the shade. One of them pulled out of a dead Spaniard's pocket
cigarettes, cigars, and a lady's slipper of white satin; with a grunt he
put the slipper back. Below the trenches, two boyish prisoners sat under
a tree, crying as though they were broken-hearted, and a big trooper
walked up and patted them both kindly on the head.

"Don't cry, boys; it's all right--all right," he said, helplessly.

* * * * *

Over at the block-house, Crittenden stopped firing suddenly, and,
turning to his men, shouted:

"Get back over the hill boys, they're going to start in again." As they
ran back, a Lieutenant-Colonel met them.

"Are you in command?"

Crittenden saluted.

"No, sir," he said.

"Yes, sir," said the old Sergeant at his side. "He was. He brought these
men up the hill."

"The hell he did. Where are your officers?"

The old Sergeant motioned toward the valley below, and Crittenden opened
his lips to explain, but just then the sudden impression came to him
that some one had struck him from behind with the butt of a musket, and