"Shoot him like one, then," said the Colonel bitterly, "if he
won't take his chance. My regiment, too! If it had been the
Towheads I could have understood."

Private Simmons had occupied a strong position near a well on the
edge of the parade-ground, and was defying the regiment to come
on. The regiment was not anxious to comply, for there is small
honour in being shot by a fellow-private. Only Corporal Slane,
rifle in hand, threw himself down on the ground, and wormed his
way towards the well.

"Don't shoot," said he to the men round him; "like as not you'll
'it me. I'll catch the beggar livin'."

Simmons ceased shouting for a while, and th noise of trap-wheels
could be heard across the plain. Major Oldyne, Commanding the
Horse Battery, was coming back from a dinner in the Civil Lines;
was driving after his usual custom - that is to say, as fast as
the horse could go.

"A orf'cer! A blooming spangled orf'cer!" shrieked Simmons; "I'll
make a scarecrow of that orf'cer!" The trap stopped.

"What's this?" demanded the Major of Gunners. "You there, drop
your rifle."

"Why, it's Jerry Blazes! I ain't got no quarrel with you, Jerry
Blazes. Pass, frien', an' all's well!"