"Elise, of course, seemed bent on talking her out of it, but, with Wren and Blakely both missing, I could not hesitate. I had to come. Oh, captain, is Truman still acting quartermaster?" this to Cutler. "He has the keys of my house, I suppose." And so by tattoo the major was once more harbored under his old roof and full of business. From Byrne and his associates he quickly gathered all particulars in their possession. He agreed with them that another day must bring tidings from the east or prove that the Apaches had surrounded and perhaps cut down every man of the command. He listened eagerly to the details Byrne and others were able to give him. He believed, by the time "taps" came, he had already settled on a plan for another relief column, and he sent for Truman, the quartermaster. "Truman," said he, "how much of a pack train have you got left?" "Hardly a mule, sir. Two expeditions out from this post swallows up pretty much everything." "Very true; yet I may have to find a dozen packs before we get half through this business. The ammunition is in your hands, too, isn't it? Where do you keep it?" and the major turned and gazed out in the starlight. "Only place I got, sir--quartermaster's storehouse," and Truman eyed his commander doubtfully. "Well, I'm squeamish about such things as that," said the major, looking even graver, "especially since this fire here. By the way, was much of Blakely's property--er--rescued--or recovered?" "Very little, sir. Blakely lost pretty much everything, except some papers in an iron box--the box that was warped all out of shape." "Where is it now?" asked Plume, tugging at the strap of a dressing case and laying it open on the broad window-seat. "In my quarters, under my bed, sir." "Isn't that rather--unsafe?" asked Plume. "Think how quick _he_ was burned out." "Best I can do, sir. But he said it contained little of value, mainly letters and memoranda. No valuables at all, in fact. The lock wouldn't work, so the blacksmith strap-ironed it for him. That prevents it being opened by anyone, you know, who hasn't the proper tools." "I see," said Plume reflectively. "It seems rather unusual to take such precaution with things of no value. I suppose Blakely knows his own business, however. Thank you very much Truman. Good-night." "I suppose he did, at least, when he had the blacksmith iron that box," thought Truman, as he trudged away. "He did, at any rate, when he made me promise to keep it with the utmost care. Not even you can have it, Major Plume, although you are the post commander." CHAPTER XVII A STRANGE COMING