a policeman disappeared into the wilderness after some
one who was wanted. As in three months he neither came
back, nor was heard of, he was struck off the strength
of the force. But one day, as the men stood on parade in
the barrack square, he came back in rags and on foot,
more like a starved tramp than a soldier. But with him
he brought his prisoner. That was the man, Sergeant
Pasmore, who stood before them.

He inclined his head to Dorothy, and nodded to the men
around the fire, but when he saw Child-of-Light he extended
his left hand.

The Indian looked straight into the sergeant's eyes.

"What has happened?" he asked. "Ough! Ough! I see; you
have met Thunderchild?"

The sergeant nodded.

"Yes," he said, with apparent unconcern, "Thunderchild
managed to put a bullet through my arm. You may give me
a hand off with my coat, Jacques. Luckily, the wound's
not bad enough to prevent my firing a gun."

When they removed his overcoat they found that the sleeve
of the tunic had been cut away, and that his arm had been
roughly bandaged. The girl was gazing at it in a peculiarly
concentrated fashion.