Page:History of the 305th field artillery (IA historyof305thfi01camp).pdf/82

64 draped from uprights; and, depending from the ceiling bcams, were rows of blue barrack bags, still wet and splashed with white and red from the division markings. There followed black days of unpacking and repacking to meet some new trick order, while the checks continued. One Saturday a check of the harness disclosed the fact that two sets were missing from the regiment. The men were the more fortunate that time. The columns of pass holders marched down Fourth Avenue as usual, But an edict came from the Colonel that no officer, whatever his remoteness from harness, should leave Upton until the missing sets, or a reasonable explanation, had been found.

By night the amateur detectives—and everyone had joined the quest-saw their last theories crumble. Every inch of the area, they swore, had been searched. No one had escaped a bitter third degree. The harness, to all appearances, had dissolved. We were released, but the shadow of the mystery long hung over us; and through the shadow, after a time, gossip stole. You may accept it or reject it, but it might be well to picture a couple of officers and a few men gathered in an orderly room. There's no point trying to identify that. Studying their faces, you might decide they gaze with horror on the result of some red and impulsive work their hands have just accomplished. That, or that the souvenir of some murderous indiscretion, has unexpectedly risen from the past to challenge their content. For their faces are not without horror—a helpless, desperate horror, and one does gasp:

"Great Cæsar's ghost!"

But there's really no ghost, or any crimson relic-nothing exceptional all in the plain little room except one perfectly good set of artillery harness.

An officer flings his hands above his head in a gesture of despair.