as he: it was
the night watchman that had grappled with him, he supposed, and he had
no compunctions in sending him to grass. Then he fled again, knowing
that he had only made bad worse, walked all that night to the station
next north of Sablon,--a big town where the early morning train always
stopped,--and by ten on Sunday morning he was in uniform again and off
with his regimental comrades under orders to haste to their
station,--there was trouble with the Indians at Spirit Rock and the
----th were held in readiness. From beneath his scouting-shirt he drew a
flat packet, an Indian case, which he carefully unrolled, and there in
its folds of wrappings was the lovely Directoire photograph.

Whose, then, was the one that Sloat had seen in Jerrold's room? It was
this that Armitage had gone forward to determine, and he found his
sad-eyed lieutenant with the skirmishers.

"Jerrold," said he, with softened manner, "a strange thing is brought to
light this morning, and I lose no time in telling you. The man who was
seen at Maynard's quarters, coming from Miss Renwick's room, was her own
brother and the colonel's step-son. He was the man who took the
photograph from Mrs. Maynard's room, and has proved it this very
day,--this very hour." Jerrold glanced up in sudden surprise. "He is
with us now, and only one thing remains, which you can clear up. We are
going into action, and I may not get through, nor you, nor--who knows
who? Will you tell us now how you came by your copy of that photograph?"

For answer Jerrold fumbled in his pocket a moment and drew forth two
letters:

"I wrote these last night, and it was my intention to see that you had
them before it grew very hot. One is addressed to you, the other to Miss
Beaubien. You had better take them now," he said, wearily. "There may be
no time to talk after this. Send hers after it's over, and don't read
yours until then."

"Why, I don't understand this, exactly," said Armitage, puzzled. "Can't
you tell me about the picture?"

"No. I promised not to while I lived; but it's the simplest matter in
the world, and no one at the colonel's had any hand in it. They never
saw this one that I got to show Sloat. It is burned now. I said 'twas
given me. That was hardly the truth. I have paid for it dearly enough."

"And this note explains it?"

"Yes. You can read it to-morrow."

XIX.

And the morrow has come. Down in a deep and bluff-shadowed valley, hung
all around wi