Altsheler Joseph Alexander
The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista

They also picked up some wandering scouts andhunters, who joined them in their march. Several ofthese brought news. Taylor was at Saltillo, and his forcewas small. The Mexicans were raiding to the veryoutskirts of the city, and they looked upon Taylor's army asalready destroyed. The American force of about fourthousand five hundred men contained less than fivehundred regular troops. The others, although good material, were raw volunteers, very few of whom had been under fire.

Phil saw Middleton and Edgeworth talking togethervery anxiously, and he knew that they were full ofapprehensions. It seemed as if Fate itself were playing intothe hands of Santa Anna. Occasionally they saw bandsof Mexican guerillas hovering on the horizon, but theydid not bother with them, keeping straight on for Taylorand Saltillo. The cold still increased, both day andnight, and the winds that came from the peaks of theSierra Madre, now plainly in view, cut to the bone. Philwas glad to take to the wagons for sleep, and to wraphimself in double blankets. It was now well intoDecember, but in two more days they expected to reach Taylorat Saltillo.

The last day of the march came, and every heart inthe train beat high with expectancy. Even the armyofficers, Middleton and Edgeworth, trained to suppression oftheir emotions, could not restrain their eagerness, andthey, with Woodfall and others, rode on ahead of thetrain. Phil, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg were in thislittle group, but the three were at the rear.

"Phil, you were right when you called it a strangelooking land," said Bill Breakstone, "and I'm of theopinion that we're going to see strange things in it. Ourmilitary friends look none too happy, and as I've eyesand ears of my own I know we're likely to have livelytimes after Christmas. Did you know that Christmas wasnot far away, Phil?"

"No, I had forgotten all about it," replied Phil,"but, since you mention it, I remember that it is December.Ah, what is that shining in the sun straight aheadof us, Bill?"

He pointed with his finger and showed the faintestred tint under the horizon.

"That," replied Breakstone, "is a red tile roof on ahouse in Saltillo, and you're the first to see the town.Good eye, my boy. Now, the others have seen it, also!Look how they quicken the steps of their horses!"

They broke into a gallop as they came into a shallow, pleasant valley, with green grass, the Northern palms, clear, flowing water, and many a neat stone house withits piazzas and patios. The domes of several fine churchesrose into view, and then men in uniforms, rifle in hand, stood across the road. Phil knew their faces; these menwere never bred in Mexico. Brown they were with thewind and sun of many days, but the features beneath thebrown were those of the Anglo-Saxons, the Americans ofthe North, his own people.

"Halt!" came the sharp order from the commander ofthe patrol.

Middleton replied for them all, but, as Phil rodepast, he leaned over and said to the bronzed leader of thepatrol:

"I'm here, Jim Harrington. I told you in Paris thatI was coming to Mexico. It's a long road, and you'reahead of me, but I'm here."

The leader, a thick-set, powerful man of fifty-five, looked up in amazement. At first he had not recognizedPhil under his tan and layer of dust, but now he knewhis voice.

"Phil Bedford, by all that's wonderful!" he exclaimed."I didn't think that you and I would evermeet in Mexico, but when the call came I couldn't keepaway!"

Then he lowered his tone and asked:

"Any news of John?"

Phil shook his head sadly.

"Not a thing," he replied, "but I'm going to find him!"

"I believe you will," said Harrington, "but yoursearch is going to be delayed, Phil. You'll have to waitfor something else that none of us will ever forget. But,Phil, you've landed among friends. Lots of the boys thatyou used to know in Paris and around there are here."

As Phil rode on, the truth of Harrington's words wasconfirmed. Tan and dust did not keep strong, heartyvoices from hailing him.

"Hey, you, Phil Bedford, where did you come from?"

"Is that old Phil Bedford? Did he drop from theclouds?"

"Here, Phil, shake hands with an old friend!"

He saw more than a score of familiar faces. Anumber of these soldiers were almost as young as himself, and two or three of them were related to him by blood.He had a great sensation of home, an overpoweringfeeling of delight. Despite strangeness and distance, oldfriends and kindred were around him. But old friendsdid not make him forget his new friends, or think anyless of them. He introduced Middleton, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg. Middleton was compelled to hurry toGeneral Taylor with his report, but the other tworemained and affiliated thoroughly.

