“What? Then there is another?”
“I’ll not answer! I’ll stand my trial before court martial, if you please.”
Again the heavy hand on his shoulder.
“There will be no trial!” he heard the hoarse voice of his commander saying. “I cannot sleep. I must have the last one. There is another!”
Shannon laid a hand on the iron wrist.
“How do you know?” he faltered. “Why do you think——”
“Am I not your leader? Is it not my business to know? I am a woodsman. You thought you had covered your trail, but it was plain. I know you are the messenger who has been bringing these letters to me from her. I need not name her, and you shall not! For what reason you did this—by what plan—I do not know, but I know you did it. You were absent each time that I found one of these letters. That was too cunning to be cunning! You are young, Shannon, you have something to learn. You sing songs—love songs—you write letters—love letters, perhaps! You are Irish—you have sentiment. There is romance about you—you are the man she would choose to do what you have done. Being a woman, she knew, she chose well; but it is my business to read all these signs.
“Give me that letter! I am your officer.”
“Captain, I will not!”