n a few minutes the commanding officer's orderly presented the
commanding officer's compliments to Lieutenant Perkins, and informed him
that the commanding officer would like to see him at the office.

Major Don Carlos Bliss, who was known throughout the service as a
splendid soldier, did not think much of Perkins. He had had his eye on
"B" Troop lately, and did not like the looks of things a little bit. He
was a man of strong convictions and never hesitated to express them. He
had known old Jeremiah Wilson for years, and when he learned of the
latter's reduction, his opinion that Perkins was a fool was duly
confirmed. He knew that much of the lieutenant's irritability was due to
"nerves" acquired by a steady and conscientious course of drinking, with
which procedure he had no patience.

Perkins, when he entered, found the sergeant standing at the desk.

"Mr. Perkins," the Major said shortly, "while Sergeant Wilson's request
is a little out of the ordinary, I have no objection to his sending a
telegram through this office. I can put no recommendation for clemency
in it, however, for I consider the sentence a just one. When you get
this message drafted the way Sergeant Wilson wants it, bring it to me,
and let me see it, and," he concluded, looking Perkins steadily in the
eye from under his bushy brows, "I advise you to do it at once."

The telegram went that afternoon. The plea for clemency was based,
principally, upon Sergeant Wilson's years of faithful service, and the
fact that his son was too young to appreciate the enormity of his crime.

Twenty-four hours passed, and there was no answer to the message. In
that time Sergeant Jeremiah Wilson drank deeply of the bitter cup. He
had aged suddenly in the last two weeks. Brooding in the hot, sticky,
tropical days is not good for a man, especially when that man is no
longer young. Shapes and shadows in the brain grow rapidly, and soon
assume enormous proportions. Now the fluctuating tides of hope and
despair gnawed steadily at the weakened foundation of his reason. The
men of the troop were more restless and ill at ease than ever. They had
lost sight of the fact that the prisoner's guilt was as black as the
mouth of the pit. All they saw was a darky soldier clinging tenaciously
to his life, and the agony of that darky's father. Each sympathetic
trooper had begotten a personal interest that ruled him completely.
Besides, the mad hatred they bore Perkins and the hope of b