"Lie down, Brice! For God's sake lie down!" Mr. Sherman cried.

He was about to obey when a young; man, small and agile, ran past him
from behind, heedless of the panic. Stopping at the foot of the bank he
dropped on one knee, resting his revolver in the hollow of his left arm.
It, was Jack Brinsmade. At the same time two of the soldiers above
lowered their barrels to cover him. Then smoke hid the scene. When it
rolled away, Brinsmade lay on the ground. He staggered to his feet with
an oath, and confronted a young man who was hatless, and upon whose
forehead was burned a black powder mark.

"Curse you!" he cried, reaching out wildly, "curse you, you d--d Yankee.
I'll teach you to fight!"

Maddened, he made a rush at Stephen's throat. But Stephen seized his
hands and bent them down, and held them firmly while he kicked and
struggled.

"Curse you!" he panted; "curse you, you let me go and I'll kill you,--you
Yankee upstart!"

But Stephen held on. Brinsmade became more and more frantic. One of the
officers, seeing the struggle, started down the bank, was reviled, and
hesitated. At that moment Major Sherman came between them.

"Let him go, Brice," he said, in a tone of command. Stephen did as he was
bid. Whereupon Brinsmade made a dash for his pistol on the ground. Mr.
Sherman was before him.

"Now see here, Jack," he said, picking it up, "I don't want to shoot you,