"You did not come to see about the fire?" she said.

"No; I have had letters from the north. Would you step into my study a
moment?"

Moya was in her father's room when they entered. She had been weeping, but
at sight of Paul's mother she rose and stood picking at the handkerchief
she held, without raising her eyes.

"Don't be alarmed at Moya's face," said the colonel stoutly. "Paul was all
right at last accounts. We will have a merry Christmas yet."

"This is not from Paul!" Mrs. Bogardus fixed her eyes upon a letter which
she held at arm's length, feeling for her glasses. "It's not for
me--'_Miss_ Bogardus.'"

"Ah, well. I saw it was postmarked Lemhi--Fort Lemhi, you know. Sit down,
madam. Suppose I give you Mr. Winslow's report first--Lieutenant Winslow.
You heard of his going to Lemhi?"

"She doesn't know," whispered Moya.

"True. Well, two weeks ago I gave Mr. Winslow a hunter's leave, as we call
it in the army, to beat up the trail of those boys. I thought it was time
we heard from them, but it wasn't worth while to raise a hue and cry. He
started out with a few picked men from Lemhi, the Indian Reservation, you
know. I couldn't have sent a better man; the thing hasn't got into the
local papers even. My object, of course, has been to save unnecessary
alarm. Mr. Winslow has just got back to Challis. He rounded up the Bowen
youths and the cook and the helper, in bad shape, all of them, but able to