Never halting in his race, he made directly for the spot whence the flare of the rocket had gone up. As he neared the trees, the sounds of a child's voice came to his ears, just inside the grove. It was remonstrating to some one. "D -- don't, papa! I -- I want to get the pieces. My! Wasn't it pretty --" Another voice, hoarse, gruff, stopped the childish words, but what it said was indistinguishable. Byers looked around. Two of his sentries were near, all of them running. "Did you hear that child?" queried the captain. "Scatter! Don't let either child or the grow one escape. Be spry! Watch out!" As Byers uttered the last exclamation, a running figure emerged from the shadow of the nearer trees and started full tilt towards the quarters where the cook's galley was. All three, running hard had slightly scattered, in order to intercept the fugitive should he try to dodge amid the various buildings. Swift as were the pursuers, the fugitive was more speedy. At one instant they saw him in a twinkling of light from one of the open doors. The next instant the form was gone. There came a faint echo of half-smothered infantile cries. Byers dashed by the lighted door, then stumbled over a small form on the ground and there rose another wail, now of terror if not of pain. Quickly the captain picked up the small figure in big arms and ran on, holding it gently, yet firmly, and saying: "There, there, little one! I won't hurt you!" "D -- don't you hurt my pa, " wailed the small figure in his arms. "He -- was only making show for me --" More crying. Where was the man? Only one clew had the captain. The fellow was round-shouldered, or seemed so in the glimpse Byers caught of them just before he dropped the child. Presently, one after another of the sentries came in, breathless yet unsuccessful. Somehow the fugitive had vanished, and look as they might, no further sign of him was seen. "Skip around some more!" ordered the captain. "Try every door you pass. The fellow must be around somewhere. Call me if necessary. I'll be on hand." While the baffled sentries did as directed Byers who was a father himself, placed the child on a convenient bench beside him, patting its head soothingly with one hand while he searched his pockets with the other. Then he produced the remnant of a package of chocolate drops, part of the contents of a box recently received from home. "Like candy?" he asked, putting some of the candy in the child's lap. "Good candy -- right, from my home across the sea." This in such French as Byers could command, which was plenty for the purpose. At first the child, whom he now perceived was a girl, would not try it, but presently a sight of the sweet was more than it could stand. Seizing the offered sweets, it began to eat greedily. "My papa have no sweets like this," munching greedily. "Who you? Where my papa?" "Know where your pa stays? I take you back to him."