as Gene's. What can this
mean?"

"You--you knew the soldier?"

"Knew him? Yes," speaking almost unconsciously, his incredulous eyes
still on the inscription, as though fearful it might vanish. "That man
was either my best friend, or my worst enemy; under heaven, I know not
which. Why, it is like a miracle, the finding of this bag out here in
the desert. It is the clue I have been searching after for nearly five
years." He seemed to pull himself together with an effort, realizing
her presence. "Excuse me, Miss McDonald, but this thing knocked me
silly. I hardly knew what I was saying."

"It means much to you? To your life?"

"Everything, if I can only trace it back, and thus discover the present
whereabouts of the original owner."

"Was that your regiment, then--the Fourth Texas Infantry?"

He bowed his head, now looking frankly at her.

"Would you mind telling me your rank?"

"I became Captain of 'B' Company after the fight at Chancellorsville;
we served in Virginia under Massa Robert, and lost every commissioned
officer in that affair." He hesitated to go on, but she prompted him
by a question:

"And then what? What was it that happened? Don't be afraid to tell
me."

His gray eyes met hers, and then turned away, his lips pressed together.

"Nothing until the day we fought at Fisher's Hill," he said slowly.
"Then I was dismissed from the service--for cowardice."

"Cowardice!" repeating the word in quick protest. "Why, how could that
be? Surely your courage had been sufficiently tested before?"

"Cowardice, and disobedience of orders," he repeated dully, "after I
had been under fire almost night and day for three years; after I had
risen from the ranks and commanded the regiment."

"And you had no defence?"

"No; at least, none I could use; this man might have saved me, but he
did not, and I never knew why."

"Who was he?"

"My senior captain, detailed on Early's staff; he brought me the orders
verbally I was afterwards accused of disobeying. I was temporarily in
command of the regiment that day with rank as major. There was a
mistake somewhere, and we were horribly cut up, and a number taken
prisoners. It was my word against his, and--and he lied."

She took the haversack from him, studying the scarcely legible
inscription.

"'E. L. F.' Are those the letters?"

"Yes; they stand for Eugene Le Fevre; he was of French descent, his
home in New Orleans."

"You knew him well?"