thunder up the road. It must cross
the bridge, seize some height, from there defend the crossing. Where the
battery had been the cavalry now formed the screen, thin enough and
ragged, yet menacing the grey infantry.

The grey skirmishers rallied, fixed bayonets and advanced, the
Louisianians close behind. The blue horsemen attempted a charge, an
action more bold than wise, they were so small a force. The men in grey
sprang at the bridles of the foremost, wrapped long mountain arms about
the riders. Despite sabre, despite pistol, several were dragged down,
horse and man made captive. The most got back to safer ground. Kenly's
bugles rang out again, palpably alarmed, shrilly insistent. Horse and
foot must get across the Shenandoah or there would be the devil to pay!
Beside the imperious trumpet came something else, an acrid smell and
smoke, then a great flame and crackle. Torch had been put to the camp;
all the Federal tents and forage and stores were burning. _To the rear!
To the rear!_

In the middle of the road, out of one of the scuffling groups, a
whirling pillar of dust and clamour, sabre strokes, rifle and pistol
cracks, oaths, cries, plunging of a maddened horse, Cleave saw a flushed
face lift itself from the ground, a powerful shoulder thrust away the
surging grey shapes, a sabre flash in the sun, a hand from which blood
was streaming catch at the horse's mane. The owner of the hand swung
himself again into the saddle from which Dave Maydew had plucked him.
Remounted, he made a downward thrust with his sabre. Dave, keeping
warily out of reach of the horse's lashing heels, struck up the arm with
his bayonet. The sabre clattered to the ground; with an oath the man--an
officer--drew a revolver. The ball whizzed past Cleave's temple; a
second might have found his heart but that Allan Gold, entering somehow
the cleared circle made by the furious horse, hung upon the arm sleeved
in fine blue cloth, and wrenched the Colt's from the gauntleted hand.
Cleave, at the bridle, laughed and took his hands away. "Christmas
Carols again!" he said.

God save you, merry gentlemen!
Let nothing you dismay--

"Give him way, men! He's a friend of mine."

Marchmont's horse bounded. "Lieutenant McNeill," said the rider. "I
profess that in all this dust and smoke I did not at first recognize
you. I am your obedient servant. If my foe, sir, then I dub you my
dearest foe! To our next meeting!"

He ba