Hamlin, his thoughts entirely centred upon Miss McDonald, had scarcely noted her companion, yet as he lingered while the carriage drew up before the Major's quarters, he seemed to remember vaguely that she was a strikingly beautiful blonde, with face shadowed by a broad hat. Although larger, and with light fluffy hair and blue eyes, the lady's features were strangely like those of her slightly younger companion. The memory of these grew clearer before the Sergeant--the whiteness of the face, the sudden lowering of the head; then he knew her; across the chasm of years her identity smote him as a blow; his breath came quickly and his fingers clenched. "My God!" he muttered, unconsciously. "That was Vera! She has changed, wonderfully changed, but--but she knew me. What, in Heaven's name, can she be doing here, and--with Molly?" With straining eyes he stared after them until they both disappeared together within the house. Miss McDonald glanced back toward him once almost shyly, but the other never turned her head. The carriage drove away toward the stables. Feeling as though he had looked upon a ghost, Hamlin turned to enter the barracks. An infantry soldier leaned negligently in the doorway smoking. "You 're the sergeant who saved that girl down the trail, ain't yer?" he asked indolently. "Thought so; I was one o' Gaskins' men." Hamlin accepted the hand thrust forth, but with mind elsewhere. "Do you happen to know who that was with Miss McDonald?" he asked. "Did n't see 'em, only their backs as they went in--nice lookin' blonde?" "Yes, rather tall, with very light hair." "Oh, that's Mrs. Dupont." "Mrs. Dupont?" the name evidently a surprise; "wife of one of the officers?" "No, she 's no army dame. Husband's a cattleman. Got a range on the Cowskin, south o' here, but I reckon the missus don't like that sorter thing much. Lives in St. Louis mostly, but has been stoppin' with the McDonalds fer a month er two now. Heerd she wus a niece o' the Major's, an' reckon she must be, er thar 'd been a flare up long ago. She 's a high flyer, she is, an' she 's got the Leftenant goin' all right." "Gaskins?" "Sure; he's a lady-killer, but thet 's 'bout all the kind o' killer he is, fer as I ever noticed--one o' yer he-flirts. Thar ain't hardly an officer in this garrison thet ain't just achin' fer ter kick that squirt, but ther women--oh, Lord; they think he's a little tin god on wheels. Beats hell, don't it, what money will do fer a damn fool."