He pointed to the old sergeant seated beside the fire with his Bible; and I glanced into his boyish face with no little surprise.

“Some remark Surgeon Van Voorhis made caused me to deem you indifferent in such matters.”

“No doubt,” he said, dryly.  “If one does not subscribe to the creeds, he is written down a heretic.  I have laughed at folly, and so have won the reputation of being an unbeliever.  Yet, Wayland, if we ride forth to a savage death to-morrow, no one will meet it with more faith in Christ than I. The years indeed have not left me spotless, but I have never wavered from the great truths my mother taught me.  I know not the future, lad, but I believe there is ever mercy for the penitent.”

In an instant my own thought spanned the leagues of forest to my distant home; and I choked back a sob within my throat.

“It is our mothers’ love that makes us all better men,” I said gravely.  “And whatever may befall us upon the morrow, that God of whom they taught us will be true.”

“The words are spoken in the right spirit,” he returned, soberly, “and have the soldier ring I like best to hear.  If it chance that we both come forth from this venture in life, I should be most glad to know you better.”

I was deeply touched by his open, manly spirit, and especially impressed with his frank adherence to the Christian faith,—­something too uncommon in that day along the border.

“’T is rather my wish to begin friendship before that time of trial,” I said eagerly, and with extended hand.  “We shall fight the better for it when the hour for fighting comes; and if it be God’s will to guide us safely through the wilderness, a friendship thus cemented in peril will have the strength of comradeship.”

The young man’s strong and thoughtful face lighted up; but his eyes were resting upon the form of the sentry above us, and he did not speak.

“Ronan,” I questioned, somewhat doubtfully, “I have long wished to ask you the cause of the friction that apparently exists between Captain Heald and the officers of this garrison; but have felt it none of my business.  I cannot but realize you are not in his good graces, although he appears to me to be a brave and capable man.”

“He is both,” was the instant and manly reply; “for all that, he has constantly turned for counsel in military matters to others than his own officers,—­why, I know not, unless he considered us unworthy of his confidence.  Instead of confiding his orders to us, and asking judgment upon his plans, he has been swayed from the beginning by Indian advice; and it is only natural for us to resent such unjust and discourteous treatment.  Moreover, each move thus far made has proved to be a mistake, and we must suffer from them in silence and without remedy.”

“He does indeed seem strangely headstrong,” I admitted reluctantly, recalling to mind the words uttered in the room beyond my bed; “but surely his conference with the chiefs has resulted well, and is proof of his good judgment.”