e three were men who had hitherto been above suspicion, and there
were few soldiers in the regiment who would accept the theory that any
one of the three had connived at the escape. As for the sergeant--he had
served four enlistments in the --teenth, and without a flaw in his record
beyond an occasional aberration in the now distant past, due to the
potency of the poteen distilled by certain Hibernian experts not far from
an old-time "plains fort," where the regiment had rested on its march
'cross continent. As for the officers--but who would suppose an officer
guilty of anything of the kind--a flagrant military crime? And yet--men
got to asking each other if it were so that Bugler Curran had carried a
note from the prisoner, Morton, to Mr. Gray about 2:30 that afternoon?
And what was this about Gray's having urged Brooke to swap tours with him
an hour later, and what was that story the headquarters clerks were
telling about Mr. Gray's coming to the adjutant and begging to be allowed
to "march on" that evening instead of Brooke? It wasn't long before these
rumors, somehow, got to Canker's ears, and Canker seemed to grow as big
again; he fairly swelled with indignation at thought of such turpitude on
part of an officer. Then he sent for Gray--it was the afternoon following
the sailing of the ships with the big brigade--and with pain and
bewilderment and indignation in his brave blue eyes the youngster came
and stood before his stern superior. Gordon, who sent the message, and
who had heard Canker's denunciatory remarks, had found time to scribble a
word or two--"Admit nothing; say nothing; _do_ nothing but hold your
tongue and temper. If C. insists on answers say you decline except in
presence of your legal adviser." So there was a scene in the commander's
tent that afternoon. The morning had not been without its joys. Along
about ten o'clock as Gray sat writing to his father in his little canvas
home, he heard a voice that sent the blood leaping through his veins and
filled his eyes with light. Springing from his campstool and capsizing it
as he did so, he poked his curly head from the entrance of the tent--and
there she was--only a dozen feet away--Major Lane in courteous
attendance, Mr. Prime sadly following, and Miss Prime quite content with
the devotions of Captain Schuyler. Only a dozen feet away and coming
straight to him, with frank smiles and sympathy in her kind and winsome
face--with hand outstretched the moment