“What in heaven’s name,” I said, “_can_ occur to make me doubt it! Don’t I know you?” I little thought then how terribly this confidence was to be shaken. “Strange things happen sometimes in army life,” he said, “and we don’t know.” And then, with the shadow still on his face, we parted for the night. Before daybreak, the next morning, our regiment was moved to relieve troops that held an advanced post along the very verge of the river, when as we silently marched through the moon-lit, half-ruined city streets to take our places, I again exchanged silent salutations with Jot. He seemed, as I thought, more like himself--cheerful and smiling. We held a line on the river near the bridge which I have mentioned, where a street ran down near the water’s edge from the bridge road just above us. Everything was silent. Not a German soldier could be seen, as moonlight gave place to daylight. As the sun came up there was heard an occasional crack of rifle, as though to let us know they were “alive and watching us,” as I heard one of the men say in an undertone. Then came the steady purr of our airplanes and occasionally the more irregular sound of German air craft, which, like great buzzards seeking prey, soared far above us. It was high noon and we were eating our dinners, when I heard a sharp, twice-repeated whistle. I could scarcely believe my senses; for it was the signal by which Jack was called. While I was wondering, Jack trotted up whinneying. Jot caught his bridle and, fully equipped with arms and uniform, mounted bare back, walked him to the river, and, horse and man were seen swimming for the opposite shore. Before we had fully recovered from our surprise they were on the opposite side moving at a swift gallop. Then shots were fired; there were calls, confusing and uncertain before we fully comprehended that it was a case of desertion! Then rifle and machine-guns opened fire; but it was too late. Jot had deserted to the enemy, there was, apparently, no doubt about that. The deserting horseman had paused for a moment for a defiant salutation, before riding away with awaiting German soldiers. I was paralyzed with astonishment! I would not have believed it, had I not seen this disgraceful act with my own eyes. There it was, notwithstanding: Jonathan Nickerson, a trusted officer, had deserted in the face of his comrades, and gone over to the hated enemy! When I thought it over, it seemed to me that it had been planned from the first of his entrance into the service of the United States. His known conferences with his half-brother of German name, and his assuming another name than his real one, his interviews with another stranger, probably German, his buying Jack, all pointed to a deeply-laid, dangerous act of treason.