"That idiot is my sergeant, Lieutenant, and supposes he is still
fighting guerillas."

The Lieutenant looked at me in surprise, then burst into a peal of
laughter. "Well, if that is true," he cried, "I most sincerely hope you
will call him off before he succeeds in cleaning out our entire troop."

I started down the hallway toward the point of firing. There was a
sharp jog in the wall leading to the kitchen door, and as I approached
it some soldiers stationed there warned me to be careful.

"They're perfect devils to shoot, sir," said one respectfully, "an' the
Dutchman fetches his man every time."

"Oh, it will be all right, boys," I replied confidently. "He'll know
me."

Before me as I stepped forth was a double door of oak, the upper half
partially open.

"Sergeant," I cried, "come out; the fight is all over."

For answer a bullet whizzed past me, chugging into the wall at my back,
and I skipped around the corner with a celerity of movement which
caused the fellows watching me to grin with delight.

"Find me a white cloth of some kind," I demanded as soon as I reached
cover, and now thoroughly angered. "We shall see if that wooden-headed
old fool knows the meaning of a flag of truce."