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ARREN'5
Ward
(iSSANAY)
By
seter Wade
This story was written from the Photoplay of JAMES OPPENHEIM
The scented breath of spring had struck the Post, lapping at the dreary snowdrift against the barracks and swelling the creek with snow-water. Brush and willows started to swell and bud, flowers peeped thru the dark soil, and overhead the returning geese wheeled like a flight of air-scouts.
It looked good, too, to see the horses cavorting in the corral, and to watch the troopers with curry-combs and brushes pile into the stiff winter coats.
Alice Graham stood in the open door of the Major's house and watched the sure harbingers of spring.
Three months ago the house had been her own. Then came the sudden death of her father, a new commandant was called to the Post, and she had lived among strangers thru the snow-bound months.
Now the breath of spring called her from the locked-fast quarters, and the clear bugle-call of "Boots and saddles" winding across the parade piled the young blood into her cheeks.
Five minutes agone, a buckboard had whirled into the Post, and Surgeon Warren had climbed stiffly out. Blotches of gumbo mud clung to his army gauntlets, his poncho, and even to his hair. It was the caress of spring, however, and the eyes of the
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girl in the doorway lit with the bright blue hope of the sky.
A sea of charging mounts and men in blue came between her and the sorry spectacle of the regimental surgeon. At their head, centaur-like, straight as a new whip, rode Gordon, the Captain of E Company. He was beautiful to look upon, clear-skinned, with the deep eyes of an elk, and many a city girl from Boise had sighed away an evening with him at Post dances.
But the armor of his heart was impenetrable, tho his smiles were searching enough, and in the end his fair assailants had retired baffled and beaten by his coolness under the cross-fire of lips and eyes.
No one suspected, not even Alice herself, that Gordon had set 'his mind, and perhaps his heart, on capturing her and that the death of her. father had forced a truce that even the handsome Captain respected.
The tinkle of a spur caused her to turn. Gordon stood by her side. His deep, smiling eyes were seeking to read hers.
"It's the call of spring," he vouchsafed, "that has brought me here to you. Your smile peeps out like the anemone from the white sheath of your throat."
Ah," she said, thinking of the