"What Foster?"
"Why, the recruit, you know, the one we lost at Port Costa," and the blue eyes were curiously and intently studying the face of the younger soldier, dimly visible now that the guard-house lamps were beginning to glow.
"I knew there was a recruit missing, and—seems to me that was the name," answered Ray.
"And—didn't you know who he was—that it was—pardon me, the man who—lived near you—had a ranch——"
"Great Scott! You don't mean Wally Foster! He enlisted and in the cavalry? Well, I'm——" And now Mr. Ray's merriment overcame him. "I never thought there was that much to Wally. He was a lackadaisical sort of a spook when I saw him. What possessed him to enlist? He's no stuff for a soldier."
Stuyvesant hesitated. That letter of old Colonel Martindale's was shown him in confidence. But Ray's next impetuous outburst settled it.
"Oh, by Jove! I see it,—it's——" And here the white teeth gleamed in the lamplight, for Mr. Ray was laughing heartily.
"Yes? It's what?" smiled Stuyvesant sympathetically.
"It's—my sister, I reckon," laughed Ray. "She once said she wouldn't marry outside of the army, and he heard it."
"Oh,—did she?" said Stuyvesant reflectively, and then he was silent.