It leaped out of the black night---three flashes, followed instantly by the sharp reports. Then a fourth--this time unmistakably a musket--barked from behind officers' row. In the flare, Hamlin thought he saw two black shadows running. A voice yelled excitedly, "Post Six! Post Six!" With a single leap the Sergeant was across the sill, and dropped silently to the ground. Still blinded by the light he ran forward, jerking his revolver from the belt. As he passed the corner of the barracks the sentry fired again, the red flash cleaving the night in an instant's ghastly vividness. It revealed a woman shrinking against the yellow stone wall, lighted up her face, then plunged her again into obscurity. The Sergeant caught the glimpse, half believing the vision a phantasy of the brain; he had seen her face, white, frightened, agonized, yet it could not have been real. He tripped over the stone wall and half fell, but ran on, his mind in a turmoil, but certain some one was racing before him down the dark ravine. There had been a woman there! He could not quite blot that out--but not she; not Molly McDonald. If--if it were she; if he had really seen her face in the flare, if it was no dream, then what? Why, he must screen her from discovery, give her opportunity to slip away. This was the one vague, dim thought which took possession of the man. It obscured all else; it sent him blindly crashing over the edge of the ravine. He heard the sentry at his right cry hoarsely, he heard excited shouts from the open windows of the barracks; then his feet struck a man's body, and he went down headlong. Almost at the instant the sentry was upon him, a gun-muzzle pressing him back as he attempted to rise. "Be still, ye hell hound," was the gruff order, "or I 'll blow yer to kingdom come! Sergeant of the guard, quick here! Post Number Six!" Hamlin lay still, half stunned by the shock of his fall, yet conscious that the delay, this mistake of the sentry, would afford her ample chance for escape. He could hear men running toward them, and his eyes caught the yellow, bobbing light of a lantern. His hand reached out and touched the body over which he had fallen, feeling a military button, and the clasp of a belt--it was a soldier then who had been shot. Could she have done it? Or did she know who did? Whatever the truth might be, he would hold his tongue; let them suppose him guilty for the time being; he could establish innocence easily enough when it came to trial. These thoughts flashed through his mind swiftly; then the light of the lantern gleamed in his eyes, and he saw the faces clustered about. "All right, Mapes," commanded the man with the light. "Let the fellow up until I get a look at him. Who the hell are you?" "Sergeant Hamlin, Seventh Cavalry." "Darned if it ain't. Say, what does all this mean, anyhow? Who's shot? Turn the body over, somebody! By God! It's Lieutenant Gaskins!"