saw his hand quiver, and sprang to one side as the blade
flashed past my head. With a yell of disappointment, the Indian turned
and disappeared in the underbrush. I ran back to Burton, and stooped to
raise him.

"Allow me to aid you, Lieutenant Stewart," said a voice at my elbow, and
there stood Harry Marsh, as cool as though there were not an Indian
within a hundred miles. "I saw you turn back," he added, "and thought you
might need some help."

I nodded curtly, for the bullets were whistling about us in a manner far
from pleasing, and between us we lifted Burton and started back toward
the lines.

"My left leg seems paralyzed," he said. "The bullet must have struck a
nerve. If I could get on horseback, I should be all right again."

And then he staggered and nearly fell, for Marsh lay crumpled up in a
heap on the ground.

"He is dead," said Burton, as I stared down in horror at what an instant
before had been a brave, strong, hopeful human being. "A man never falls
like that unless he is dead. He was doubtless shot through the heart. He
was a brave boy. Did you know him?"

"His name was Marsh," I answered hoarsely. "He was my cousin."

"I shall not forget it," said Burton, and we stood a moment longer
looking down at the dead.

But it was folly to linger there, and we continued on, I helping Burton
as well as I could. And a great loathing came over me for this game
called war. We reached the lines in safety, where Burton was taken to the
rear and given surgical attention. His wound was not a bad one, and half
an hour later, I saw that he had made good his assertion that he would be
all right once he was on horseback.

In the mean time, affairs had gone from bad to worse, and the men were
wholly unnerved. Those who were serving the artillery were picked off,
and the pieces had been abandoned. A desperate effort was made to retake
them, but to no avail. The Indians had extended themselves along both
sides of the line, and had sharply attacked the baggage in the rear. The
men were crowded into a senseless, stupefied mob, their faces blanched
with horror and dripping with sweat, too terrified, many of them, to
reload their firelocks. The general rode up and down the line, exposing
himself with the utmost recklessness, but the men were long past the
reach of discipline. After all, human nature has its depths which no
drill-master can touch. Four horses were shot under him, and even while I
cursed his folly, I co