David Bond's keen eyes studied the elder girl. He expected an outburst of anger and blame. He was surprised when, without speaking, she brought the benches to the fire and set about clearing the table. Lancaster seated himself and sucked moodily at his pipe. Marylyn flitted behind him, to disappear through the swinging blankets. The evangelist walked up and down. It was not long before the silence told on the section-boss and forced him to talk. "Ef you-all got anythin' t' say," he snarled presently, "y' might as well spit it out." No one answered. "_Ah_ got jes' _this_ t' say:" he continued, "Ah ain't goin' t' hev no lubber o' a storekeep slaverin' aroun' my gals!" Again no one answered. But David Bond, as he watched Dallas questioningly, determined to be silent no longer. He paused in his walk. "My friend," he said solemnly, "you talk like a madman. For shame!" Dallas stood stock still, her eyes warning him. But it was too late. Her father snickered, drew on his pipe once or twice, and then grinned up at the evangelist. "It's gittin' light outdoors," he said significantly. "Ah reckon y' could cross th' river." And so David Bond and the white horse went the way of Lounsbury. Nearly an hour passed before the section-boss addressed Dallas. "Wal? wal? wal?" She was wrapping up to do the morning chores. "Just as well, I guess, dad," she said wearily. "The meal and bacon's pretty low. I've been cooking out of the seed-sacks lately." "Th' meal an' bacon's got t' las'," he answered. "Use th' seed ef y' want t', an' don' give thet Injun so much. We shan't ast tick o' no lallygaggin', do-a-grapevine-twist dandy." Dallas sighed, found Marylyn to kiss her, and gratefully breasted the chill air beyond the door. His dismissal from the shack brought no hardship upon David Bond. He found an old acquaintance in Colonel Cummings, who joyfully greeted him as interpreter in the absence of Matthews. He found familiar faces among the hostages, whose sullen reserve in his presence he laid to their imprisonment. At barracks, the enlisted men chaffed him mischievously, christened him "Methuselah," and installed him as "official doom sealer" of the post. But when he passed them by to give every hour of his days and nights to young Jamieson--young Jamieson, battling with all his might against collapse--the men ceased chaffing, and listened to him with respect. A crank on religion was one thing, a man with one eye on the Bible and his sleeves rolled up for hard duty was another. The troopers cared little for sermonising, but they honoured service. Then, it was Jamieson for whom the evangelist was caring. And Jamieson held the very heartstrings of the garrison.