all, white slowly moving shapes
of the lawless marauders of the sand plains.

"Is my life worth much more under the French Flag than it was under the
English?" thought the Chasseur, with a certain, careless, indifferent
irony on himself, natural to him. "There I killed time--here I kill men.
Which is the better pursuit, I wonder. The world would rather economize
the first commodity than the last, I believe. Perhaps it don't make an
overgood use of either."

The night was someway spent when the talk of wild-pigeon-blue mares and
sorrel stallions closed between the Djied and his guest; and the French
soldier, who had been sent hither from the Bureau with another of his
comrades, took his way through the now still camp where the cattle were
sleeping, and the fires were burning out, and the banner-folds hung
motionless in the luster of the stars, to the black-and-white tent
prepared for him. A spacious one, close to the chief's, and given such
luxury in the shape of ornamented weapons, thick carpets, and soft
cushions, as the tribe's resources could bring together.

As he opened the folds and entered, his fellow-soldier, who was lying on
his back, with his heels much higher than his head, and a short pipe in
his teeth, tumbled himself up; with a rapid somersault, and stood bolt
upright, giving the salute; a short, sturdy little man, with a skin
burnt like a coffee-berry, that was in odd contrast with his light,
dancing blue eyes, and his close, matted curls of yellow hair.

"Beg pardon, sir! I was half asleep!"

The Chasseur laughed a little.

"Don't talk English; somebody will hear you one day."

"What's the odds if they do, sir?" responded the other. "It relieves
one's feelings a little. All of 'em know I'm English, but never a one
of 'em know what you are. The name you was enrolled by won't really tell
'em nothing. They guess it ain't yours. That cute little chap, Tata, he
says to me yesterday, 'you're always a-treating of your galonne like
as if he was a prince.' 'Damme!' says I, 'I'd like to see the prince as
would hold a candle to him.' 'You're right there,' says the little
'un. 'There ain't his equal for taking off a beggar's head with a back
sweep.'"

The Corporal laughed a little again, as he tossed himself down on the
carpet.

"Well, it's something to have one virtue! But have a care what those
chatter-boxes get out of you."

"Lord, sir! Ain't I been a-taking care these ten years? It comes quite
natur