The colonel, with his gruff second in command, Major Stannard, had been under orders for several days to proceed on this particular date to a large town a day’s journey eastward by rail.  A court-martial composed mainly of field-officers was ordered there to assemble for the trial of an old captain of cavalry whose propensity it was not so much to get drunk as never to get drunk without concomitant publicity and discovery.  It was a rare thing for the old war-dog to take so much as a glass of wine; he went for months without it; but the instant he began to drink he was moved to do or say something disreputable, and that was the trouble now.  He was an unlucky old trooper, who had risen from the lowest grades, fought with credit, and even, at times, commanded his regiment, during the war; but war records could not save him when he wouldn’t save himself, and he had to go.  The court was ordered, and the result was a foregone conclusion.  The colonel, his adjutant, and Major Stannard were to drive to town during the afternoon and take the east-bound train, leaving Major Waldron in command of the post; but before guard-mounting a telegram was received which was sent from department head-quarters the evening before, announcing that one of the officers detailed for the court was seriously ill, and directing Major Waldron to take his place.  So it resulted in the post being left to the command of the senior captain present for duty; and that man was Captain Buxton.  He had never had so big a command before in all his life.

Major Waldron of course had to go home and make his preparations.  Mr. Hayne, therefore, had brief opportunity to speak with him.  It was seen, however, that they had a short talk together on the major’s piazza, and that when they parted the major shook him warmly and cordially by the hand.  Rayner, Buxton, Ross, and some juniors happened to be coming down along the walk at the moment, and, seeing them, as though with pointed meaning the major called out, so that all could hear,—­

“By the way, Hayne, I wish you would drop in occasionally while I’m gone and take Mrs. Waldron out for a walk or drive:  my horses are always at your service.  And—­a—­I’ll write to you about that matter the moment I’ve had a chance to talk with the colonel,—­to-morrow, probably.”

And Hayne touched his cap in parting salute, and went blithely off with brightened eye and rising color.

Buxton glowered after him a moment, and conversation suddenly ceased in their party.  Finally he blurted out,—­

“Strikes me your major might do a good deal better by himself and his regiment by standing up for its morale and discipline than by openly flaunting his favoritism for convicts in our faces.  If I were in your regiment I’d cut him.”

“You wouldn’t have to,” muttered one of the group to his neighbor:  “the cut would have been on the other side long ago.”  And the speaker was Buxton’s own subaltern.