Carhart passed on, and let himself into the covered enclosure where his horse lay sick. It was a quarter of an hour before he returned to the headquarters tent, to find Vandervelt standing in silence at the table. Apparently he had risen to leave, and had paused at the sound of a step outside. Standing for a moment at the tent entrance, Carhart’s eyes took on the curious expression which the sight of the elder of the oddly assorted brothers frequently aroused there. The lamplight threw upward shadows on Old Van’s face and deepened the gloom about his eyes. A moment and Carhart, sobering, stepped inside. Certain memories of Old Van’s strange career came floating through his thoughts. It was probably the last time they would be thrown together. Considering everything, he would not again feel like choosing him for an assistant. Yet he admired Old Van’s strong qualities, and--he was sorry, very sorry. “Van,” he said, “I’ve changed my mind about the troops. I’ve told Charlie, the cook, to organize an effective system of guards at night, and I’ve told him, too, that he will take his orders from Gus.” Vandervelt stood motionless, looking at this man who had risen to be his chief, and his color slowly turned from bronze to red. “From Gus, eh?” he said with a slight huskiness. “Yes,” replied Carhart, steadily, “from Gus. He will represent me while I am gone. It will be only a day or so before he’ll be around.” Old Van might have answered roughly; instead he dropped his eyes. But Carhart’s unpleasant duty was not yet done. “One thing more, Van,” he said, looking quietly at the older man, but unable to conceal a certain tension in his speech, “are you carrying a gun?” There was a long silence. Every one of the faint evening camp sounds fell loud on their ears. A puff of wind shook the tent flaps and stirred the papers on the table. The lamp flickered. Very slowly, without looking up, Old Van reached back to his hip pocket, drew out a revolver, laid it on the table,--laid it, oddly enough, on a copy of the Book of Common Prayer which was acting as a paperweight, and left the tent and went off down the grade. And for some time after his footfalls had died away Carhart sat with elbows on table, chin on hands, looking at the weapon. * * * * *