dismounted and are breathing their horses. There is hardly time for
salutations. A gray-headed, keen-eyed, florid-faced old soldier is the
colonel, and he is snapping with electricity, apparently.

"This way, Hull. Come right here, and I'll show you what you are to do."
And, followed by Rayner, Hull, and Hayne, the chief rides sharply over
to the extreme left of the position and points to the frowning ridge
across the intervening swale.

"There, Hull: there are twenty or thirty of the rascals in there who get
a flank fire on us when we attack on our side. What I want you to do is
to mount your men, let them draw pistol and be all ready. Rayner, here,
will line the ridge to keep them down in front. I'll go back to the
right and order the attack at once. The moment we begin and you hear our
shots, you give a yell, and charge full tilt across there, so as to
drive out those fellows in that ravine. We can do the rest. Do you
understand?"

"I understand, colonel; but--is it your order that I attempt to charge
mounted across that ground?"

"Why, certainly! It isn't the best in the world, but you can make it.
They can't do very much damage to your men before you reach them. It's
_got_ to be done; it's the only way."

"Very good, sir: that ends it!" is the calm, soldierly reply; and the
colonel goes bounding away.

A moment later the troop is in saddle, eager, wiry, bronzed fellows
every one, and the revolvers are in hand and being carefully examined.