"On that receipt will you enter the numbers of the bills?" demanded the purple-faced one craftily.
"Certainly," and Foster made the receipt out in that form, handing it to the promoter.
"Sergeant of the guard!" called Captain Foster.
Hal stiffened, his face turning ghastly. He felt that it would be better to die than to live a life of disgrace. The thought that he had been easily but cleverly tricked made his blood boil within him.
"Sergeant, conduct the prisoner Ruggles to the guard-tent, where the Mexicans are. Instruct the guard that they are to make absolutely sure that this prisoner doesn't escape."
"Doesn't your young man go to the guard-tent, too?" demanded Ruggles, as he stepped toward the sergeant.
"I will be responsible for the lieutenant," rejoined the captain coldly. "Thank you, Sergeant Raney. You may go. Of course you will be discreet."
When the two officers had the tent to themselves Foster turned his grave look on Hal Overton.
"My boy," said the captain, in a voice that shook, "I can't realize, even yet, that you have forfeited your honor as an officer."
"Nor have I, sir," returned Hal. "And I am even bold enough to hope that I can yet find some way of throwing the whole lie back in that fellow's throat with more proof than even he will care to swallow."