"You camp with us," said Dick Grayson, a distantcousin of Phil's. "We've got a fine place over here, justback of the plaza. Lots of Kentuckians here, Phil-infact, more from our state than any other. The rest aremostly from Illinois, Indiana, Arkansas, Mississippi, andLouisiana. We haven't got many regulars, but we'vegot mighty good artillery, and we're ready to give a goodaccount of ourselves against anybody. You ought to seeold Rough and Ready. He's as grim as you please.Just as soon bite a ten-penny nail in two as not. Madclean through, and I don't blame him, because he's beenrobbed to strengthen Scott."

Phil and his comrades went readily with Grayson.The wagon train was already scattering through theencampment, the volunteers taking their places here andthere, while Woodfall and his associates were arrangingfor the sale of their available supplies. Phil, Breakstone, and Arenberg owned their horses, and, leading them withthe bridles over their arms, they walked along with theirnew friends. Phil noticed that the town was well builtin the Mexican style, with many handsome houses andsigns of prosperity. The American invaders had harmednothing, but their encampment was spread throughoutthe city.

The group walked by a green little park in which asmall fountain was playing. A young Mexican in sombrero, gaudy jacket and trousers sat on a stone bench andidly thrummed a guitar. Several thick-set Mexicanwomen, balancing on their heads heavy jars of water, passed placidly by. A small train of burros loaded withwool walked down another street. There was nothingsave the presence of the soldiers to tell of war. It alllooked like play. Phil spoke of the peaceful appearanceof everything to Dick Grayson. Grayson shrugged hisshoulders.

"You cannot tell a thing by its looks in thiscountry," he said. "Mexicans seem nearly always to beasleep, but, as a rule, they are not. You don't see manymen about, and it means that they are off with theguerillas, or that they've gone south to join Santa Anna.We haven't done any harm here. We've treated thepeople in Saltillo a good deal better than their own rulersoften treat them, and we're friendly with the inhabitants, but Mexicans are bound to stand with Mexicans, just asAmericans stand with Americans. It's natural, and Idon't blame 'em for it."

"I'd wager that many a message is carried off to theenemy by these stolid looking women," said Bill Breakstone.

Yet the town itself showed little hostility. Nevertheless,Phil could not keep from feeling that it was thoroughlythe enemy of the invader, as was natural. As BillBreakstone truly said, information concerning theAmericans was certainly sent to the Mexican leaders.Everything that the Americans might do in the town wouldquickly become known to the enemy, while a veil alwayshung before the Mexican troops and preparations. Nevertheless, the life of the city, save for the reduction in thenumber of its adult inhabitants, went on as usual.

Some of the officers occupied houses, but all the menand younger officers were in tents, either in the openplaces of the town or on the outskirts. Phil, Arenberg, and Breakstone spent that night with Dick Grayson andothers in a little park, where about twenty tents stood.These were to be their regular quarters for the present, and, as Middleton had foreseen, the reinforcement waswelcomed eagerly. They ate an abundant supper, and, the night being cold, afire was built within the ring of thetents. Here they sat and talked. Besides Dick Grayson, there were "Tobe" Wentworth, Elijah Jones, SamParsons, and other old friends of Phil.

As they sat before the cheerful blaze and put theirblankets over their backs to shield themselves from thebitter mountain winds, they discussed the war and, afterthe manner of young troopers, settled it, every one in hisown way and to his own perfect satisfaction. "Tobe"Wentworth was not an educated youth, but he was agreat talker.

"I could a-planned this war," he said, "an' carriedit right out without a break to a finish."

"Why didn't you do it, then?" asked Dick Grayson.

"I did think o' writin' to Washin'ton once," saidTobe calmly, "an' tellin' them how it ought to be done, but I reckoned them old fellows would be mighty set intheir ways an' wouldn't take it right. Old men don't liketo be told by us youngsters that they don't know much."

"I've got a plan, too," said an Indiana youth namedForsythe.

"What is it?" asked Wentworth scornfully.

"It's a secret. I ain't ever goin' to tell it toanybody," said Forsythe. "I've drawed up my will, an'I've provided that when I die it's to be buried with me, still unread, folded right over my heart."

All laughed, but "Tobe" rejoined:

"Sech modesty is becomin' in Hoosiers, all the moreso because it's the first time I ever knowed one of themto display it."

