He had left whiskey and poker alone, severely alone.  He had sought every opportunity for field service; had shown indomitable push, pluck, and skill in pursuit of Apaches and cool courage in action.  He had been able to send even more than was needed, or that he had hoped, to his sister’s guardian, and was proud and happy in the consciousness of a duty well done.  There were no young girls in the scattered garrisons of those days, no feminine attractions to unsettle his peace of mind.  The few women who accompanied their lords to such exile as Arizona were discreet matrons, to whom he was courtesy itself on the few occasions when they met, but only once had he been brought under the influence of girlish eyes or of girlish society, and that was on the memorable trip to San Francisco during the previous year when he had had the great good fortune to be summoned as a witness before a general court-martial convened at the Presidio.  He had been presented to the Harvey sisters by the captain of the “Newbern” and would fain have shown them some attention, but there had been much rough weather in the Gulf which kept the girls below, and not until after passing Cape San Lucas and they were steaming up the sunny Pacific did he see either of them again.  Then one glorious day the trolling-lines were out astern, the elders were amidship playing “horse billiards,” and “Tuck,” the genial purser, was devoting himself to Paquita, when Drummond heard a scream of excitement and delight, and saw the younger sister bracing her tiny, slender feet and hanging on to a line with all her strength.  In an instant he was at her side, and together, hand over hand, they finally succeeded in pulling aboard a beautiful dolphin, and landed him, leaping, flapping, splashing madly about, in the midst of the merry party on the deck.  It was the first time Ruth had seen the gorgeous hues of this celebrated fish, and her excitement and pleasure over being heralded as its captor were most natural.  From that time on she had pinned her girlish faith to the coat-sleeve of the tall, reserved young cavalryman.  To him she was a child, even younger by a year than the little sister he had left, and of whom he soon began to tell her.  To her he was a young knight-errant, the hero of a budding maiden’s shyest, sweetest, fondest fancy, and ere long the idol of the dreams and thoughts she dared not whisper even to herself.  Paquita, with the wisdom of elder sisterhood, more than half believed she read the younger’s heart, but wisely held her peace.  No wonder the little maid had so suddenly been silenced by the announcement at the pass that that very night she might again see the soldier boy to whom, in the absence of all others, her heart had been so constant.  No wonder the ride forward to Moreno’s was one of thrilling excitement and shy delight and anticipation; no wonder her reason, her very life, seemed wrecked in the tragic fate that there befell them.