rifles and shot guns leveled from every bush, and that they were caught
helplessly in a trap.

"Since when," said Major Overstone with an affectation of tone and
manner different from that in which he had addressed his previous
companions, "have the Ninth United States Cavalry helped to serve a
State court's pettifogging process?"

"We are hunting a deserter--a half-breed agent--who has just escaped
us," returned the officer. His voice was boyish--so, too, was his figure
in its slim, cadet-like smartness of belted tunic--but very quiet and
level, although his face was still flushed with the shock and shame of
his surprise.

The relaxation of relief went through the wrought and waiting camp. The
soldiers were not seeking THEM. Ready as these desperate men had been to
do their leader's bidding, they were well aware that a momentary victory
over the troopers would not pass unpunished, and meant the ultimate
dispersion of the camp. And quiet as these innocent invaders seemed
to be they would no doubt sell their lives dearly. The embattled
desperadoes glanced anxiously at their leader; the soldiers, on the
contrary, looked straight before them.

"Process or no process," said Major Overstone with a sneer, "you've
come to the last place to recover your deserter. We don't give up men in
Wynyard's Bar. And they didn't teach you at the Academy, sir, to stop to
take prisoners when you were outflanked and outnumbered."

"Bedad! They didn't teach YOU, Captain Overstone, to engage a battery at
Cerro Gordo with a half company, but you did it; more shame to you now,