“I am going to trust you absolutely.  You have no confidants—­you are not married?”

“How should a man be married who is a soldier?  I have no friends; they are unprofitable,” declared Oscar solemnly.

“I fear you are a pessimist, Oscar; but a pessimist who keeps his mouth shut is a good ally.  Now, if you are not afraid of being shot or struck with a knife, and if you are willing to obey my orders for a few weeks we may be able to do some business.  First, remember that I am Mr. Armitage; you must learn that now, and remember it for all time.  And if any one should ever suggest anything else—­”

The man nodded his comprehension.

“That will be the time for Oscar to be dumb.  I understand, Mr. Armitage.”

Armitage smiled.  The man presented so vigorous a picture of health, his simple character was so transparently reflected in his eyes and face that he did not in the least question him.

“You are an intelligent person, Sergeant.  If you are equally discreet—­able to be deaf when troublesome questions are asked, then I think we shall get on.”

“You should remember—­” began Oscar.

“I remember nothing,” observed Armitage sharply; and Oscar was quite humble again.  Armitage opened a trunk and took out an envelope from which he drew several papers and a small map, which he unfolded and spread on the table.  He marked a spot with his lead-pencil and passed the map to Oscar.

“Do you think you could find that place?”

The man breathed hard over it for several minutes.

“Yes; it would be easy,” and he nodded his head several times as he named the railroad stations nearest the point indicated by Armitage.  The place was in one of the mountainous counties of Virginia, fifteen miles from an east and west railway line.  Armitage opened a duly recorded deed which conveyed to himself the title to two thousand acres of land; also a curiously complicated abstract of title showing the successive transfers of ownership from colonial days down through the years of Virginia’s splendor to the dread time when battle shook the world.  The title had passed from the receiver of a defunct shooting-club to Armitage, who had been charmed by the description of the property as set forth in an advertisement, and lured, moreover, by the amazingly small price at which the preserve was offered.

“It is a farm—­yes?”

“It is a wilderness, I fancy,” said Armitage.  “I have never seen it; I may never see it, for that matter; but you will find your way there—­going first to this town, Lamar, studying the country, keeping your mouth shut, and seeing what the improvements on the ground amount to.  There’s some sort of a bungalow there, built by the shooting-club.  Here’s a description of the place, on the strength of which I bought it.  You may take these papers along to judge the size of the swindle.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And a couple of good horses; plenty of commissary stores—­plain military necessities, you understand—­and some bedding should be provided.  I want you to take full charge of this matter and get to work as quickly as possible.  It may be a trifle lonesome down there among the hills, but if you serve me well you shall not regret it.”