"Go in and welcome the adjutant, dear," said Folsom hurriedly. "The colonel and I have some matters to talk of." Obediently she turned at once, and, glancing up the stairs, noted that Mrs. Fletcher's door must have been suddenly opened, for the light from her room was now streaming on the third-floor balusters. Listening again! What could be the secret of that woman's intense watchfulness? In the parlor the young staff officer was pacing up and down, but his face lighted at sight of Elinor. "Do you know--Is there anything new?--anything worse?" she quickly asked, as she gave her slim young hand. "Not concerning our people," was the significant answer. "But I fear there's more excitement coming." Barely waiting for Elinor to withdraw, "Pecksniff" had turned on Folsom. "You know I opposed the sending of that party? You know it was all ordered on Burleigh's urging and representations, do you not?" "Yes, I heard so," said Folsom. "What then?" "You know he planned the whole business--sent 'em around by Canon Springs and the Sweetwater?" "Yes, I heard that, too," said Folsom, still wondering. "You know some one must have put that Birdsall gang on the scent, and that Burleigh has had alleged nerve prostration ever since, and has been too ill to see any one or to leave his bed." "Yes, so we were told." "Well, he's well enough to be up and away--God knows where, and here is the reason--just in from the north," and, trembling with excitement, Pecksniff pointed to the closing paragraph of the letter in his hand: "Cords, seals and wrapping were intact when handed to the quartermaster, but the contents were nothing but worthless paper. It must have been so when given to Lieutenant Dean." Folsom's eyes were popping from his head. He sank into a chair, gazing up in consternation. "Don't you see, man!" said Pecksniff, "some one in the depot is short ten thousand dollars or so. Some one hoped to cover this shortage in just this way--to send a little squad with a bogus package, and then turn loose the biggest gang of ruffians in the country. They would have got it but for the storm at Canon Springs, and no one would have been the wiser. They couldn't have got it without a murderous fight. No one would ever dare confess his complicity in it. No statement of theirs that there wasn't a cent in the sack could ever be believed. Some one's shortage would be covered and his reputation saved. The plot failed, and God's mercy was over Dean's young head. He'd 'a been murdered or ruined if the plan worked--and now Burleigh's gone!" CHAPTER XXII.