's going to marry Dwight?" "She can't help herself. He won't take no for an answer." "Well--I'll--be--hanged," said Stone, reflectively, "and I ought to be. It's just what my wife said--when the daily readings were going on--would likely be the upshot of the whole business. She said more than that--and she knows women, too--that Priscilla Sanford would make for him the best kind of a wife."