At the shack, Dallas, too, was pondering--over a strange contrariety: Their home was in danger, perhaps their very lives. Yet the day had fulfilled its promise of the morning--it was the happiest in her life! * * * * * The ramshackle ferry-boat was firmly wedged in a dry-dock of ice on the western side of the Missouri. As Lounsbury passed it, with his horse following pluckily in spread-eagle fashion, he shouted for Old Michael. But long before the river had floored, when it was edging and covering only in the least swift places, the pilot had made his final crossing, run the wheezy steamer, nose-in, against the bank, and deserted her. So the storekeeper received no answering halloo. He was disappointed. It was desirable to embroil as few as possible in the Lancaster dispute. Old Michael, already a factor, was needed to act the picket--to fire a warning signal if Matthews left Shanty Town. A substitute was found at the stables. The storekeeper, as he rushed away after disposing of his mount, came upon Lieutenant Fraser, busily roaching his own riding-animal, a flighty buckskin cayuse that no one else cared to handle, and that was affectionately known in barracks as the "She-devil." The men had met before, around the billiard-table at the sutler's, and Lounsbury had set the young officer down for a chivalrous, but rather chicken-hearted, youngster, who had chosen his profession unwisely. So, his story told, the storekeeper was altogether surprised at Fraser's spirited enthusiasm and quick response. "I've nothing to do, old man," he said, as they went toward the parade-ground. "I can help as well as not. So just take your time. I'll watch for you." "I hardly think our man'll show his nose before dark. But I can't leave the way open----" "Don't fret." They parted at the flag-pole, the West Pointer going down to the river, and Lounsbury hurrying off in the opposite direction. Colonel Cummings' entry and reception-room were crowded when the storekeeper entered. A score of officers were standing about in little groups, talking excitedly. But Lounsbury was too anxious and distraught to notice anything unusual. He hurried up to a tall, sad-faced man whose moustache, thin and coarse, drooped sheer over his mouth, giving him the look of a martyred walrus. "Can I see the K. O., Captain Oliver?" he asked. "It's important." "I'll find out," answered the captain. "But I don't believe you can. He's up to his ears." He disappeared into the next room. Lounsbury bowed to several officers, though he scarcely saw them. He heard Oliver's low voice, evidently announcing him, then the colonel's. "Yes, bring him in," cried the latter. "Maybe he'll know."