on the bank, and is now his escort
to Frederick. The sergeant of the guard has been besieged with
questions, for several of the men saw the doctor drop upon the bench and
were aware of the melodramatic nature of the meeting. Lieutenant Abbot
with a face paler than before, with a strange look of perplexity and
smouldering wrath about his handsome eyes, has gone over to his own
tent, where the surgeon presently visits him. The colonel and his
civilian visitor are closeted together over half an hour, and the latter
looks more dead than alive, say the men, as he feebly totters down the
steps clinging to the colonel's arm.

"What did you say was the name of the officer who was killed--his son?"
asks one of the guards as he stands at the entrance to the tent.

"Warren--Guthrie Warren," answers the sergeant, briefly. "I don't know
whether the old man's crazy or not. He said the lieutenant had been
writing to him for months about his son, and the lieutenant denied
having written a line."

"He lied then, by----!" comes a savage growl from within the tent.
"Where is the old man? Give me a look at him!" and the scowling face of
Rix makes its sudden appearance at the tent-flop, peering forth into the
fire-light.

"Be quiet, Rix, and go back where you belong. You've made more than
enough trouble to-day," is the sergeant's low-toned order.

"I tell you I only want to see the old man," answers the teamster,
struggling, "Don't you threaten me with that bayonet, Drake," he growls
savagely at the sentry, who has thrown himself in front of the opening.
"It'll be the worse for you fellows that you ever confined me, no matter
by whose order; but as for that stuck-up prig, by----! you'll see soon
enough what'll come of _his_ ordering me into the guard-tent."

His voice is so hoarse and loud with anger that the colonel's attention
is attracted. He has just seated Doctor Warren in the vehicle, and is
about to take his place by his side when Rix's tirade bursts upon his
ear. The words are only partially distinguishable, but the colonel steps
promptly back.

"What is the matter with your prisoner, sergeant? Is he drunk or crazy,
that he persists in this uproar?"

"I don't think it either, sir," answers the sergeant; while Rix, at
sight of his commanding officer, pops his head back within the tent, and
shuts the narrow slit. "He's simply ugly and bent on making trouble."

"Well, stop it! If he utters another insubordinate word, have hi