received
there that threw him into such a panic. Would you know the handwriting,
do you think?"

"Yes, General."

Silently the chief-of-staff held forth a note which Loring took and
closely examined. It read "Captain Newhall begs to assure the
adjutant-general, Department of the Platte, that he meant no discourtesy
in failing to register. He was unaware of the rule existing at
department headquarters, had come here on personal business connected
with certain real estate in which he has an interest, is on two months'
leave from his station New Orleans, Louisiana, and will register the
moment the office opens in the morning unless he should be compelled to
leave for St. Joe to-night."

Loring looked up, puzzled. The handwriting was familiar; so was a form
that he had recently seen vanishing in the distance one evening a week
before, and something in the voice had a familiar ring, but this name
was new.

"To explain all this," said the adjutant-general, "there was a
dashing-looking fellow here for two or three days drinking a good deal
down about the depot on the flats and around the quartermasters'
corrals. He said he was Captain Newhall, of the Thirty-ninth Infantry,
and the general finally told me to send an aide to look him up and
remind him it was his duty to call at headquarters and account for his
presence. Between that night and the next morning he disappeared, and
at last accounts was hobnobbing with Burleigh at Gate City. You know of
him, I see."

"Possibly."

"Then, General," said the chief-of-staff, with prompt decision, "the
quickest way to got at the root of the matter would be to send Loring at
once to Gate City."

The General thought for a moment.

"How soon could you go?"

"First train, sir."

It was then too late for the single passenger express that daily went
clanking over the prairies toward Cheyenne. But that afternoon was held
a long conference at department headquarters, which caused some
wonderment among the officers not included, Stone especially, and there
were many eyes on Loring's grave face as he finally came forth from the
General's room, and without a word of explanation went straight to his
own.

"Wonder what _he's_ been doing," said a man from the garrison, who had
happened in in search of news.

Stone shrugged his shoulders, offered no explanation, but looked
volumes. An aide-de-camp should never reveal what he knows of other
officers' affairs--much less that he knows