Major Dismuke was perhaps forty-five, and his was the bearing that only a lifetime of soldiering can impart. His hair was short, graying at the temples, and it surmounted a face that seemed chiseled out of solid granite. Cool eyes appraised Joe and Ellis, but never for a second was there any departure from military briskness or any indication that the taut mouth could smile. Major Dismuke was a good and efficient officer but he was also a stern one. He knew all the regulations by heart and he enforced them as they were written.
"Mr. Tower?"
"Yes."
Major Dismuke leaned forward on the desk and rested his chin lightly in his right hand. "You have an army mule in your possession?"
"Guess you're right."
"You guess? Don't you know?"
"We have one."
"Where did you get it?"
"From a couple of trappers."
"Where did you get it?"