"Did you ever hear about that gentleman from Injianythat went out in the Kentucky Mountains once, drivin' afine buggy?" asked Forsythe. "He noticed some bigboys runnin' along behind him. He didn't think muchof it at first, but they kept right behind him mile aftermile, but sayin' nothin' an' offerin' no harm. At lasthis curiosity got the better of him, an' he leaned back andasked: 'Boys, why are you followin' me this way?' Thenthe biggest of them boys, a long, lean fellow, bare-footed and with only one suspender, up and answers:'Why, stranger, we reckoned we'd run behind an' see howlong it would take for your hind wheels to ketch up withyour front wheels.'"

"Tobe" Wentworth sat calm and unsmiling until thelaughter died. Then he said:

"Any of you fellers know how the people of Injianygot the name of Hoosiers? No? Well, I'll tell you.It's so wild and rough over there, an' them people are soteetotally ignorant an' so full of curiosity that, whenevera gentleman from Kentucky crosses the Ohio and goesalong one of their rough roads, up they pop everywhere, and call out to him: 'Who's yer?' meaning 'Who areyou?' and that started the word Hoosier, which all overthe world to-day means the people from Injiany."

When the second laugh died, Bill Breakstone rubbedhis hands together.

"I see that I've fallen upon a merry crowd," he said,"and it is well. The spirit of youth is alwaysdelightful, and it leads to the doing of great things."

"You talk like an actor," said Dick Grayson, not asa criticism, but in tones of admiration.

"I talk like an actor," replied Bill Breakstone withmajesty, "because I am one."

"You don't say so! You don't mean it!" exclaimeda dozen voices at once.

"I am, or, rather, was," replied Bill with dignity,"although I will admit that I am now engaged in otherpursuits."

Most of them still looked at him doubtfully, and Bill, his honor at stake, became the subject of a suddeninspiration.

"I see that some of you suspect my veracity, which isnatural under the circumstances," he said. "Now, Isaid I was an actor, and I'll prove that I'm an actor byacting."

"You don't mean it!" they cried again.

"I will," said Bill Breakstone firmly. "Moreover, Iwill act from a play by the greatest of all writers.Throw the wood together there and let the blaze springup. I want you to see me."

A dozen willing hands tossed together the logs whichsent up a swift, high flame. The whole circle waslighted brightly, and Bill Breakstone stood up. Phil hadnever taken seriously his assertion that he had been anactor, but now he suddenly changed his opinion. Hestood for a few moments in the full blaze of the light, atall, slender figure, his face lean and shaven smoothly.His expression changed absolutely. He seemed whollyunconscious of the young soldiers about him, of the palms,or of the stone or adobe houses of the town.

Then, in a tone of martial fervor he began to recitescraps from Shakespeare dealing with war and battle,Macbeth's defiance to Macduff, Richard on the battlefield, and other of the old familiar passages. But they werenew to most of those about him, and Breakstone himself,as he afterward said, was stirred that night by anuncommon fire and spirit. Something greater than he, perhapsthe effect of time and place, seemed to have laid hold ofhim. The fire and spirit were communicated to hisaudience, which rapidly increased in numbers, although hedid not see it, so deeply was he filled with his own words, carrying him far back into other lands among the scenesthat he described. The applause rose again and again, and always he was urged to go on. As he recited for thesixth time, a thick-set, strong figure appeared at the edgeof the throng, and men at once made way for it. Thefigure was that of a man with gray hair, and with a deepline down either cheek. Breakstone's passing glancecaught the face and divined in an instant his identity.The applause, the demand for more, rose again, and aftera little hesitation the actor began:

 
"'My people are with sickness much encumbered
My numbers lessened, and these few I have,
Almost no better than so many French;
Who, when they were in health, I tell the herald,
I thought upon one pair of English legs
Did walk three Frenchmen, yet
Forgive me, God,
That I do brag thus. This poor air of France
Hath blown that voice in me. I must repent,
Go, therefore, tell thy master here I am;
My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk,
My army but a weak and sickly guard-'"
 

He paused a moment, but the man with the gray hairand lined cheeks still stood in an attitude of deepattention, and, skipping some of the lines, he continued:

 
"'If we may pass we will; if we be hindered
We shall your tawny ground with your red blood
Discolor; and so, Montjoy, fare you well,
The sum of all our answer is but this:
We would not seek a battle as we are;
Nor as we are, we say we will not shun it,
So tell your master.'"
 

He sat down amid roars of applause and universalapproval. Did they not know? Mexicans were boastingalready that Taylor would have to surrender to SantaAnna without a battle. Bill Breakstone stole a glancetoward the place where the gray-haired man had stood, but he was gone now.

"Did you know that old Rough and Ready himself waslistening to you there toward the last?" asked Grayson.

