"'Scuse me, marm, and please don't blab to the P. M. This is my first day here. I'm new and green, yes, marm, but I'm trying to be as obliging as I can." "Humph!" muttered the woman. Gathering her post cards, she fled. Lieutenant Prescott, holding one hand over his mouth, used the other to beckon as soon as he could catch Noll's eye. Noll went over to him, saluting, out of sight of any one at the post office window. "Cut out some of this comedy, Terry," begged the lieutenant in a whisper, "or I shall laugh outright and betray myself." Noll once more saluted gravely, then returned to his post at the general delivery window. All traces of the military had left Noll Terry's appearance. His khaki uniform was hidden under the jumper and overalls that Postmaster Dent had loaned him. Even his erect carriage had vanished. Noll now looked as though he had been round-shouldered from the cradle. His crisp speaking tone had given way to a drawl, and his look was stupid. The three soldiers were alone in the general delivery room, Noll the only one of them at any time visible. Toward the front of the room was a door opening out on the lobby of the post office. Behind this stood Lieutenant Prescott in uniform, but without his sword. Over the right hip dangled a holster in which lay a service revolver, ready for instant work. Further down the general delivery room, on the other side of the window, was a door opening also into the lobby. Behind this Private Hal Overton, also in uniform, was stationed. He, too, wore a revolver in holster over his right hip, for the bunkies, when sent into town as orderlies, had been armed with revolvers, as is the custom in the case of officers' orderlies in the field. Noll's revolver lay on a little shelf out of sight under the window ledge. Over two hours had dragged by. There could be no telling, of course, at what time Blick would appear, even if he came at all. It was not long ere Noll Terry forgot Lieutenant Prescott's warning, and again started in to have more fun with the people before the window. This time, however, he took great pains not to let the young lieutenant catch his eye. Then, of a sudden came a jolt that would have made a less self-possessed young man topple over. A mild-eyed man of forty took his place before the window. Noll barely glanced at the fellow until the latter inquired in a soft voice that was almost effeminate: "Any mail for Arthur Dade?" But Private Terry never turned a hair. [Illustration: Lieutenant Prescott and Private Overton Darted Into the Fray.] This man was bearded and surely must be Jack Blick, he of the deadly habits. "What name did you say?" queried Noll slowly. Lieutenant Prescott and Hal Overton got out their revolvers in a jiffy, each standing with hand on the knob of a door. "Arthur Dade," repeated the mild-voiced one. "Bade?" blundered Noll purposely. "Will you please spell it?" "D-a-d-e, Dade, Arthur Dade," said the man before the window.