"What did you decide to do about the trip to Santa Fé?" he asked, as he
tipped back in his chair and settled down to cigars and an evening chat.

"We shall be leaving on the boat in the morning," my uncle replied.

The colonel's chair came down with a crack. "You don't mean it!" he
exclaimed.

"I told you a week ago that I would be starting as soon as possible,"
Esmond Clarenden said, quietly.

"But, man, the war is raging, simply raging, down in Mexico right now.
Our division will be here to commence drill in a few weeks, and we start
for the border in a few months. You are mad to take such a risk." The
commander's voice rose.

"We must go, that's all!" my uncle insisted.

"We? We? Who the devil are 'we'? None of my companies mutinied, I hope."

The words did not sound like a joke, and there was little humor in the
grim face.

"'We' means Jondo, Banney, a young fellow from Kentucky--" Uncle Esmond
began.

"Humph! Banney's father carried a gun at Fort Dearborn in 1812. I
thought that young fellow came here for military service," the colonel
commented, testily.