"Blizzard coming," said Scott, as he glanced at the sullen skies, and Scott knew the Rockies as he did the Paymaster's Manual.
"I report as old officer-of-the-day, sir," said Curbit, with brief salute, tendering the guard report book.
The colonel went straight to business, as he glanced over the list of prisoners.
"No sign of Trooper Rawdon?"
"No, sir. The patrol sent to search in town got back at reveille."
"His horse and kit all right?"
"All right, sir. Nothing missing that he was supposed to have."
"Police notified to watch all trains—and stages?"
"Yes, sir, and Sergeant Stowell, who commanded the paymaster's escort, remains in town with a couple of men to help."
There was impressive silence in the office. The colonel sat with troubled brow, looking grimly over the roster of the guard, the written "remarks" of the officer-of-the-day, and the hours of his inspections of sentries, etc. Barker, the adjutant, had dropped into a chair, a few feet back of the fur-capped officers, and, though listening as bidden, was gloomily contemplating the frost-covered panes of the nearest north window.