g across in front, that he
towered head and shoulders above his companions. From the first,
he fixed his penetrating eyes on Captain Dawson and studied him
closely. It was this persistent intensity of gaze that attracted
the notice of Brush, who set him down as being even more malignant
than the leader of the disreputable party.

When a collision was impending, and must have come the next second,
the singular looking man, grasping his revolver, raised his hand above
his head and called:

"Hold on a minute!"

His commanding voice and manner hushed every one. From his place at
the rear, he spurred his mule straight toward the three men standing
on the ground.

"Keep off!" commanded the parson; "if you come any nearer I'll
shoot!"

The extraordinary looking individual gave him no heed, but forced his
mule in front of Captain Dawson, upon whom he kept his eyes riveted.

"Don't fire till I give the word," commanded the captain, who had
become suddenly interested in the tall, slim man.

Halting his mule directly before Dawson, and with no more than a
couple of yards separating them, the stranger craned his head forward
until his chin was almost between the long ears of his animal. He
seemed to be trying to look the officer through, while every other man
watched the curious proceeding.

Suddenly the fellow resumed his upright posture in the saddle, his
manner showing that he had solved the problem that perplexed him.
Through his thin, scattered beard, he was seen to be smiling.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Maurice Dawson."

"Formerly captain of the Iowa ---- cavalry?"

"The same at your service."

"Don't you know me, captain?"

The officer thus appealed to took a single step forward, and looked
searchingly in the face of the man that had thus addressed him.

"There is something familiar in your looks and voice, but I am unable
to place you."

"Did you ever hear of Corporal Bob Parker of the ---- Missouri?"

"Yes; you are he! I recognize you now! I am glad to greet you."

And shoving his Winchester under the stump of his arm, Captain Dawson
extended his hand to his old comrade and shook it warmly, the two
seeming to forget the presence of every one else.

"Something in your face struck me," said the corporal, "but I wasn't
sure. The last time I saw you, you had both arms."

"Yes; I got rid of this one at the very close of the war."

"Things were pretty well mixed up around Petersburg; I tried to