"Oh, well, I didn't say he belonged to your command," was the staff officer's response, "but one of the kid-glove crowd that's got into the ranks." "If you mean the recruits in the --teenth Infantry, I should be slow to suspect them of any crime," said Armstrong, with something almost like a drawl, so slow and deliberate was his manner, and now the steel-gray eyes and the fair, clear-cut face were turned straight upon the snapping eyes and dark features of the other. There was no love lost _there_. One could tell without so much as seeing. "You're off, then! That commissary-sergeant caught one of 'em in the act--he got wind of it and skipped, and to-day came back in handcuffs." "All of which may be as you say," answered Armstrong, "and still not warrant your reference to him as one of my irreproachables." By this time much of the crowd and most of the vehicles had driven away. The generals still sat in saddle chatting earnestly together, while their staff officers listened in some impatience to the conversation just recorded. Everybody knew the fault was not Armstrong's, but it was jarring to have to sit and hearken to the controversy. "Don't ever twit or try funny business with Armstrong," once said a regimental sage. "He has no sense of humor--of that kind." Those who best knew him knew that Armstrong never tolerated unjust accusations, great or small. In his desire to say an irritating thing to a man he both envied and respected, the staff officer had not confined himself to facts, and it proved a boomerang. And now, Armstrong's eyes had lighted for an instant on the alleged culprit. Seated opposite Miss Lawrence as the carriage whirled across Point Lobos Avenue, and watching her unobtrusively, he saw the sudden light of alarm and excitement in her expressive face, heard the faint exclamation as her gloved hand grasped the rail of the seat, felt the quick sway of the vehicle as the horses shied in fright at some object beyond his vision. Then as they dashed on he had seen the running guard and, just vanishing within the portals of the corner building, the slim figure of the escaping prisoner. He saw the quivering hands tearing at their fastenings. He turned to the driver and bade him stop a minute, but it took fifty yards of effort before the spirited horses could be calmed and brought to a halt at the curb. To the startled inquiries of Mr. Prime and his daughter as to the cause of the excitement and the running and shouting he answered simply: "A prisoner escaped, I think," and sent a passing corporal to inquire the result. The man came back in a minute. "They got him easy, sir. He had no show. His hands were tied behind his back and he couldn't climb," was the brief report. "They have not hurt him, I hope," said Armstrong.