The independent and close-lipped scout was riding outside the group. He never grew accustomed to the heavy columns, and did not talk on the march—a common habit of desert wanderers. But his eye covered everything. Not a buckle or a horse-hair or the turn of a leg escaped him, and you may be sure Miss Katherine Searles was detailed in his picture.
He had beheld her surrounded by the young officers until he began to hate the whole United States army. Then he saw her dismiss the escort saving only two, and presently she reduced her force to one. As she came toward him, his blood took a pop into his head, which helped mightily to illumine his natural richness of color. She was really coming to him. He wished it, he wanted it, as badly as a man dying of thirst wants water, and yet a whole volley of bullets would not disturb him as her coming did.
"Good morning, Mr. Ermine; you, too, are out after wolves, I see," sang Katherine, cheerily.
"No, ma'am, I don't care anything about wolves; and why should I care for them?"
"What are you out for then, pray?"
"Oh, I don't know; thought I would like to see you after wolves. I guess that's why I am out," came the simple answer.
"Well, to judge by the past few miles I don't think you will see me after them to-day."
"I think so myself, Miss Searles. These people ought to go back in the breaks of the land to find wolves; they don't give a wolf credit for having eyes."
"Why don't you tell them so, Mr. Ermine?" pleaded the young woman.
"The officers think they know where to find them; they would not thank me, and there might not be anywhere I would go to find them. It does not matter whether we get one or none, anyhow," came Ermine's sageness.