ready to do almost anything for her sake, then
she had put him to the test, and he had failed her. Believing, as she did,
that the boy well knew the whereabouts of the alleged deserter, Morton, and
his friend, Nita's reckless lover, she had counted on him to wring from
them the letters poor Latrobe declared he still possessed; but the three
weeks had passed without a sign, and it was becoming evident to her that
Gray had lost track of them entirely.

One brilliant afternoon, as she lay on the broad, cane-bottomed bedstead
with its overhanging canopy of filmy netting, she drowsily heard the
corporal posting the new sentry in the marbled corridor below, and then
marching the relief to the rear gate opening to the beach. Nita was
already up and moving about in her room. Margaret heard the rustle of her
skirts and the light patter of her tiny feet as she sped over the
hardwood floor of the main _salon_. She heard her throwing back the
sliding shutters that kept out the glare of the sun in the morning hours,
and knew that she was gazing out over the tree-dotted lawn toward the
gate where the guard lounged through the warm afternoon. All of a sudden,
quick and stirring, a bugle sounded over on the Calle Nueva, where the
North Dakotas had a strong detachment. The call was repeated, and, army
woman though she was, she did not recognize it. She could not remember
ever having heard it before. Then up the street, from the Engineer
barrack, there came thrilling echo, and there was a sound of movement and
excitement along the dusty thoroughfare. She heard Nita calling her name,
and then the child's quick, nervous step along the hallway toward the
stairs. Then came a sudden stop, a gasping, wailing cry, and, springing
from her bed and to the door, Margaret found her sister cowering before a
tall, slender man in the rough dress and field equipment of a private
soldier. With a little packet--letters, apparently--held forth in one
hand, while the other grasped her wrist, Rollin Latrobe stood sternly
gazing at the girl shrinking at his feet.

The tableau was over in another second. Springing up the broad marble
stairs came Billy Gray, the corporal of the guard at his heels, and
Latrobe saw his danger in a flash. Throwing little Gray aside as he would
a terrier, the young athlete whirled on the stalwart regular. There was
the sound of a crashing blow, followed by a heavy fall. The corporal went
rolling down the steps with Latrobe bounding