What could the woman possibly want of him? To explain the past? To justify herself? He knew enough already, and desired to know no more. Could she hope--natural coquette that she was--to regain her hold upon him? The man smiled grimly, confident of his own strength. Yet why should she care for such a conquest, the winning of a common soldier? There must be some better reason, some more subtle purpose. Could it be that she feared him, that she was afraid that he might speak to her injury? This was by far the most likely supposition. Molly McDonald--the woman was aware of their acquaintance, and was already alarmed at its possible result. Hamlin stood up resolved. He would meet the woman, not from any desire of his own, but to learn her purpose, and protect the girl. The meeting could not injure him, not even bring a swifter beating of the heart, but might give him opportunity to serve the other. And Le Fevre--surely she could tell him something of Le Fevre. Leave was easily obtained, and the Sergeant, rejoicing in a freshly issued uniform, dressed with all the care possible, his interest reviving at this new point of view. It was not far down the bluff road to the squalid little village which had naturally developed in close proximity to the fort--near enough for protection, yet far enough removed to be lawless--a rough frontier outpost town, of shacks and tents, most of these dispensing vile liquors. Among these, more enterprising spirits--hopeful of future development--had erected larger buildings, usually barn-like, with false fronts facing the single main street, filled with miscellaneous stocks of goods or used for purposes not so legitimate. One of these housed the "Poodle Dog" saloon, with gambling rooms above, while a few doors below was a great dance hall, easily converted into a theatre if occasion arose,--a grotesque, one-storied monstrosity. Below these was the stage office, built against the three-storied wooden hotel, which boasted of a wide porch on two sides, and was a picture of ugliness.