but the other man apparently was in uniform, although I
could not distinguish its character. What instantly attracted my
attention was the fact that his hands were evidently tied behind his
back. If this was true then he was a prisoner, and the other had been
stationed there to guard him, and not the horses. Tom perceived this as
soon as I, for I felt his fingers grip my arm, and, when I glanced around
at him, he pictured his suspicions in pantomime. I nodded agreement,
sinking down behind the ridge, until my lips were at his ear.

"Creep around the edge of the rock there," I said, pointing. "That will
bring you at his back, and not more than five feet away. Can you do it?"

He nodded grimly.

"Leave your weapons here," I added, "and when you spring, get hold of his
gun so he cannot fire. I'll cover him the instant you strike. Go on."

He unbuckled his belt, and crept along to the right, so noiselessly that
even I, watching his snake-like movement, could hear no sound. The guard
did not move his head, and the other remained motionless, his face bent
almost to his knees. Down below the horses stomped restlessly, and
switched their tails. Watching each motion like a hawk, I saw Tom dip
over the crest, and worm his way down behind the rock. Then he
disappeared, until, as he cautiously arose to his feet, his head and
shoulders emerged shadowy just beyond. Realizing he was ready, I got to
my knees, gripping a pistol butt. Without a warning sound the Dragoon
leaped, his arms gripping the astounded sentinel with the hug of a bear.
He gave utterance to one grunt, and then the barrel of my pistol was at
his head.

"Not a word!" I said sternly. "Unclasp his belt, Tom. Yes, take his gun.
If he moves, or utters a sound, shoot him down."

I wheeled to face the other, who had lifted his head, and was staring at
us through the darkness. He was no longer a mere shapeless shadow, but a
slender, straight figure, and my heart gave a sudden throb.

"Who are you?" I asked sharply. "Eric Mortimer?"

"Yes," he answered, in evident surprise. "Do I know you?"

"No," and I cut the rope binding his ankles. "But I was searching for
you. I am an officer of Maxwell's brigade; my name is Lawrence. Tell me
first what has happened,--why you are being held prisoner."

He stretched his cramped arms and legs, lifting his hat so that I saw his
face dimly. In the gloom his resemblance to Claire was so remarkable that
I involuntarily exclaimed: