This story had the semblance of truth; it _was_ the truth.

So Dupont and Le Fevre were one and the same.

He could believe this now, could perceive the resemblance, although the man had grown older, taken on flesh, and disguised himself wonderfully by growing that black beard.

Yet, at the moment, he scarcely considered the man at all; his whole interest concentrated on the fate of the unfortunate girl.
"Where were they taking her, Hughes--do you know ?" "Wa'n't but one place fer 'em to take her--the Cheyennes hev got winter camp down yonder on the Canadian--Black Kettle's outfit.

Onc't thar, all hell could n't pry her loose." "And Le Fevre dared go there?
Among those hostiles ?" "Him!" Hughes laughed scornfully.