"What happened?" "He was among the missing after his company was sent to quell an uprising among the Indians, out west, many years ago. No word was ever received from him, and I don't know whether he was killed, or taken captive. I never heard anything about him, and now I think you can aid me in locating him." "But how can I?" "By making inquiries at the military academy." "But it is not likely that any one at Kentfield would know of your son." "They might. When your father told me you were going there, he mentioned that Major Franklin Webster, a retired army officer, was in charge of military tactics at the school. Now Major Webster is an old Indian fighter, and I thought that if you asked him, he might be able to get some news of my son. Will you do this for me?" "I will, gladly, but I have not much hope of the result." "Perhaps it will amount to nothing," said the old soldier with a sigh, "but it is the first chance I have had in many years. All my inquiries of the war department resulted in nothing. Perhaps you may have better luck." "I hope so," replied Dick gently. "I will make some inquiries. What is your son's name?" "He was christened William, but his friends in the army called him Corporal Bill." "How would Major Webster know him?" "Oh, easily enough. I have his picture." The veteran drew a faded photograph from his pocket, and held the card so that Dick could see it. "That's him," said the old man proudly. The young millionaire saw the photograph of a youthful soldier in uniform. "Your son would be much older than that now; wouldn't he, Captain Handlee?" "Yes, I suppose so. I think he must have been injured in some way, and forgotten his name. Otherwise he would have written to me. But I know another way in which you could recognize him." "How?" "He was the best shot in his company. He was a sharpshooter, and one of the finest. So if you can get track of a soldier, who is a good shot, that may be my son, Corporal Bill. Will you try?" "I will, Captain, I'll do my best." "God bless you," said the veteran fervently. "And now I'll leave you. I'd let you take this photograph, only it's--it's all I have to remember--my son by," and his voice choked. "I don't believe I'll need that," answered Dick. "I'll speak to Major Webster, and see what I can do." The old soldier, murmuring his thanks, left the house. "Well," mused Dick, as he went to his room, "I'll soon be at Kentfield. It'll be lonesome, at first, I expect, but the cadets will soon arrive. And I'll try to find the captain's son. "I wonder how I'll make out with the cadets? I don't see why I should have any trouble making friends, or becoming popular, no matter if I am a millionaire, and the son of one. Money ought not to make such a difference. Still, as dad says, I may find it a handicap." He looked around the room where he had spent so many pleasant hours. It was an ideal boy's apartment, with everything the most exacting youth could desire.