"She wouldn't let you have it."
"I hadn't intended to ask her," explained Ronald. "Lord, but she'd be mad! I'd give a pretty penny to see her when she found out I'd done it! I'd really rather see her good and mad than to take the trip, but I can't do both. If I have one pleasure, you'll have the other."
"I'd rather not, thank you—I'd much prefer to be out of the way of the storm. I hope you won't do it."
"Well, I'm not going to," said the Ensign; "at least, I don't think I am. I'm more or less subject to impulses, however."
A shrill feminine scream brought both men to their feet. "What was that?" cried Forsyth.
Major came toward them from the north, on a dead run, with his tail between his legs and panting for breath. "What's the matter, old boy?" shouted Ronald. The dog took shelter behind his master, trembling violently.
"He isn't hurt," said the Ensign, after looking him over carefully, "he's just scared. Do you think we'd better go up and see what's wrong?"
"No," answered Forsyth; "everything is quiet now. Major probably got into trouble with a squaw. It was a woman's scream."
"Maybe so," assented Ronald, sitting down again. "Anyhow, it was none of the women at the Fort, and I'm in favour of letting the Indians fight their own battles."
The dog, still frightened, insisted on lying uncomfortably close to his master. "Move over a bit, Major," he suggested; "you're too warm to sit by."