on in the other end of it, especially in times of
excitement. The same thing happens in a fight. A soldier may be able to
give a clear statement of the part his company took in it, but he knows
nothing of the general plan of the battle or of the number of the
killed, wounded, captured or missing, until he has had time to talk the
matter over with his comrades or to read a published account of it.
During the war it was a common saying among the soldiers in the field
that they never knew anything about the fights they had been in until
they saw the papers.

"I have been on the Plains nearly three years," said the trooper who was
punching up the fire, "and that was the first time I ever saw a herd of
stampeded buffaloes."

"I never saw one," said another trooper. "I heard this one, but my horse
kept me so busy that I couldn't take time to look at it."

"I had a fair view of it," said the one who had first spoken. "My horse
was quiet enough after I got the bit between his teeth, so that I could
manage him, and I stood up there by that farther fire and took it all
in. I tell you, it was a sight!--a regular cataract of buffaloes a
hundred feet wide, tumbling over a bank twenty feet high. I have always
heard that when buffaloes become frightened and get to running they turn
aside for nothing; but this night's experience gives the lie to all such
stories, don't it? When they saw our camp they turned to the right and
left, and crossed the stream above and below us, and never did us the
least damage. Luck was on our side, wasn't it?"

"'Luck'!" repeated Bob in a tone of disgust; "I guess not. There were
about a dozen men, of whom George Ackerman and I made two, who stood
between you fellows and certain death. If we hadn't held our ground as
if we had grown there, there wouldn't have been one of you left to tell
the story of this night's work."

The troopers lying about the fire were greatly astonished at these
words, and called for an immediate explanation. Bob told the story in a
few words, adding, as he directed the attention of his auditors to
George Ackerman, who was lying at his ease on his blanket,

"There's the fellow you have to thank for your 'luck.' Sprague heard
them coming, and so did I after he called me out to his post, but we
didn't know what it was until Ackerman told us. He was the one who
alarmed the camp. I know I did something toward splitting that herd, for
I could see the fire come out of my carbine an