"We have had no rumors of anything of the kind, and they would be almost sure to come this way to us, if anyone heard of such stories. There are no settlers along the road, after leaving the springs, out here until you reach the Platte. I can hardly believe it, but we'll see what can be got from the man when he sobers up. Now the sergeant-major will go with you to the quarters, and I will see you later in the day."
But later in the day that promise was forgotten in an excitement of far greater magnitude.
CHAPTER IX.
LURKING FOES.
CHURCH was over. The bugler had just sounded mess call, and the soldiers in their neat "undress" uniform were just going in to dinner, when a man on a "cow pony"—one of those wiry, active little steeds so much in use around the cattle-herd—came full speed into the garrison and threw himself from the saddle at Major Edwards' gate. It was the telegraph operator at the railway station. In his hands were two[102] brown envelopes, and Major Edwards, as he stepped forward to meet him, saw in his face the tell-tale look of a bearer of bad news.
"I've no idea whose horse that is, major. There were a half dozen of 'em in front of a saloon there in town, and I jumped on the first I saw. These have just come—one from Laramie, one from Omaha. I dropped everything at the office to fetch them to you."
Edwards tore open first one and then the other. The first read: