could tell from the sharper ring of the hoofs, and the spitting of
flinty sparks beneath us, that we were among rocks once more. Then our
horses suddenly splashed into water, and I held them up long enough to
drink. I felt thirst strongly myself, and slipping out of the saddle,
filled my canteen.

"Would you care for a drink?" I asked, stemming the stream to reach her
side, and holding the vessel within easy grasp of her hand.

I actually believe her first impulse was to refuse haughtily this
proffered civility from an enemy of her country, but the deep sense of
need conquered foolish pride and caused her to accept the offering.

"I am very thankful to you," she said, handing back the canteen; yet
the words were spoken in mockery. I ignored them, and swung into my
saddle without response.

Another hill followed, and then another, and finally we swept swiftly
down a long slope densely bordered by trees and with irregular piles of
rock uprearing ugly heads on either hand. A little edge of the waning
moon began to peep over the ridge of the hill, and yielded sufficient
light to enable our eyes to discern dimly the faint track we followed.
I remember remarking the blacker figure of the Sergeant ahead of us,
and already halfway down the long decline. I caught a swift glimpse of
a rough log house on the right, so set back among trees that I half
doubted its real existence, when--there was a slip, the crunching of a
stone, a long stumble forward that fairly wrenched my hand loose from
the woman's rein, and then, hopelessly struggling to regain his feet,
my horse went down with a crash, head under, and I was hurled heavily
forward upon my face.