Ray," said he,
"separate Murray from the garrison prisoners and have him put in a cell.
That man must be carefully guarded. You may dismiss the guard, sir."

And, followed by the stranger, Captain Kress was leaving the ground when
Murray seemed to recover himself, and in loud and defiant voice gave
tongue,--

"That man's a damned liar, and this is an outrage."

"Shut up, Murray!" shouted the sergeant of the guard, scandalized at
such violation of military proprieties. "It's gagged you'll be, you
idiot," he added between his set teeth, as with scowling face he bore
down on the equally scowling prisoner. "Come out of that and step along
here ahead of me. I'll put you where shoutin' won't help." And slowly,
sullenly, Murray obeyed.

Slowly and in silence the groups of spectators broke up and sauntered
away as the last of the prisoners dragged back into the guard-house, and
the guard itself broke ranks and went within doors, leaving only the
sentry pacing mechanically the narrow, hard-beaten path, the sergeant,
and at the turn of the road, the young lieutenant whom Captain Kress had
addressed as Mr. Ray. This officer, having silently received his
superior's orders and seen to it that Murray was actually "behind the
bars," had again come forth into the gathering twilight, the gloaming of
a cheerless day, and having hastened to the bend from which point the
forms of the officer of the day and his associate were still faintly
visible, stood gazing after them, a puzzled look in his brave young
face.

Not yet a month in possession of his commission, here was a lad to whom
every iota of the routine of a lieutenant's life was as familiar as
though he had drawn the pay for a decade.

Born and bred in the army, taught from early boyhood to ride and shoot,
to spar and swim, spending his vacation in saddle and his schooldays in
unwilling study, an adept in every healthful and exhilarating sport,
keen with rifle and revolver, with shotgun and rod, with bat and
racquet, with the gloves and Indian clubs, the nimblest quarter-back and
dodger, the swiftest runner of his school, it must be owned that Mr.
Sanford Ray was a most indifferent scholar. Of geography, history, and
languages he had rather more than a smattering because of occasional
tours abroad when still at an impressionable age. Yet Sandy "took more
stock," as he expressed it, and "stawk," as he called it, in Sioux and
the sign language than he did in French or German, k