Braxton's first performance on getting into cool habiliments was to go over to his office and hunt through the book-shelves for a volume in which he never before had felt the faintest interest,--the Light Artillery Tactics of 1864. There on his desk lay a stack of mail unopened, and Mr. Drake was already silently inditing the summary note to the culprit Waring. Brax wanted first to see with his own eyes the instructions for light artillery when reviewed with other troops, vaguely hoping that there might still he some point on which to catch his foeman on the hip. But if there were he did not find it. He was tactician enough to see that even if Cram had formed with his leading drivers on line with the infantry, as Braxton thought he should have done, neither of the two methods of forming into battery would then have got his guns where they belonged. Cram's interpretation of the text was backed by the custom of service, and there was no use criticising it further. And so, after discontentedly hunting through the dust-covered pages awhile in hopes of stumbling on some codicil or rebuttal, the colonel shut it with a disgusted snap and tossed the offending tome on the farthest table. At that moment Brax could have wished the board of officers who prepared the Light Artillery Tactics in the nethermost depths of the neighboring swamp. Then he turned on his silent staff officer,--a not unusual expedient. "Why on earth, Mr. Drake, didn't you look up that point, instead of making such a break before the whole command?" "I couldn't find anything about it in Casey, sir, anywhere," replied the perturbed young man. "I didn't know where else to look." "Well, you might have asked Mr. Ferry or Mr. Pierce. The Lord knows you waste enough time with 'em." "_You_ might have asked Captain Cram," was what Drake wanted to say, but wisely did not. He bit the end of his penholder instead, and bridled his tongue and temper. "The next time I have a review with a mounted battery, by George!" said the post commander, finally, bringing his fist down on the table with a crash, "I just--won't have it." He had brought down the pile of letters as well as his fist, and Drake sprang to gather them, replacing them on the desk and dexterously slipping a paper-cutter under the flap of each envelope as he did so. At the very first note he opened, Brax threw himself back in his chair with a long whistle of mingled amazement and concern, then turned suddenly on his adjutant. "What became of Mr. Waring? He wasn't hurt?" "Not a bit, sir, that I know of. He drove to town with Captain Cram's team,--at least I was told so,--and left that note for you there, sir." "He did!--left the post and left a note for me? Why!----" But here Braxton broke off short, tore open the note, and read: