ng to his feet. "I
can explain this much better than that Dutchman. He means well enough,
but his tongue twists. It seems Custer met you once in the Shenandoah,
and later heard of your dismissal from the service. One night he spoke
about the affair in my quarters. Shultz was present on duty and
overheard. He spoke up like a little man; said he was there when you
got your orders, that they were delivered verbally by the staff
officer, and he repeated them for us word for word. He was taken
prisoner an hour later, and never heard of your court-martial. Is that
it, Shultz?"

"Mine Gott, ya; I sa dot alreatty," fervently. "He tell you not
reconnoisance--_charge_! I heard eet twice. Gott in Himmel, vat a
hell in der pines!"

"Hamlin," continued Sheridan quietly, "there is little enough we can do
to right this wrong. There is no way in which that Confederate
court-martial can be reconvened. But I shall have Shultz's deposition
taken and scattered broadcast. We will clear your name of stain. What
became of that cowardly cur who lied?"

Hamlin pressed one hand against his throbbing temples, struggling
against the faintness which threatened mastery.

"He--he paid for it, sir," he managed to say. "He--he died three days
ago in Black Kettle's camp."

"You got him!"

"Yes--I--I got him."

"I have forgotten--what was the coward's name?"

"Eugene Le Fevre, but in Kansas they called him Dupont."

"Dupont! Dupont!" Sheridan struck the table with his closed fist.
"Good Lord, man! Not the husband of that woman who ran off with
Lieutenant Gaskins, from Dodge?"

"I--I never heard--"

The room whirled before him in mist, the faces vanished; he heard an
exclamation from Shultz, a sharp command from Sheridan, and then seemed
to crumble up on the floor. There was the sharp rustle of a woman's
skirt, a quick, light step, the pressure of an arm beneath his head.

"Quick, orderly, he 's fainted," it was the General's voice, sounding
afar off. "Get some brandy, Shultz. Here, Miss McDonald, let me hold
the man's head."

She turned slightly, her soft hand pressing back the hair from Hamlin's
forehead.

"No," she protested firmly, "he is my soldier."

And the Sergeant, looking past the face of the girl he loved saw tears
dimming the stern eyes of his commander.

THE END

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Molly McDonald, by Randall Parrish

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