Lathrop, "but it's against the rules. You
_can't_ shoot a prisoner."

The rat-faced soldier uttered an angry exclamation. "To hell with the
rules!" he cried. "We can't waste time on him. Turn him loose!"

The older man rounded on the little one savagely. The tone in which he
addressed him was cold, menacing, sinister. His words were simple, but
his eyes and face were heavy with warning.

"Who is running this?" he asked.

The little soldier muttered, and shuffled away. From under the brim of
his campaign hat, his eyes cast furtive glances up and down the road. As
though anxious to wipe out the effect of his comrade's words, the
sergeant addressed Lathrop suavely and in a tone of conciliation.

"You see," he explained, "him and me are scouts. We're not supposed to
waste time taking prisoners. So, we'll set you free." He waved his hand
invitingly toward the bicycle. "You can go!" he said.

To Miss Farrar's indignation Lathrop, instead of accepting his freedom,
remained motionless.

"I can't!" he said. "I'm on post. My captain ordered me to stay in front
of this house until I was relieved."

Miss Farrar, amazed at such duplicity, exclaimed aloud:

"He is _not_ on post!" she protested. "He's a scout! He wants to stop
here, because--because--he's hungry. I wouldn't have let you take him
prisoner, if I had not thought you would take him away with you." She
appealed to the sergeant. "_Please_ take him away," she begged.

The sergeant turned sharply upon his prisoner.

"Why don't you do what the lady wants?" he demanded.

"Because I've got to do what my captain wants," returned Lathrop, "and
he put me on sentry-go, in front of this house."

With the back of his hand, the sergeant fretfully scraped the three
days' growth on his chin. "There's nothing to it," he exclaimed, "but
for to take him with us. When we meet some more Reds we'll turn him
over. Fall in!" he commanded.

"No!" protested Lathrop. "I don't want to be turned over. I've got a
much better plan. _You_ don't want to be bothered with a prisoner. _I_
don't want to be a prisoner. As you say, I am better dead. You can't
shoot a prisoner, but if he tries to escape you can. I'll try to escape.
You shoot me. Then I return to my own army, and report myself dead. That
ends your difficulty and saves me from a court-martial. They can't
court-martial a corpse."

The face of the sergeant flashed with relief and satisfaction. In his
anxiety to rid himself of his