“And that, sir,” was the firm reply of the youth, “I am not disposed to give.  I am not much versed in military prudence, Captain Headley,” he pursued, after a few moments’ pause, and in a tone of slight irony, which that officer did not seem to perceive, “but at least sufficient to induce me to reserve what I have to say for my defence.  You have charged me, sir, with having been absent from the Fort without leave; and it is for you to prove that fact before a competent authority.”

“March off your guard, Mr. Ronayne,” was the abrupt rejoinder of the commandant, for he liked not the continuation of a scene in which the advantage seemed not to rest with him, but with the very party whom he had sought to chasten; “Mr. Elmsley dismiss the parade.  I had intended promoting on the spot, Corporal Nixon and private Collins for their conduct yesterday, but the gross insubordination I have just seen, has caused me to change my mind.  Neither shall have the rank intended, until the guilty parties are named.  I give until the hour of parade to-morrow for their production, and if, by that time, their names are not laid before me, no such promotion shall take place while I command the garrison.  Dismiss the men, sir.  Here, Winnebeg, my good fellow, you have come at a good moment.  I have dispatches to send to Detroit this very evening, and I know no one I can trust so well as yourself.”

“Good,” was the answer, “Winnebeg always ready to do him order—­no angry more, gubbernor, with young chief,” pointing to the ensign, as he moved off with his small guard.  “Dam good soger—­you see dis?” and he touched his scalping-knife with his left hand, and looked very significantly.

“No, Winnebeg, not angry any more,” was the reply; “but how do you know him to be good soger?  What has your scalping-knife to do with it?”

“Winnebeg know all,” said the chief gravely, as he laid his heavy hand upon the shoulder of the commandant, “but can’t tell.  Young chief say no, and Winnebeg love young chief.”

This remark forcibly struck Captain Headley, and brought back to his mind, certain recollections.  He, however, asked no further question, but pointed, as they moved in the direction of his own apartments, towards the sun, showing by his gesture that it was not too early to take the mid-day dram.

“Where the devil have you been, man, and with what confounded impudence you got through the scrape,” was remarked at a distant part of the same ground, and at the same moment with the conversation just given.

“How is Maria?” eagerly asked Ronayne.  “When shall I see her?”

“Well enough to hear all that passed between you and Military Prudence,” returned his friend; “but that is no answer to my question.”

“There was nothing like braving it,” answered the other evasively; “but I say, Elmsley, I am devilish hungry, that breakfast you invited me to last night is over long ago, of course.”  This last sentence was uttered in a mock piteous tone.