LITMIR.BIZ

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him here to take charge of the office. The old agent is cut off – he is not allowed to go back to his office for fear he may hide something. Have Crow put a guard on the door. The new agent will try to find out why you have not received your rations. This is the secret of this paper, and here is the signature of the Secretary. This is a true thing, and you must now obey Captain Curtis. I know him," he said, looking round him. "He is my friend; you can trust him. That is all."

      "Good! Good!" said the chiefs. "We understand."

      A short, dark Tetong in a frayed captain's uniform came up. "I am chief of the police," he signed. "What shall I do?"

      "Guard the door of the office and of the issue house. Let no one but those I bring enter. Will you do as I say?" he asked.

      "Ay!" replied the officer, whose name was Crow.

      "Then all is said; go guard the door."

      Sennett and his son had withdrawn a little from the scene and were talking in low voices. They had placed themselves in the worst possible light, and they felt it. As Curtis reached this point in his orders, Sennett started to cross the road.

      "Wait a moment, gentlemen," called Curtis. "My orders are very strict. I must precede you. There is a certain desk in your library, Mr. Sennett, which I must search."

      Sennett flamed out into wild oaths. "You shall not search my private papers."

      "Silence!" called Curtis. "Another oath and I'll put you in the guard-house."

      "Do you suppose I'm going to submit to this without protest? You treat me like a criminal."

      "So far as my orders go, that's what you are," said Curtis. "I give you the benefit of the doubt so long as you act the gentleman, but you must respect the presence of my sister, or I'll gag you." After a pause he added, in a gentler tone: "I don't pretend to judge your case. I am merely obeying the orders of the department."

      "I have powerful friends in Washington. You will regret this," snarled Sennett. But his son was like one smitten dumb; his breathing was troubled, and his big, gray eyes were childish in their wide appeal.

      Lawson then spoke. "Can I do anything further, Captain? Command me freely."

      "No, I think not, except to see that my horses are taken care of and my guide fed. I suppose there is a mess or boarding-house where my sister can get something to eat."

      "Won't you come to dinner with me?" asked Lawson. "Mrs. Wilcox, some artist friends, and I are messing over in one of the old quarters, and our mid-day dinner is waiting."

      Curtis smiled grimly. "Thank you, I am on duty. I must dine with Mr. Sennett. Jennie will accept your invitation thankfully."

      As Curtis walked over to the agency house with Sennett and his son, Jennie looked anxious. "They may do something to him."

      Lawson smiled. "Oh no, they won't. They are quite cowed, but I'll suggest a guard." He turned to Two Horns and said, in Dakota: "Father, the old agent is angry. The new agent is a brave man, but he is only one against two."

      "I understand," said the old man, with a smile, and a few minutes later a couple of policemen were sitting on the door-step of the agent's house. It was a sunny place to sit, and they enjoyed being there very much. One of them understood English, and the other was well able to tell an angry word when he heard it spoken.

      The drowsy hush of mid-day again settled down upon the little cluster of buildings – news, even when it passes swiftly among red people, makes no noise. It walks with velvet foot, it speaks in a murmur; it hastens, but conceals its haste.

      IV

      THE BEAUTIFUL ELSIE BEE BEE

      As Jennie entered the mess-house she uttered a little cry of amazement. Outwardly, it was a rude barrack of whitewashed cottonwood logs, but its interior glowed with color and light. Bright rugs were on the floor, and a big divan in one corner displayed a monstrous black bear-skin. A capacious fireplace, which dated back to the first invasion of the army, filled one end of the hall, which had been enlarged by the removal of a partition. Oil-paintings, without frames, were tacked against the walls, and the odor of fresh pigments lingered in the air.

      "This is our general meeting-place," explained Lawson.

      "It smells like a studio," Jennie replied, after a glance around her.

      A plain, quiet little woman, with a look of inquiry on her face, appeared at the dining-room door, and Lawson called out:

      "Mrs. Wilcox, this is Miss Curtis, who will stay with us for a few days." As they greeted each other he added: "There is a story to tell, but we are late, and it can wait. Where is Elsie?"

      "Still at work. She never would come to her meals if we didn't call her."

      "I'm disposed to try it some day. Will you take charge of Miss Curtis while I go fetch the delinquent?"

      Under Mrs. Wilcox's direction Jennie prepared for luncheon in an adjoining room, wondering still at the unexpected refinement of the furnishings, and curious to see the artist.

      As she re-entered the sitting-room a tall girl rose languidly to meet her, and Lawson said: "Miss Curtis, this is Miss Brisbane, the painter of the pictures you see about."

      Miss Brisbane bowed in silence, while Jennie cried out: "Oh! did you do them? I think they are beautiful!"

      The sincerity of her voice touched the young artist, and she said: "I'm glad you like them – sometimes I think they're pretty 'bum.'"

      A slang word on the red lips of the handsome girl seemed wofully out of place to Jennie, who stared at her with the eager curiosity of a child. She was slender and dark, with an exquisite chin, and her hands, though slim and white, were strong and capable. Her eyes were very dark, of a velvety brown-black, and her hair was abundant and negligently piled upon her small head. Altogether she had a stately and rather foreign presence, which made Jennie feel very dowdy and very commonplace.

      Mrs. Wilcox hurried them all out into the dining-room, where a pretty table was spread for six people. Jennie's attention was absorbed by the walls, which were also lightened with sketches of small, red babies in gay cradles, and of glowing bits of tawny plain and purple butte.

      "Did you do all of these beautiful things?" she asked.

      Lawson interposed. "She did, Miss Curtis. Be not deceived. Miss Brisbane's languid manner springs from her theory of rest. When work is finished she 'devitalizes' – I think that is the word – and becomes a rag. But she's a horrible example of industry, spineless as she now appears."

      Miss Brisbane remained quite unmoved by Lawson's words; smiling dreamily, her red lips, as serene as those of a child, softly shaped themselves to say: "The strung bow needs relaxation."

      "I think you are right," said Jennie, with sudden conviction.

      Elsie opened her eyes wide and murmured, "Thank you."

      Jennie went on: "Now my trouble is just that. I'm always nerved up. I can't relax. Won't you teach me how?"

      "With pleasure. Are you going to live here?" asked Elsie, with faint accession of interest.

      "As long as my brother does."

      "I suppose you've come to teach these ragamuffins?"

      Lawson here answered for Jennie. "Miss Curtis is a sister to Captain Curtis, who has come to displace your uncle."

      Miss Brisbane looked up blankly. "I don't understand."

      Lawson became explicit, and as she listened the girl's hands clinched.

      "How abominable!" she cried, with eyes aflame.

      "Not at all. If Mr. Sennett is an honest employé of the government, he should be willing to be searched – if he isn't, then no measure is too harsh. He'll get a thorough raking over, if my impression of the new agent is correct."

      "My father would not put a dishonest man in this place," insisted Elsie, "and I don't believe Uncle Sennett has done wrong."

      "Well, now, we'll suspend judgment," retorted Lawson, who knew just when to change his tone. "Captain Curtis is an officer

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