The young officer continued without looking at him. “Forward--in two files--open order. Ma-arch!” The little troop moved forward, passed Major Overstone at the head of the gully, and spread out on the hillside. The assembled camp, still armed, lounging out of ambush here and there, ironically made way for them to pass. A few moments of this farcical quest, and a glance at the impenetrably wooded heights around, apparently satisfied the young officer, and he turned his files again into the gully. Major Overstone was still lingering there. “I hope you are satisfied,” he said grimly. He then paused, and in a changed and more hesitating voice added: “I am an older soldier than you, sir, but I am always glad to make the acquaintance of West Point.” He paused and held out his hand. West Point, still red and rigid, glanced at him with bright clear eyes under light lashes and the peak of a smartly cocked cap, looked coolly at the proffered hand, raised his own to a stiff salute, said, “Good afternoon, sir,” and rode away. Major Overstone wheeled angrily, but in doing so came sharply upon his coadjutor--the leader of the ambushed party. “Well, Dawson,” he said impatiently. “Who was it?” “Only one of them d----d half-breed Injin agents. He's just over there in the brush with Simpson, lying low till the soldiers clear out.” “Did you talk to him?” “Not much!” returned Dawson scornfully. “He ain't my style.” “Fetch him up to my cabin; he may be of some use to us.” Dawson looked skeptical. “I reckon he ain't no more gain here than he was over there,” he said, and turned away. II.