“All right, Mapes,” commanded the man with the light.  “Let the fellow up until I get a look at him.  Who the hell are you?”

“Sergeant Hamlin, Seventh Cavalry.”

“Darned if it ain’t.  Say, what does all this mean, anyhow?  Who’s shot?  Turn the body over, somebody!  By God!  It’s Lieutenant Gaskins!”

Hamlin’s heart seemed to leap into his throat and choke him; for an instant he felt faint, dazed, staring down into the still face ghastly under the rays of the lantern.  Gaskins!  Then she was concerned in the affair; he really had seen her hiding there against the wall.  And the man’s eyes were open, were staring in bewilderment at the faces.  The Sergeant of the guard thrust the lantern closer.

“Lift his head, some o’ yer, the man’s alive.  Copley, get some water, an’ two of yer run fer the stretcher—­leg it now.  We ’ll have yer out o’ here in a minute, Lieutenant.  What happened, sir?  Who shot yer?”

Gaskins’ dulled eyes strayed from the speaker’s face, until he saw Hamlin, still firmly gripped by the sentry.  His lips drew back revealing his teeth, his eyes narrowing.

“That’s the one,” he said faintly.  “You ’ve got him!”

One hand went to his side in a spasm of pain, and he fainted.  The Sergeant laid him back limp on the grass, and stood up.

“Where is your gun, Hamlin?”

“I dropped it when I fell over the Lieutenant’s body.  It must be back of you.”

Some one picked the weapon up, and held it to the light, turning the chambers.

“Two shots gone, Sergeant.”

“We heard three; likely the Lieutenant got in one of them.  Sentry, what do you know about this?”

Mapes scratched his head, the fingers of his other hand gripping the prisoner’s shoulder.

“Not so awful much,” he replied haltingly, “now I come ter think ’bout it.  ‘T was a mighty dark night, an’ I never saw, ner heard, nuthin’ till the shootin’ begun.  I wus back o’ officers’ row, an’ them pistols popped up yere, by the corner o’ the barracks.  I jumped an’ yelled; thought I heerd somebody runnin’ an’ let drive.  Then just as I got up yere, this feller come tearin’ ‘long, an’ I naturally grabbed him.  That’s the whole of it.”

“What have you got to say, Hamlin?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, yer better.  Yer in a mighty bad box, let me tell yer,” angered by the other’s indifference.  “What was the row about?”

The cavalryman stood straight, his face showing white in the glow of the lantern.

“I told you before I had nothing to say.  I will talk to-morrow,” he returned quietly.  “I submit to arrest.”

“I reckon yer will talk to-morrow, and be damn glad o’ the chance.  Corporal, take this fellow to the guard-house, an’ stay there with him.  Here comes the stretcher, an’ the doctor.”