"Is that so?" replied Breakstone. "Well, I'm notashamed of anything that I said, and now, if I'veentertained you boys a little, I'd like to rest awhile. Youdon't know how hard that kind of work is, whether yourwork be good or bad."

Rest he certainly should have. They had found toogreat a treasure, these fighting men in a far land, to lethim be spoiled by overwork, and they brought him anabundance of refreshment, also.

Breakstone drank a cup of light wine made in Saltillo,as he lay back luxuriously on a pallet in one of the tents.He felt that he had reason to be satisfied with himself, and perhaps, he, playing the actor, had seized anopportunity, and had made it do what might be an importantservice in a great campaign.

"What was the last piece that you recited?" askedGrayson. "Somehow it seemed to fit in with our ownsituation here."

"That," replied Breakstone, "was a speech fromKing Henry V. He is in France with a small army, andthe French have sent to him to demand his surrender. Hemakes the reply that I have just quoted to you."

There was a thoughtful silence, although they hadknown his meaning already, and presently Phil and hiscomrades, making themselves comfortable in their tents, went to sleep. They were formally enrolled among theKentucky volunteers the next day, and began theirduties, which consisted chiefly of patrolling. Phil wasamong the sentinels stationed the next night on theoutskirts of the city.

CHAPTER XII
THE PASS OF ANGOSTURA

It was almost midwinter now in Mexico, and here, inthe northern part of the republic, on the greatplateau, it was cold. Phil more than once had seen thesnow flying, and far away it lay in white sheets on thepeaks of the Sierra Madre. He had obtained a heavyblanket coat or overcoat from the stores, and he was gladenough now to pull it closely around him and turn itscollar up about his neck, as he walked back and forth inthe chilly blasts. At each end of his beat he met anothersentinel, a young Kentuckian like himself, and, for thesake of company, they would exchange a friendly word ortwo before they parted.

The night was dark, and, with the icy winds cuttinghim, Phil, after the other sentinel had turned away, feltmore lonesome in this far strange land than he had everbeen before in his life. Everything about him wasunfriendly, the hard volcanic soil upon which he trod, theshapeless figures of the adobe huts on the outskirts of thetown, and the moaning winds from the Sierra Madre, which seemed to be more hostile and penetrating thanthose of his own country. It was largely imagination, the effect of his position, but it contained something ofreality, also. It certainly was not fancy alone thatpeopled the country about with enemies. An invader isseldom loved, and it was not fancy at all that created thenight and the cold.

Phil's beat was at the edge of open country, and hecould see a little distance upon a plain. He thought, attimes, that shadowy figures with soundless tread passedthere, but he was never sure. He spoke about it to thesentinel on his right, and then to the sentinel on his left.Each in turn watched with him, but then the shadows didnot pass, and he concluded that his fancy was playinghim tricks. Yet he was troubled, and he resolved towatch with the utmost vigilance. His beat covered a pathleading into the town, while to right and left of himwas very difficult country. It occurred to him thatanybody who wanted to pass would come his way, and he wasresolved that nobody should pass. He examined everyshadow, even if it might be that of a tree moved by thewind, and he listened to every sound, although it mightbe made by some strange Mexican animal.

Thus the time passed, and the fleeting shadows resolvedthemselves into a figure that had substance and thatremained. It took the shape of a man in conical hat andlong Mexican serape. He also carried a large basket onone arm, and he approached with an appearance oftimidity and hesitation. Phil stepped forward at once, heldup his rifle, and called: "Halt!" The man obeyedpromptly and pointed to the basket, saying something inSpanish. When Phil looked, he pulled back the coverand disclosed eggs and dressed chickens.

"To sell to the soldiers?" asked the boy.

The man nodded. Phil could not see his face, whichwas hidden by the broad brim of his hat and the folds ofhis serape, drawn up around his chin, evidently to fendoff the cold. His surmise was likely enough. TheAmericans had made a good market at Saltillo, and the peonswere ready to sell. But he did not like the hour or theman's stealthy approach.

"No come in," he said, trying to use the simplestwords of his language to a foreigner. "Orders! Ordersmust be obeyed!"

The man pointed again to his basket, as if, being indoubt, he would urge the value of a welcome.

"No come in," repeated Phil. "Go back," and hepointed toward the woods from which the Mexican hadcome.

