e must let his words and acts mesh with the nicety of machine gears, or
his authority would vanish.

From time to time, when the burden of this responsibility began to wear
down his courage, and fear came creeping in at the sheer audacity of
this undertaking, he would raise his eyes to the three little tots
ahead--and feel every nerve grow steady. As a consequence, the men were
thoroughly in hand, stepping with caution and showing every disposition
to carry out his orders.

In this way they covered perhaps a mile, reaching a ground of
comparative safety where their silence might have relaxed without
bringing about disaster. But Jeb would take no chance, and forced the
column to proceed with the same scrupulous care. As he was skirting a
group of the dead, that looked frightfully grotesque in the pale
moonlight, a voice almost at his back sent terror to his soul--then joy.

"Well, w'ot d'ye know about thot!" it said guardedly.

"Tim!" he cried, instantly calling a halt. There could be no mistaking
that voice, were it heard anywhere on earth. "Tim, where are you?"

"If it ain't Jeb, may I be shot for a spy! B'ys, deliverance is come!"
And the sergeant raised himself to a sitting position, while several
forms about him also began to stir.

"You blessed Irishman," said Jeb, delightedly, "if I could take my eyes
off this bunch, darned if I wouldn't kiss you!"

"Ye've brought better'n a kiss, lad--but ye can do thot yit, mind ye, if
I see inither sun!"

"Are you too badly hurt to be carried in?"

"Thot's a divil av a question, now! Sure, me an' the b'ys is too
continted to move for annything, lest 'tis a pitcher av ice-water----"
his voice seemed to crack at the mention of this.

Through the interpreter Jeb ordered a man to lift him; and as a big
fellow stepped forward, Tim chuckled:

"If this don't beat the Dutch, may I be shot--ow! me leg! Here, ye
butcher, don't ye know better'n to handle a mon like a trunk! Kneel, ye
spalpeen, whilst I straddle the neck av ye!"

When the German arose with Tim firmly astride his shoulders Jeb sent out
another prisoner, then another, until nine wounded were prepared for
transport rearward.

"You're sure there aren't any more, Tim?" he asked.

"Faith, an' I wisht there was, lad," the sergeant answered soberly.
"Pass me up me rifle, like a good b'y, forinst we start! I see be the
black-and-gold button on me ar-rmy mule thot he's a Landstrumer, an'
they's tricky b'ys, at times