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spoken, and the band broke into a quick march. The officers of the regiment rode slowly front and center, formed a rank, and moved upon their commanding officer. Laurie watched them salute her father, and then they swung around and marched down the front of the regiment, in full tune, and wheeled and marched back. They halted, and at once the little brass cannon at the base of the flagpole boomed out, its echo filling the parade ground. The flag began to descend, and when a trooper received it, Major Winslow called out in a ringing voice, “Pass in review!”
    The first sergeants barked their stiff calls as the companies wheeled around, and the band broke into a march tune. It turned the corners of the parade ground and passed before Winslow, and the horsemen moved toward the stables, each company pulling away toward its own area.

    The ceremony was finished, and almost at once Winslow came to Laurie, saying, “Got time for a ride?”
    “Yes!”
    Winslow called out, “Sergeant, let my daughter have your horse.”
    “Yes, sir!”
    The lean, sunburned sergeant stepped out of his saddle and held the reins while Laurie found the stirrup and swung into the saddle with a graceful motion. He grinned, saying, “Major, don’t let her get thrown. This horse is disrespectful.”
    Laurie smiled down at him, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. “Don’t worry, Sergeant. I’ll make him mind.” She took the reins and followed her father as he rode out of the stockade at a fast gallop, pulling the bay up to ride beside him as soon as they were clear of the gate.
    For half an hour they rode toward the west where the sun’s violent flame rolled back like sea waves across butte and ridge and far-scattered clumps of timber. The harsh sunlight that had burned the ground all day caught up the thin and bright flashes of mica particles in the soil, and the heat that had been piled layer on layer began to dissipate as the evening breeze started to stir.
    The pair rode silently, soaking in the night air, now freighted with the scent of baked earth and a faint aroma of timber as they pulled their horses up at a small creek. The only sound was the huffing of the horses blowing into the water and the pleasant off-key tinkling of metal gear.
    “I want to explain why we’re not moving to Wyoming to take up ranching.” Laurie turned in the saddle, startled by the sound of his voice slicking across the silence. Tom had his back to the sun, so she could not read his face, but his voice was serious. “Been meaning to talk to you about it, but your mother and I have had a difficult time coming to a decision.”
    “I know, Daddy.”
    “Do you? Well, I guess you can read your old man pretty well.” He stroked the neck of his horse, then went on. “Itwasn’t easy, Laurie. The army is a tough life—more so on women and youngsters. Monotonous, nothing much to do. I’ve regretted that for you, most of all, I think.”
    Suddenly, Winslow heard a sound off to his left, and at once his hand went to the revolver in the holster at his side, his eyes peering at the clump of timber half-hidden in the dusky light. Then a deer leaped out, saw them, and veered sharply, disappearing into the growing darkness.
    “Don’t see them this close to the fort very often.” Winslow relaxed slightly, but there was a vigilance in him that kept his eyes moving even as he continued. “You must have wondered why we’ve stayed in the army, haven’t you?”
    “I think a lot about the time when you and I followed the Indians, when you were an agent,” she said thoughtfully. “That was better.”
    “It wasn’t confining. If we got tired of one spot, we’d move on—but an officer can’t do that.” He sighed, regret edging his tone. “No life is more controlled than a soldier’s, I guess.”
    “You could do well on a ranch. You’d do well at whatever you put your hand to, Daddy.”
    “Think so? Well, I doubt if I’m as good as you think I am, but I’m glad