"'My dear Lieutenant Carey,' it begins, and signed simply 'Jennie.' Well, she's a dangerous-eyed little beauty, and were I not already mortgaged to Violet, I fear her bright eyes would pierce my breast farther than any Indian bullet has done thus far. Bah! I must not be so conceited and let my vanity run away with me, simply because a pretty girl has written me a note urging to see me, doubtless to get me to make another effort to influence that mule of a father of hers to go away from danger. Well, I shall be there at the rendezvous, and it is a coincidence that I am here now in this camp, with all the men I could spare, to stand between her and danger. What if those redskins we saw on the march last night should circle around and strike the Bernard ranch. Yet hardly, for they would have come direct, along the trail we are now camped on. I cannot account for Bernard's strange conduct in not leaving his home. It was infatuation with him, the idea that the Sioux will not harm him or his. But I must seek rest now, as I am nearly dead for sleep," and in five minutes more the young officer was sleeping the sleep of a man with a conscience wholly at ease. The two Cheyenne sentinels perched up among the pines upon the rocks were watching the country lying between them and the Bad Lands. That there was a foe to come from their rear they had no thought, for in that direction lay the homes of settlers, the land of civilization. Then, too, they could not see but a few hundred yards over the broken country in the rear of their camp, while for miles the eye stretched away in the direction of the retreat of the hostiles. And suddenly from the rear came the rapid clatter of hoofs, and before the sentinels could hardly have time to signal down to their comrades in the ravine, a party of Sioux horsemen swept by like the wind, heading for the retreat of the hostiles. It was the same band that Lieutenant Carey had seen the night before, and the chief was now discovered to be Red Hatchet, while riding by his side, a captive, was Jennie Bernard. CHAPTER XXII. JENNIE LEARNS A SECRET. Jennie Bernard had had good reason for sending the letter to Lieutenant Carey, which she had given to Owl Eyes to hand to him. Just before the arrival of the Indian courier at the ranch, Mr. Bernard had called to her to accompany him to a favorite retreat of the young girl's upon the bank of the creek, where Herbert had erected a rustic arbor. The face of the settler was pale and stern, more so than Jennie had ever seen it before, and she wondered why it was so. "Sit there, Jennie, and hear what I have to say to you," he said, sternly. She obeyed in silence, dropping upon the rustic seat in the arbor, while he stood in the door, leaning with folded arms against a post. "Why, father, why do you appear so stern to me? Have I done aught to offend you?" she asked. "No, but it is the fear that you may do so, that causes me to speak to you now."