The man hesitated, but he did not go. He turnedagain toward Phil, and at that moment the wind lifted asegment of his wide hat-brim. Phil sprang back inamazement. Despite the dark, he recognized the featuresof de Armijo, who could have come there for no good, who must have come as a spy or worse.

"De Armijo!" he cried, and sprang for him. Butthe Mexican was as quick as lightning. He leapedbackward, dropped his basket, and the long blade of a knifeflashed in the air. It cut through the sleeve of Phil'scoat, and the sharp point, with a touch like fire, ranalong his arm. It was well for him that he had put onthe heavy blanket coat that night, or the blade wouldhave grated on the bone.

The pain did not keep Phil from throwing up his rifle, and de Armijo, seeing that his stroke had not disabledthe boy, wheeled and ran. Phil fired instantly, and sawde Armijo stagger a little. But in a moment theMexican recovered himself and quickly disappeared in thedarkness, although Phil rushed after him. He wouldhave followed across the plain, but he knew it was hisduty to go no farther, and he came back to meet the othersentinels, who were running toward him at the sound ofthe shot. Phil quickly explained what had occurred, telling the identity of the man, and adding that he wascrafty and dangerous.

"A Mexican officer," said one of them. "No doubthe was trying to enter the town in order to get morecomplete information about us and our plans than they haveyet obtained. He would have remained hidden by dayin some house, and he would have slipped out again atnight when he had learned all that he wanted. You dida good job, Bedford, when you stopped him."

"You did more than stop him," said another, whohad brought a small lantern. "You nicked him beforehe got away. See, here's a drop of blood, and here'sanother, and there's another."

They followed the trail of the drops, but it did notlead far. Evidently the effusion of blood had not beengreat. Then one of the men, glancing at Phil rathercuriously, said:

"He seems to have touched you up, Bedford. Do youknow that a little stream of blood is running down yourleft sleeve?"

Phil was not conscious until then that somethingmoist and warm was dripping upon his hand. In theexcitement of the moment he had forgotten all about theslash of the knife, but, now that he remembered it, hefelt a sudden weakness. But he hid it from the others, and it passed in a minute or so.

The chief of the patrol ordered him to go back andreport to an officer, and this officer happened to beMiddleton, who was sitting with Edgeworth in one of theopen camps before a small fire. Phil's arm meanwhilehad been bound up, although he found that the cut wasnot deep, and would not incapacitate him. Phil salutedin the new military style that he was acquiring, and ofwhich he was very proud, and said, in reply to Middleton'slook of inquiry:

"I have the honor to report, sir, that a spy, a Mexicanofficer, tried to pass our lines at the point where I wasstationed. He was disguised as a peon, coming to sellprovisions in our camp. When I stopped him he slashedat me with his knife, although the wound he inflictedwas but slight, and I, in return, fired at him as he ran.I hit him, as drops of blood on the ground showed, although I think his wound, like mine, was slight."

Captain Middleton smiled.

"Come, Phil," he said, "you've done a good deed, sohop down off your high horse, and tell it in your old, easyway. Remember that we are still comrades of the plains."

Phil smiled, too. The official manner was rather hardand stiff, and it was easier to do as Middleton suggested.

"Captain," he said, "I recognized the man, and itwas one that we've met more than once. It was de Armijo."

"Ah, de Armijo!" exclaimed the Captain. "He wastrying to spy upon us. He is high in the Mexicancouncils, and his coming here means much. It is lucky,Phil, that you were the one to stop him, and that yourecognized him. But he did not love you much before, and he will not love you any more, since you have spilledsome of his blood with a bullet."

"I know it," replied Phil confidently, "but I feel ableto take care of myself as far as de Armijo is concerned."

"You go to your tent and sleep," said Middleton, "andI'll put another man in your place. You must not gettoo much stiffness and soreness in that arm of yours.You will be likely to need it soon-also, every other armthat you have."

Phil, not loth, returned to his tent, which he sharedwith Breakstone and two or three others. Bill awoke, and, after listening to a narrative of the occurrence, dressed and rebound the arm carefully.

"I agree with the Captain that things are coming to ahead," he said. "When you see a storm bird like deArmijo around, the storm itself can't be far behind. I'mglad he didn't get a good whack at you, Phil, but, as itis, you're so young and so healthy, and your blood is sopure that it won't give you any trouble. I'll dress itagain to-morrow, and in a few days it will be well."

