Ranson sprang to his horse's side, and stuck his toe into the empty
stirrup-strap; there was a scattering of pebbles, a scurry of hoofs,
and the horse and rider became a gray blot in the moonlight.

The two lieutenants stood irresolute. Under his breath Crosby was
swearing fiercely. Curtis stood staring out of the open door.

"Will he do it?" he asked.

"Of course he'll do it."

Curtis crossed the room and dropped into a chair. "And what--what had
we better do?" he asked. For some time the other made no answer. His
brows were knit, and he tramped the room, scowling at the floor. Then
with an exclamation of alarm he stepped lightly to the door of the
exchange and threw back the curtain. In the other room, Cahill stood
at its furthest corner, scooping sugar from a hogshead.

Crosby's scowl relaxed, and, reseating himself at the table, he
rolled a cigarette. "Now, if he pulls it off," he whispered, "and
gets back to quarters, then--it's a case of all's well. But, if he's
shot, or caught, and it all comes out, then it's up to us to prove he
meant it as a practical joke."

"It isn't our duty to report it now, is it?" asked Curtis, nervously.

"Certainly not! If he chooses to make an ass of himself, that's none
of our business. Unless he's found out, we have heard nothing and
seen nothing. If he's caught, then we've got to stick by him, and