Scouts had been sent out on either flank. The line moved slowly, as though fearing the presence of an actual enemy. There were frequent halts. At one time, while the line waited, Lieutenant Prescott took a detachment of twelve men to explore the country ahead. When he returned, reporting no enemy developed, B Company moved forward, though never without point and flankers. At noon B Company, still having stirred up no enemy, halted for dinner. Captain Cortland and his two young officers got through their meal with soldierly despatch. Then the company commander called to Sergeant Gray, who reported, saluting. "Sergeant, direct Corporal Cotter to bring his prisoner here." Seated on a small boulder, the captain eyed young Overton keenly as the latter was brought up. "Private Overton," began Cortland, "have you yet discovered, or really suspected, how your rifle bolt came to be in such bad shape?" "No, sir," replied Hal, again saluting. "At first glance it looked like a case of sheer neglect on your part to care for your piece." "Yes, sir." "But those file marks?" "I can't explain them, sir." "It is forbidden for any man to use a file on the parts of his rifle, except by direct permission from one of the company officers." "I know it, sir." "Have you had any such permission?" "No, sir." "Have you a file?" "Not a real one, sir. Only a manicure file." "Let me see it." Hal turned over the file, after finding it in his haversack. "Now, let me have the bolt from your rifle." Captain Cortland tried the file lightly in some of the nicks in the bolt. Then he passed file and bolt over to Lieutenant Hampton. "Mr. Hampton, don't these nicks seem to fit this file remarkably well?" queried the company commander. "They appear to--very well, sir," replied Lieutenant Hampton, testing the file in the nicks. "What do you say, Mr. Prescott?" The young second lieutenant studied file and bolt attentively. "I am obliged to agree, Captain, with yourself and Mr. Hampton." "Private Overton, think again. Do you still care to deny that you employed the file on the bolt of your rifle?" "I deny it, sir, with all the emphasis of which I am capable," was Hal's earnest retort. His face was flushed, his breath came quickly, but he looked straight and honestly into his commander's eyes. There was no cringing in his attitude. His high color was to be attributed only to the humiliation of the position in which he found himself. "And this bolt has been in the fire," continued Captain Cortland. "Just such a fire, let us say, as you build three times a day for the preparation of your food. The temper of the end of the bolt is ruined." "Yes, sir. May I speak, Captain?" "Go on, Overton."