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"Yes, so called. He wa'n't a lieutenant then, he was a clerk, like you or me."

"How on earth should I know?"

"Deserters, I don't doubt!" was my comment to the ladies. Tongue revenge is poor, but it is something.

"What do you see?" His frown scared me to my finger-tips.

I stiffened proudly, turned and mounted my steed, but her eyes drew mine. I pressed close, bent over the saddle-bow, and said, "Good-bye, Camille."

The discussion warmed and I began to catch words and meanings. Oftenest they were old Lucius Oliver's, whose bad temper made him incautious. While his son and the other two jayhawkers obstinately pressed their scheme he kept saying, sourly, "That's--not--our--wa-ay!"

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