retreat."

"Will the chariots go next?" asked Marcus.

"Yes, boy, of course, with the baggage behind them, and all the strength
of the infantry to form the rear-guard. You can see that for yourself,
for the foot-men haven't moved."

"No," said Marcus, "but the enemy are moving more and more into two
great parties, advancing so as to meet where the pass begins to narrow.
Why, Serge, if they get there first they'll cut our retreating line in
two."

"They would," said the old soldier, with a chuckle, "if they could, but
our general will be too smart for that. He's got it all carefully
planned out, and when those two great streams of men come together out
yonder they will be well in the rear. But now look at them. You can
see right round the camp from here. What are the enemy doing? Trying
to surround us?"

"No," said Marcus, after a long inspection; "they are all gradually
turning in the same direction and getting into motion, as if to drive us
back into the pass."

"Yes, and it looks pretty and bright up yonder with the sun shining on
the snow. To see it from here, boy, no one would think it meant bitter
winds and a cold that cuts through you and turns men drowsy so that they
want to lie down and die."

"No," said Marcus, with a slight shudder. "Ah!" he added, excitedly.
"Our big rear-guard is beginning to stir, and the enemy are still moving
on. Why, in a short time the lower part of the camp will have none of
them beyond it."

"That's right," cried Serge, as he shaded his eyes and gazed long and
fixedly towards the lower part of the amphitheatre far beyond which,
looking green and beautiful, stretched away the sunny plains of Gaul;
"and that means, boy, that things will be just as our general intended
that they should, clear of the enemy and ready for us to creep
cautiously down like a pack of deserters trying to save our skins."

"Yes, but I want to be moving," cried Marcus, who was ready to stamp
with impatience. "I want to be leading the horses down through this
wilderness of rocks so as to get away to the open land, where we can
send them off at a gallop with the wind whistling about their ears. I
want to see their manes and tails flying, Serge, and feel the chariot
rock as the wheels spin round and bump over the hillocks and stones.
Then on and on as fast as we can go, straight for the main army, to tear
up to the guards with my message and bring them back. Oh, how slowly
they move! Why d