the
parade, of the vitreous jar of windows hastily raised. Two or three
lights popped suddenly into view along the dark line of officers'
quarters, and Waller's voice, with a ring of authority unusual to him,
halted a running corporal of the guard.

"What is it?" demanded he.

"I don't know, sir," was the soldier's answer. "There was an awful
scream from the end quarters--Captain Ray's, sir." Then on he went
again.

And then came the crack, crack of a pistol.

CHAPTER XVIII

BURGLARY AT BLAKE'S

The doctor started at the heels of the corporal, but was distanced long
before he reached the scene. The sergeant of the guard was hammering on
the front door of Blake's quarters; but, before the summons was answered
from within, Mrs. Ray, in long, loose wrapper, came hurrying forth from
her own--the adjoining--hallway. Her face was white with dread. "It is
I, Nannie. Let us in," she cried, and the door was opened by a terrified
servant, as the doctor came panting up the steps. Together he and Mrs.
Ray hurried in. "Robbers!" gasped the servant girl--"Gone--the back
way!" and collapsed on the stairs. Sergeant and corporal both tore
around to the west side and out of the rear gate. Not a sign of
fugitives could they see, and, what was worse, not a sign of sentry.
Number 5, of the third relief, should at that moment have been pacing
the edge of the bluff in rear of the northernmost quarters, and yet
might be around toward the flagstaff. "Find Number 5," were the
sergeant's orders, and back he hurried to the house, not knowing what to
expect. By that time others of the guard had got there and the
officer-of-the-day was coming,--the clink of his sword could be heard
down the road,--and more windows were uplifted and more voices were
begging for information, and then came Mrs. Dade, breathless but calm.

Within doors she found the doctor ministering to a stout female who
seemed to have gone off in an improvised swoon--Mrs. Blake's imported
cook. Up the stairs, to her own room again, Mrs. Blake was being led by
Marion Ray's encircling arm. Three women were speedily closeted there,
for Mrs. Dade was like an elder sister to these two sworn friends, and,
not until Mrs. Dade and they were ready, did that lady descend the
stairs and communicate the facts to the excited gathering in the parlor,
and they in turn to those on the porch in front. By this time Flint
himself, with the poet quartermaster, was on hand, and all Fort