Bill Breakstone's prediction was a good one. In threeor four days Phil's wound was entirely healed, and two orthree days later he could use his arm as well as ever.The boy, meanwhile, was getting better acquainted withthe troops, and, like his comrades, was becomingthoroughly a member of the little army. It was reduced now,by the steady drains to strengthen Scott, to 4,610 men,of whom less than five hundred were regular troops. Butthe volunteers, nearly all from the west and south, littletrained though they might be, were young, hardy, usedto life in the open air, and full of zeal. They had all thefire and courage of youth, and they did not fear anynumber of Mexicans.

But the New Year had come, January in its turn hadpassed, and the news drifting in from a thousand sources, like dust from the desert, grew more alarming. The armyorganized by Santa Anna at San Luis Potosi was thelargest that had ever been gathered in Mexico, with powerfulartillery and a numerous cavalry. Santa Anna himselfwas at his best, drilling, planning, and filling his officerswith his own enthusiasm. In Saltillo itself the peoplegrew bolder. They openly said that it was time for theAmericans to run if they would save themselves from theinvincible Mexican commander and president. It seemedto many of the Americans even that it would be wiseto retreat all the way to the Rio Grande, but the oldgeneral, his heart full of bitterness, gave no such order.He had begun the campaign in victorious fashion, andthen he had been ordered to stop. He had asked to beallowed to serve as second to Scott in the great campaignthat would go forward from Vera Cruz, and that had beenrefused. Then he had asked that more of his troops, especially the regulars, be left to him, and that, too, hadbeen refused. He was expected to yield the ground thathe had gained, and retreat in the face of an overwhelmingenemy.

Phil saw General Taylor many times in those days.Any one could see him as he passed about the city andcamp, a gray, silent man, with little military form, aproduct of the West and the frontier, to which Philhimself belonged. It was for that reason, perhaps, that Philcould enter so thoroughly into the feelings of the general,a simple, straightforward soldier who believed himselfthe victim of politics, a man who felt within him not thefacility for easy and graceful speech and manners, but therugged power to do great things. He was very gentle andkind to his men in these days. The soldier who hadspent a lifetime on the frontier, fighting Indians anddealing with the roughest of his kind, was now more likethe head of a great family, a band knitted all the moreclosely together because they were in a foreign landconfronted by a great danger.

Phil was picking up Spanish fast, and his youth, perhaps, caused the people about the city to make more hints,or maybe threats, to him than they would have made toan older man. Santa Anna had with him the wholemight of Mexico. He would be before Saltillo in threedays, in two days, to-morrow perhaps. The very airseemed to the boy to be charged with gunpowder, and hehad his moments of despondency. But he had beenthrough too much danger already to despair, and heallowed no one to think that at any time he wasapprehensive.

Bill Breakstone was, for the present, the best man inthe army. No other made acquaintances so fast, no otherhad such a wonderful flow of cheering words, and he was-orhad been-an actor. To many of these youths whohad never seen a play he must certainly have been thegreatest actor in the world. Nor was he like a primadonna, to be coaxed, and then to refuse four times out offive. He recited nearly every evening in front of his tent, and he did more than any other man to keep the army ingood heart. General Taylor and his second, GeneralWool, said nothing, but the younger officers commentedopenly and favorably. Thus the last days of Januarywent by, and they were deep into February. Themenacing reports still came out of the south, and now it wasknown definitely that Washington expected Taylor to fallback. Gloom overspread the young volunteers. Theyhad not fought their way so far merely to go back, butorders were orders, and they must be obeyed.

Early in the evening Bill Breakstone was recitingagain in front of his tent, and at least two hundred stoodabout listening. This time he was reciting with greatfire and vigor his favorite: "Once more unto the breach, dear friends," and, when he had said it once, there wasa vigorous call for it again. Obligingly he began therepetition, but when he was midway in it Middleton strode intothe circle and held up his hand. His attitude was sotense, and his air and manner showed so much suppressedexcitement that every one turned at once from Breakstoneto him. Breakstone himself stopped so short that hismouth was left wide open, and he, too, gazed at Middleton.

"My lads," said Middleton, "an order, an importantorder has just been issued by the commander-in-chief.You are to prepare at once for breaking camp, and youare to march at daylight in the morning."

Some one uttered a groan, and a bold voice spoke up:

"Do we retreat all the way to the Rio Grande, or dowe hide somewhere on the way?"

The speaker could not be seen from the place whereMiddleton stood, nor would the comrades around himhave betrayed him. But Middleton looked in the directionof the voice, and his figure seemed to swell. Phil, who was standing near, thought he saw his eyes flickerwith light.