"Mrs. Cummings," he said, "the old man on the Bend is missing. It looks like murder. His two girls are left, orphaned and heart-broken. They need a woman's comfort, ma'am. Will you not go to them, and will you find a woman to stay with them for a few nights?"
"Oh, how very sad!" exclaimed that lady; then, turned away as if suddenly perplexed. "I—I—really don't care to go myself," she went on, when she had given his request a moment's thought. "I know these country people—so touchy and taciturn, always ready to think one is patronising them."
"One usually is," retorted the captain, sharply. "Then, I must ask somebody else?"
"One of the troopers' wives would probably be glad to go."
"You are evidently quite mistaken regarding these young women," declared Oliver, with some heat. "Mrs. Oliver will think differently."
"Really, I haven't thought of them," she answered petulantly. "But why, may I ask, don't they come to the post?"
"They prefer to stay in their own little home. In their present trouble and grief, it is particularly dear to them—would be to anyone."
"I think it odd, Captain, that they should choose to stay over there alone. Can—can they be—eh—quite nice?"
"Madame," replied Oliver, sternly, "they wish to do what would please their father; they wish to be independent."