ers never approached the ridge that
evening. He was going farther away from it all the time. I had to gallop
to catch him. This, out here to the southwest, is what might be called
an approximation to his trail. I finally overtook him away out over here
somewhere, across the ravine," and Davies indicated with the point of a
pencil.

"Well, then who made this trail up here on the ridge? You must have
crossed it twice before dark."

"There was no such trail there, sir, nor was there any party to make it.
Everything in the battalion except my own little squad was away off to
the southwest, anywhere from two to ten miles."

"You could swear to that, Davies? You remember it distinctly--despite
your illness?"

"Swear to it? Certainly, sir," said Davies, with wonderment in his eyes.
"So could McGrath, who was with me, if he were only alive. So could
Devers himself, or Haney, or Finucane, or a dozen others of the command
who must know that wasn't their trail."

"I fear me, Davies," said Leonard, gravely, "that some of the very men
you name have told it, if not sworn to it, the other way, and that your
captain has allowed it to be accepted as the basis of his release from
accountability."

In the gloomy office the darkness was gathering thicker. At the head of
the table, his coat thrown over his arm, his hat in his folded hands,
stood the strong figure of the chaplain, his thoughtful brow shining in
the light of the candles the clerks had placed upon the board. His was
the first face to be seen by one entering the room from the hall-way, or
peering in at the window, for the figures of Leonard and Davies, their
backs to the entrance, were thrown in black silhouette against the
glare; but as Leonard spoke the two who had been bending over the work
drew slightly apart and gazed silently, significantly, into each other's
faces, Leonard calm, massive, masterful, Davies searching, questioning,
the light of a new and grave suspicion in his troubled eyes.

And looking on this picture,--on this triumvirate,--there stood on the
porch without, close to the uncurtained window, a fourth form, heavy,
massive almost as Leonard's, but far less soldierly. Then noiselessly
this latter turned to the hall-way, and with cautious step drew near the
open office door; the heavy arctics, which it was Devers's habit to wear
so long as the weather was even moderately cold, deadened the sound of
his footfalls, and now with beating heart the troop co