but in addition to leaving too many good men in the everlasting shade
of the forest, we would defeat our own ends. For if he is still living
they would surely finish him if we undertook a punitive expedition.

"I have laid my plans on my absolute confidence that he is living. I
know he is, somehow. So I am starting up after him in the morning ...
alone."

Consternation was written upon every face excepting Lindsey's, who had
understood the Major's purpose from the moment he curbed Boynton.
Amazement altered to admiration, then to uneasy forebodings. The Major
watched them as they whispered to each other and as he read their
acceptance of his plans he turned to his cold dinner.

The planters found relief in following suit. The stewards returned to
the care of the tables. Cigars, the best from Luzon's northern fields,
followed Benguet coffee and when champagne glasses appeared at each
plate in indication of some diner's birthday or other happy occasion,
the planters searched each others' faces to identify the celebrant. As
the Chino withdrew after filling the glasses Lindsey rose, glass in
hand, speaking with his characteristic sincerity and with an easy
grace that belied his rough planter's garb.

"Gentlemen, I propose an absent friend ... a friend of all of us. One
who has meant much to all of us, has done much for many of us, has
harmed none by careless deed or word or thought: one who knows the
high places but realizes that life is lived on level planes.
Gentlemen"--he lifted his glass high--"to the--HEALTH--of Lieutenant
Richard Terry, P. C."

A swift scraping of feet and of chairs pushed back and they all stood
in mute acclaim of Lindsey's sentiments, subscribed with him to the
Major's refusal to believe that ill had befallen him whom they had
assembled to avenge. Seated again they watched Lindsey, who remained
standing while the Chino refilled the glasses. Lindsey spoke again.

"I ask you now to pledge the only man I know whose bravery, sincerity
and friendship are of a quality to fit him to be the chief of him to
whom it was just now our honor to do honor.

"Gentlemen ... Major John Bronner, P. C.!"

The response was a thrilling tribute to the flushed officer who
remained seated until the clamor had subsided, then bowed his
embarrassed gratitude.

They crowded around him as he rose to go, each offering advice and
warnings, wringing his big hand. Boynton drew him a little aside.

"Major," he said earn