A number of soldiers off duty were loitering in front of the barracks, while a small group of officers occupied chairs on the log porch of their quarters, enjoying the warmth of the sun.  I greeted these as I passed, conscious that their eyes followed me curiously as I approached the closed door of the commandant’s office.  The sentry without brought his rifle to a salute, but permitted my passage without challenge.  A voice within answered my knock, and I entered, closing the door behind me.  The room was familiar—­plain, almost shabbily furnished, the walls decorated only by the skins of wild beasts, and holding merely a few rudely constructed chairs and a long pine table.  Major Bliss glanced up at my entrance, with deep-set eyes hidden beneath bushy-gray eyebrows, his smooth-shaven face appearing almost youthful in contrast to a wealth of gray hair.  A veteran of the old war, and a strict disciplinarian, inclined to be austere, his smile of welcome gave me instantly a distinct feeling of relief.

“How long have you been here at Armstrong, Lieutenant?” he questioned, toying with an official-looking paper in his hands.

“Only about three weeks, sir.  I came north on the Enterprise, with dispatches from General Gaines.”

“I remember; you belong to the Fifth, and, without orders, I promptly dragooned you into garrison service.”  His eyes laughed.  “Only sorry I cannot hold you any longer.”

“I do not understand, sir.”

“Yet I presume you have learned that the Wanderer stopped here for an hour last night on its way north to Prairie du Chien?”

“Captain Thockmorton just informed me.”

“But you received no mail?”

“No, sir; or, rather, I have not been at the office to inquire.  Was there mail for me?”

“That I do not know; only I have received a communication relating to you.  It seems you have an application pending for a furlough.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It is my pleasure to inform you that it has been granted—­sixty days, with permission to proceed east.  There has been considerable delay evidently in locating you.”

A sudden vision arose before me of my mother’s face and of the old home among the hills as I took the paper from his extended hands and glanced at the printed and written lines.

“The date is a month ago.”

“That need not trouble you, Knox.  The furlough begins with this delivery.  However, as I shall require your services as far as St. Louis, I shall date its acceptance from the time of your arrival there.”

“Which is very kind, sir.”

“Not at all.  You have proven of considerable assistance here, and I shall part from you with regret.  I have letters for Governor Clark of Missouri, and Governor Reynolds of Illinois; also one to General Atkinson at Jefferson Barracks, detailing my views on the present Indian situation.  These are confidential, and I hesitate to entrust them to the regular mail service.  I had intended sending them down river in charge of a non-commissioned officer, but shall now utilize your services instead—­that is, if you are willing to assume their care?”