The little subaltern sighed enviously, hesitated, and then passed on.
Trevelyan drew a deep breath and laid down his polishing cloth and picked up his revolver. His hands played nervously over the trigger a moment. The catch seemed stiff. He tried it again.
There was a sudden glare and a loud report, and Trevelyan sank back, the blood staining the shoulder of his uniform.
After all, if one had nerve, it could be easily done and was soon over!
He turned sharply and leaned against the table, facing the window, one hand to his shoulder. He fancied he heard footsteps receding. After awhile he wiped the sweat from his face and staggered across the floor, out into the gathering dusk, to headquarters.
"I was seeing to my fire arms, sir, preparing for to-night's survey. The revolver was loaded. I didn't know it—it went off." Trevelyan's big frame began to sway a little. "I came to report, sir. If I could have it dressed, I'd be able to go. Of course, I expect to go. You won't—"
The Colonel signaled for his orderly.
"My respects to Dr. Mackenzie, and will he come over at once."
Then to Trevelyan:
"It's a most unfortunate affair, but it would be murder to allow you to undertake the trip. I'll hear the details later."