And Le Fevre--surely she could tell him something of Le Fevre.
Leave was easily obtained, and the Sergeant, rejoicing in a freshly issued uniform, dressed with all the care possible, his interest reviving at this new point of view.

It was not far down the bluff road to the squalid little village which had naturally developed in close proximity to the fort--near enough for protection, yet far enough removed to be lawless--a rough frontier outpost town, of shacks and tents, most of these dispensing vile liquors.

Among these, more enterprising spirits--hopeful of future development--had erected larger buildings, usually barn-like, with false fronts facing the single main street, filled with miscellaneous stocks of goods or used for purposes not so legitimate.

One of these housed the "Poodle Dog" saloon, with gambling rooms above, while a few doors below was a great dance hall, easily converted into a theatre if occasion arose,--a grotesque, one-storied monstrosity.

Below these was the stage office, built against the three-storied wooden hotel, which boasted of a wide porch on two sides, and was a picture of ugliness.
By daylight all was squalor and dirt, dingy tents flapping in the ceaseless wind, unpainted shacks, wooden houses with boards warping under the hot sun, the single street deep in yellow dust, the surrounding prairie littered with tin cans, and all manner of debris.
But with the coming of night much of this roughness departed.