No one spoke for a moment.  Chester was the first to break the silence: 

“Poor fellow!  He kept his word to the photographer; but what was it worth to a woman?”

There had been a week of wild anxiety and excitement at Sibley.  It was known through the columns of the press that the regiment had hurried forward from the railway the instant it reached the Colorado trail, that it could not hope to get through to the valley of the Spirit Wolf without a fight, and that the moment it succeeded in joining hands with the cavalry already there a vigorous attack would be made on the Indians.  The news of the rescue of the survivors of Thornton’s command came first, and with it the tidings that Maynard and his regiment were met only thirty miles from the scene and were pushing forward.  The next news came two days later, and a wail went up even while men were shaking hands and rejoicing over the gallant fight that had been made, and women were weeping for joy and thanking God that those whom they held dearest were safe.  It was down among the wives of the sergeants and other veterans that the blow struck hardest at Sibley; for the stricken officers were unmarried men, while among the rank and file there were several who never came back to the little ones who bore their name.  Company B had suffered most, for the Indians had charged fiercely on its deployed but steadfast line.  Armitage almost choked and broke down when telling the colonel about it that night as he lay under the willows:  “It was the first smile I had seen on his face since I got back,—­that with which he looked up in my eyes and whispered good-by,—­and died,—­just after we drove them back.  My turn came later.”  Old Sloat, too, “had his customary crack,” as he expressed it,—­a shot through the wrist that made him hop and swear savagely until some of the men got to laughing at the comical figure he cut, and then he turned and damned them with hearty good will, and seemed all oblivious of the bullets that went zipping past his frosting head.  Young Rollins, to his inexpressible pride and comfort, had a bullet-hole through his scouting-hat and another through his shoulder-strap that raised a big welt on the white skin beneath, but, to the detriment of promotion, no captain was killed, and Jerrold gave the only file.

The one question at Sibley was, “What will Nina Beaubien do?”

She did nothing.  She would see nobody from the instant the news came.  She had hardly slept at night,—­was always awake at dawn and out at the gate to get the earliest copy of the morning papers; but the news reached them at nightfall, and when some of the ladies from the fort drove in to offer their sympathy and condolence in the morning, and to make tender inquiry, the answer at the door was that Miss Nina saw nobody, that her mother alone was with her, and that “she was very still.”  And so it went for some days.  Then there came the return of the command to Sibley; and hundreds