“Very gladly, of course.”

“I thought as much.  Each of these is to be delivered in person.  Captain Thockmorton informs me that he will be prepared to depart within an hour.  You can be ready in that time?”

I smiled.

“In much less.  I have little with me but a field kit, sir.  It will not require long to pack that.”

“Then return here at the first whistle, and the letters will be ready for you.  That will be all now.”

I turned toward the door, but paused irresolutely.  The major was already bent over his task, and writing rapidly.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but as I am still to remain on duty, I presume I must travel in uniform?”

He glanced up, his eyes quizzical, the pen still grasped in his fingers.

“I could never quite understand the eagerness of young officers to get into civilian clothing,” he confessed reflectively.  “Why, I haven’t even had a suit for ten years.  However, I can see no necessity for your proclaiming your identity on the trip down.  Indeed, it may prove the safer course, and technically I presume you may be considered as on furlough.  Travel as you please, Lieutenant, but I suggest it will be well to wear the uniform of your rank when you deliver the letters.  Is that all?”

“I think of nothing more.”

Fifteen minutes sufficed to gather together all my belongings, and change from blue into gray, and, as I emerged from quarters, the officers of the garrison flocked about me with words of congratulation and innumerable questions.  Universal envy of my good fortune was evident, but this assumed no unpleasant form, although much was said to express their belief in my early return.

“Anyway, you are bound to wish you were back,” exclaimed Hartley, the senior captain, earnestly.  “For we are going to be in the thick of it here in less than a month, unless all signs fail.  I was at that last council, and I tell you that Sac devil means to fight.”

“You may be certain I shall be back if he does,” I answered.  “But the Major seems to believe that peace is still possible.”

“No one really knows what he believes,” insisted Hartley soberly.  “Those letters you carry south may contain the truth, but if I was in command here we would never take the chances we do now.  Look at those stockade gates standing wide open, and only one sentry posted.  Ye gods! who would ever suppose we were just a handful of men in hostile Indian territory.”  His voice increased in earnestness, his eyes sweeping the group of faces.  “I’ve been on this frontier for fourteen years, and visited in Black Hawk’s camp a dozen times.  He’s a British Indian, and hates everything American.  Ask Forsyth.”

“The Indian agent?”

“Yes, he knows.  He’s already written Governor Reynolds, and I saw the letter.  His word is that Keokuk is powerless to hold back an explosion; he and the Hawk are open enemies, and with the first advance of settlers along the Rock River Valley this whole border is going to be bathed in blood.  And look what we’ve got to fight it with.”