was no rivalry between them, no animosity.  To be sure, Gaskins had been domineering, threatening to report a small breach of discipline, but in this his words and actions had been no more offensive than was common among young officers of his quality.  The Sergeant had passed all memory of that long ago.  It never occurred to him now as of the slightest importance.  Far more probable did it appear that Gaskins’ only motive was to shield the girl from possible suspicion.  When he had realized that Hamlin was a prisoner, that for some reason he had been seized for the crime, he had grasped the opportunity to point him out as the assassin, and thus delay pursuit.  The chances were the wounded man did not even recognize who the victim was—­he had blindly grasped at the first straw.

But suppose he had been mistaken?  Suppose that woman hiding there was some one else?  Suppose he had imagined a resemblance in that sudden flash of revealment?  What then?  Would she care enough to come to him when she learned of the arrest?  He laughed at the thought, yet it was a bitter laugh, for it brought back a new realization of the chasm between them.  Major McDonald’s daughter interesting herself in a guard-house prisoner!  More than likely she would promptly forget that she had ever before heard his name.  He must be growing crazy to presume that she permitted him to remain on her list of friendship.

He got up and paced the cell, noting as he did so how closely he was watched by the guard.

“Have you heard how badly the Lieutenant was hurt?” he asked, approaching the door.

The sentry glanced down the corridor.

“He ’ll pull out, all right,” he replied confidentially, his lips close to the door.  “Nothin’ vital punctured.  You better go to bed, an’ forget it till mornin’.”

“All right, pardner,” and Hamlin returned to the cot.  “Turn the light down a little, will you?  There, that’s better.  My conscience won’t trouble me, but that glare did.”

With his face to the stone wall he fell asleep.

CHAPTER XV

AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE

It was late in the forenoon when the heavily armed guard marched Hamlin across to the commandant’s office.  He had been surprised at the delay, but had enjoyed ample opportunity to plan a course of action, and decide how best to meet the questions which would be asked.  He could clear himself without involving her, without even a mention of her presence, and this knowledge left him confident and at ease.

There were half a dozen officers gathered in the small room, the gray-bearded Colonel in command, sitting behind a table, with Major McDonald at his right, and the others wherever they could find standing room.  Hamlin saluted, and stood at attention, his gray eyes on the face of the man who surveyed him across the table.

“Sergeant,” the Colonel said rather brusquely, “you came in last night with ‘M’ troop, did you not?”