“I thank you, Captain Carlson,” I said, “for both your message and your answer. What did this man look like?”
“He vos a pig vellow, mit a black moustache and gray eyes.”
“Do you know him?” questioned Maitland.
“His name is Brennan,” I answered slowly, “a major in the Federal service. We have already met twice in rough and tumble contests, but the next time it will be with steel.”
“There is a woman, then?”
“It seems from Captain Carlson's report he has seen fit to connect one with our difficulty.”
There was a pause, as if they waited for me to add some further explanation, but I could not—her name should never be idly discussed about a mess-table through any word of mine.
“Gentlemen,” said Maitland at last, gravely, “this is evidently a personal matter with which we have no direct concern. Captain Wayne's reputation is not one to be questioned, either as regards his chivalry toward women or his bravery in arms. I pledge you his early meeting with this major.”
They drank the toast standing, and I read in each face before me a frank, soldierly confidence and comradeship which caused my heart to glow.