d. See that riderless horse, and this one, and that one! And
now for it--three honest men against four remaining thieves! Pop! pop!
dodge, and fire as you dodge! Pop! pop! pop! down he goes; well done,
gray-bearded Sosthene! Shoot there! Wheel here! Wounded? Never
mind--_ora!_ Another rogue reels! Collar him, Chaouache! drag him from
the saddle--down he goes! What, again? Shoot there! Look out, that
fellow's getting away! Ah! down goes Sosthene's horse, breaking his
strong neck in the tumble. Up, bleeding old man--bang! bang! Ha, ha,
_ora!_ that finishes--_ora!_ 'Twas the boy saved your life with that
last shot, Sosthene, and the boy--the youth is 'Thanase.

He has not stopped to talk; he and his father are catching the horses
of the dead and dying jayhawkers. Now bind up Sosthene's head, and now
'Thanase's hip. Now strip the dead beasts, and take the dead men's
weapons, boots, and spurs. Lift this one moaning villain into his
saddle and take him along, though he is going to die before ten miles
are gone over. So they turn homeward, leaving high revel for the
carrion-crows.

Think of Bonaventure, the slender, the intense, the reticent--with
'Thanase limping on rude but glorious crutches for four consecutive
Saturdays and Sundays up and down in full sight of Zosephine, savior
of her mother from widowhood, owner of two fine captured horses, and
rewarded by Sosthene with five acres of virgin prairie. If the young
fiddler's music was an attraction before, fancy its power now, when
the musician had to be lifted to his chair on top of the table!

Bonaventure sought comfort of Zosephine, and she gave it, tittering at
'Thanase behind his back, giving Bonaventure knowing looks, and
sticking her sunbonnet in her mouth.

"Oh, if the bullet had only gone into the dandy's fiddle-bow arm!" she
whispered gleefully.

"I wish he might never get well!" said the boy.

The girl's smile vanished; her eyes flashed lightning for an instant;
the blood flew to her cheeks, and she bit her lip.

"Why don't you, now while he cannot help himself--why don't you go to
him and hit him square in the face, like"--her arm flew up, and she
smote him with her sunbonnet full between the eyes--"like that!" She
ran away, laughing joyously, while Bonaventure sat down and wept with
rage and shame.

Day by day he went about his trivial tasks and efforts at pastime with
the one great longing that Zosephine would more kindly let him be her
slave, and som