Thorne laughed. It was a laugh with a strange, high note. It was
reckless--it hinted of exaltation. He rose abruptly; he gave the
waiter money to go for drinks; he looked into the saloon, and then
into the street. On this side of the house there was a porch opening
on a plaza with trees and shrubbery and branches. Thorne peered
out one window, then another. His actions were rapid. Returning
to the table, he put his hands upon it and leaned over to look
closely into Gale's face.

"I'm away from camp without leave," he said.

"Isn't that a serious offense?" asked Dick.

"Serious? For me, if I'm discovered, it means ruin. There are
rebels in town. Any moment we might have trouble. I ought to
be ready for duty--within call. If I'm discovered it means arrest.
That means delay--the failure of my plans--ruin."

Gale was silenced by his friend's intensity. Thorne bent over
closer with his dark eyes searching bright.

"We were old pals--once?"

"Surely," replied Dick.

"What would you say, Dick Gale, if I told you that you're the one
man I'd rather have had come along than any other at this crisis
of my life?"