iging. He had a thorough search made of
every man in barracks, but the papers were gone. Without them Zaidos
felt himself an outcast. He resigned himself to his fate. How foolish
he had been to suspect Velo! He should have been the one of course to
care for the valuables, yet he could not but remember his father's
anger when Velo had suggested it. Zaidos knew his father to be a just
and generous man; and he knew that there was some good reason for his
distrust and dislike, although the time had been too cruelly short for
explanations.

The proofs of his identity at all events had disappeared, and in such a
mysterious manner that it seemed hopeless to search for them. Zaidos
had always wanted to join the army, but he had anticipated all the
honor and pleasure of graduating from West Point, in America. This was
indeed the raw and seamy side of soldiering. He was a philosopher,
however, so he shrugged his shoulders, gave the old servants the best
instructions he could about closing up and caring for the estates, and
threw himself, body and soul, into his new adventure.

The third day, while they were drilling, an automobile raced up and
stopped with a suddenness that nearly threw its occupants from their
seats. It was filled with soldiers, and with them was a little fellow
closely bound. Zaidos looked at him with a sinking heart. He had
never seen the pallid, quivering face, with its wild black eyes. No,
the night had been too dark, but instinct told him that here was the
deserting mountaineer. Zaidos looked away. The man was dragged
through the doors, and again a thick curtain seemed to fall over the
incident.

But a load of apprehension seemed to be cast on the soldiers. They
continued to talk about the prisoner in low voices. Not one of them,
with the exception of Zaidos, however, realized the true horror. It
was war times and at such a period there was but one end for desertion.

Zaidos prayed not to see it. He would not let himself think of it. He
threw himself into his work and with his knowledge of Boy Scout tactics
and the wonderful range of their knowledge he passed on to his comrades
all he had learned before he had left America on the journey which had
had such an exciting end. He never once suspected the influence he
innocently exerted for good. Boy as he was, he taught the soldiers in
his group so much that they were the special objects of attention to
their officers. Drill went smoo