in the army, but
if it will greatly oblige you I'll do the job."

It was useless waiting longer; the room offered me no possible
hiding-place, the two windows looked down on the waiting cavalrymen.
Beyond doubt boldness was the best card to play. Before the rather
reluctant captain could take a second step I flung open the concealing
door, and came forth into the breakfast room.

CHAPTER VII

A WOMAN'S PRISONER

The scene before me, the expression on the three faces, caused me to
smile. I came forth with no definite plan of action, trusting, as one
must at such times, wholly to luck. There was no means of escape
apparent, yet my mind was cool, and I was prepared to take advantage of
any opportunity. I saw the flash of the sergeant's revolver, the
captain's sudden recoil, his hand tugging at his sword-hilt, and
glimpsed something in the depths of Billie's eyes that puzzled me.

"Good-morning, gentlemen," I said easily.

So far as Slade was concerned it was evident that all he saw was the
uniform, his revolver instantly covering me, held in a hand steady as
rock; he even grinned amiably across the barrel. But the expression on
Le Gaire's face changed from startled surprise to relief. He was a tall
man, with dark hair and eyes, a black moustache shading his lip, and his
hand fell from the hilt of the sword as he took an uncertain step
toward me.

"Drop that gun-play, Sergeant," he exclaimed sharply. "This man _is_
all right; I know him."

Too astounded myself for speech, I could only stare back into the
captain's face, seeking vainly to recall ever having seen the fellow
before. Not the slightest recollection came to me, but Le Gaire
blundered on, blinded by his discovery.

"Didn't know you had gone into this sort of thing," he exclaimed
cordially, holding out his hand. "Last I heard your regiment was in New
Orleans. Don't remember me, do you?"

I shook my head, so completely puzzled by this unexpected turn of
affairs that speech became dangerous. Perhaps he would give me some clue
to my new identity, which would enable me to carry out the masquerade.

"Your face is familiar," I ventured, "but--"

"Oh, no excuses," he broke in cordially. "I was a guest at your mess one
night when we were garrisoning Memphis. I am Le Gaire, of the Third
Louisiana. I sang you fellows some French songs, you may remember."

"Oh, yes!" and my face visibly brightened, as I grasped his fingers,
wondering who the devil I might