“Mary.”
“Your father’s?”
“John.”
A wonderful change came over the scar-faced scout. He appeared to age ten years in as many seconds. With the words—“My God! My God! And I would have killed him!” He shouldered his rifle and hastened from the spot, leaving his companion staring after him.
Ross slowly made his way toward the place where his messmates were preparing the morning meal. His mind was in a tumult. What was the meaning of it all? Who and what was the mysterious scout?
“Why did the announcement of my name so affect him—and why did he wish to know the name of my father and mother?” he asked himself over and over.
He forgot where he was and passed the spot he sought, without knowing it. He was aroused to a sense of his surroundings by hearing Farley bawl:
“What’s the matter o’ you, Ross Douglas? Have you gone daft an’ blind, that you don’t know y’r own comrades an’ go right past ’em without speakin’? Say!”
Ross forced a laugh and joined the men at their morning meal. But he ate little and talked less; seeing which, one of the militiamen remarked mischievously: