raced the uniform they wore.

"This is a fine doings, truly," said Major Morris, at length. "I
wonder what your commander will say when he hears of it."

"If you please, they have deserted the American army," put in the
woman. "They said as much while they were drinking my husband's
wine."

"It ain't so!" burst out the older regular, fiercely. "And that woman
has told you a string of--"

"Shut up!" interrupted the major, sternly. "I will take this lady's
word against yours every time--after what I have witnessed of both of
you. Your name, please?"

"I ain't telling my name jest now," was the sullen response.

"Aren't you?" Up came the major's pistol again. "Your name, I said."

"Jack Rodgrew."

"And what is yours?" went on the commander of the first battalion,
turning to the younger regular.

The man hesitated for a second. "My name is Jerry Crossing."

"Indeed! How is it your mate called you Bill awhile ago?"

"Why--er--er--"

"I don't believe either of the names is correct," went on the major.

"He is called Bill, and the other is Yadder," put in the Spanish
woman. "I heard the names many times."

"Then that will answer, since I also have your company and regiment.
Now, then, throw down your cartridge belts."

"Throw 'em down?" howled the regular called Bill.

"That is what I said. Throw them down at once."

"But see here, major--"

"I won't stop to argue with you. Throw the belts down, or take the
consequences."

"And what will the consequences be?" questioned Yadder.

"The consequences will be that I will form myself into a court-martial,
find you guilty of desertion, and shoot you down where you stand.
Come, do those belts go down or not?"

"I reckon they go down," grumbled Yadder; and unloosening the article,
he allowed it to slip to the floor, seeing which, his companion
followed suit.

"Now both of you hold your hands over your heads, while Captain
Russell searches you for concealed weapons."

"We ain't got no concealed weapons."

"I didn't ask you to talk, I told you to hold up your hands."

With exceeding bad grace the two deserters, for such they really
proved to be, held up their arms. Approaching them, Ben went through
one pocket after another and felt in their bosoms. Each had a long
native knife, such as are usually used in the rice-fields.

"I suppose you do not call those concealed weapons," was Major
Morris's comment, as Ben came over to him with the knives and the
ca