l. Then he began to talk rapidly
and in a lower tone. He frequently illustrated his words with a
pointing finger. The two infantrymen could hear nothing until finally
he asked: "What troops can you spare?"

The officer who rode like a cowboy reflected for an instant. "Well,"
he said, "I had to order in th' 12th to help th' 76th, an' I haven't
really got any. But there's th' 304th. They fight like a lot 'a mule
drivers. I can spare them best of any."

The youth and his friend exchanged glances of astonishment.

The general spoke sharply. "Get 'em ready, then. I'll watch
developments from here, an' send you word when t' start them. It'll
happen in five minutes."

As the other officer tossed his fingers toward his cap and wheeling his
horse, started away, the general called out to him in a sober voice: "I
don't believe many of your mule drivers will get back."

The other shouted something in reply. He smiled.

With scared faces, the youth and his companion hurried back to the line.

These happenings had occupied an incredibly short time, yet the youth
felt that in them he had been made aged. New eyes were given to him.
And the most startling thing was to learn suddenly that he was very
insignificant. The officer spoke of the regiment as if he referred to
a broom. Some part of the woods needed sweeping, perhaps, and he
merely indicated a broom in a tone properly indifferent to its fate. It
was war, no doubt, but it appeared strange.

As the two boys approached the line, the lieutenant perceived them and
swelled with wrath. "Fleming--Wilson--how long does it take yeh to git
water, anyhow--where yeh been to."

But his oration ceased as he saw their eyes, which were large with
great tales. "We're goin' t' charge--we're goin' t' charge!" cried the
youth's friend, hastening with his news.

"Charge?" said the lieutenant. "Charge? Well, b'Gawd! Now, this is
real fightin'." Over his soiled countenance there went a boastful
smile. "Charge? Well, b'Gawd!"

A little group of soldiers surrounded the two youths. "Are we, sure
'nough? Well, I'll be derned! Charge? What fer? What at? Wilson,
you're lyin'."

"I hope to die," said the youth, pitching his tones to the key of angry
remonstrance. "Sure as shooting, I tell you."

And his friend spoke in re-enforcement. "Not by a blame sight, he
ain't lyin'. We heard 'em talkin'."

They caught sight of two mounted figures a short distance from them.