"It was Horse Shoe Robinson!" exclaimed Habershaw, "by all the black devils!"
"Horse Shoe, Horse Shoe, to be sure!" responded half a dozen voices.
"He was a famous good rider, Horse Shoe or anybody else," said the lieutenant.
"That beats all!" said one of the troopers; "the cunning old fox! He told the truth when he said you would tell the news, captain: but to think of his lies getting him past the guard, with a sword and a bellyfull into the bargain!"
"Why didn't you report instantly upon our arrival?" asked Habershaw.
"Bless you," replied the lieutenant, "I never suspicioned him, more than I did you. The fellow laughed so naturally that I would never have thought him a runaway."
"There it is," said Habershaw; "that's the want of discipline. The service will never thrive till these loggerheads are taught the rules of war."
Butler had heard enough to satisfy him on one material point, namely, that Robinson had secured his escape, and was in condition to take whatever advantage of circumstances the times might afford him. It was a consolation to him also to know that the sergeant had taken this route, as it brought him nearer to the scene in which the major himself was likely to mingle. With this dawn of comfort brightening up his doubts, he addressed himself more composedly to sleep, and before daylight, the sounds of riot having sunk into a lower and more drowsy tone, he succeeded in winning a temporary oblivion from his cares.