"The rough board won't do," said the even voice. "It must he a dressed
scantling."
The soldier threw him an insolent laugh, and stooped to take up a board
exactly like the one he had laid down.
The baby-faced Lieutenant suddenly seized a club, knocked him down, and
beat him until he yelled for quarter.
The soldiers had watched the clash at first with grins and winks and
nudges, betting on their giant. His strength was invincible. When the
unexpected happened, and they saw the slender, plucky youngster standing
over the form of the fallen brave, they raised a lusty shout for him.
When the giant scrambled to his feet, the victor said with a smile:
"This has been a fight, man to man, and I'm satisfied. I'll not report
it officially."
The big one grinned sheepishly and respectfully offered his hand:
"You're all right, Lieutenant. I made a mistake. I beg your pardon.
You're the kind of a commander I've always liked."
Again the soldiers gave a shout. No man under him ever again presumed on
his beardless face. He had only to make his orders known to have them
instantly obeyed.
Jim Pemberton had watched the little drama of officer and man with an
ugly light gleaming in his eyes. The young master had not seen him.
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