"Good-morning, gentlemen," I said easily.
So far as Slade was concerned it was evident that all he saw was the uniform, his revolver instantly covering me, held in a hand steady as rock; he even grinned amiably across the barrel. But the expression on Le Gaire's face changed from startled surprise to relief. He was a tall man, with dark hair and eyes, a black moustache shading his lip, and his hand fell from the hilt of the sword as he took an uncertain step toward me.
"Drop that gun-play, Sergeant," he exclaimed sharply. "This man is all right; I know him."
Too astounded myself for speech, I could only stare back into the captain's face, seeking vainly to recall ever having seen the fellow before. Not the slightest recollection came to me, but Le Gaire blundered on, blinded by his discovery.
"Didn't know you had gone into this sort of thing," he exclaimed cordially, holding out his hand. "Last I heard your regiment was in New Orleans. Don't remember me, do you?"
I shook my head, so completely puzzled by this unexpected turn of affairs that speech became dangerous. Perhaps he would give me some clue to my new identity, which would enable me to carry out the masquerade.
"Your face is familiar," I ventured, "but--"
"Oh, no excuses," he broke in cordially. "I was a guest at your mess one night when we were garrisoning Memphis. I am Le Gaire, of the Third Louisiana. I sang you fellows some French songs, you may remember."
"Oh, yes!" and my face visibly brightened, as I grasped his fingers, wondering who the devil I might be, yet exceedingly overjoyed at this sudden change of fortune. "We had a gay night of it. I wonder you recognize me in these rags."
"Well, I don't suppose I should," he exclaimed, "only you happened to be pointed out to me specially that evening. It was just after your duel with Major Gillette of ours. Between us, I don't mind admitting I was glad you punctured that fellow--it saved me the trouble."