wildly, losing its perfect tempo and each musician playing for himself,
but still playing as a band should play on in terrible crises. The
line of riders was sharply checked, the perfectly trained horses coming
to a dead stop within ten seconds. In the C. O.'s box the chaplain was
on his feet, his hands clasped in silent supplication; Mrs. Fortescue,
braver than a brave soldier, put her arm about her husband's neck, as
Colonel Fortescue swayed about in his seat like a drunken man. Amid
the blare of the band and the riders and chargers almost upon the
struggling horse and motionless girl, lying on the tanbark, Broussard,
coolly, as if he were on the parade ground, lifted Gamechick by the
bridle, gave him a touch of the spur, and the next moment cleared both
mare and girl, with twenty inches between Gamechick's iron-shod hind
hoofs and Anita's beautiful blonde head.

[Illustration: Broussard, lifted Gamechick by the bridle and the next
moment cleared both mare and girl.]

It had all passed in twenty seconds by the clock, but to those who
watched it seemed a long hour of agony. The moment the leap was made,
Anita sprang to her feet and Broussard was on the tanbark. Wild
cheering almost drowned the crash of the band; some of the women were
weeping and others laughing hysterically, the men cheering like madmen.
Broussard smilingly picked up Anita's cavalry cap, which had fallen on
the tanbark, brushed it and put it on Anita's pretty head; some words,
unheard by others, passed between them. The mare then lay perfectly
quiet. Broussard, amid the roar of cheers and shouts and furious
handclapping and music, got the mare on her feet. She stood trembling,
frightened and ashamed; Anita patted her neck gently and rubbed her
nose reassuringly. Then Broussard, taking the girl's slender waist
between his hands, swung her into her saddle, himself mounted, and, the