she was using the whip. With a cry of "Halt and surrender!" I rode at
the men pistol in hand. They whipped around the house without turning
their heads, and ran off into the thick undergrowth, where it would
have been both useless and dangerous to pursue them.

They left one of their number on the ground, the victim of the
rifle-shot we had heard. He begged lustily for both mercy and water. If
he had been compelled to choose between the two I think he would have
taken water. I gave him my canteen, which he emptied at a gulp and
called for more. There was a strange silence in the house--a silence in
decided contrast to the screams I had heard, and I wondered if the
wretches had shot the woman. I started to knock on the door with the
butt of my pistol, but Jane Ryder was before me.

"Only children do such foolish things," she exclaimed, and I thought
she had scorn in her voice. "Sally! Sally Rodgers! Open the door if you
are alive! Don't you know me? Your friends are here."

"Pardon me!" I said, pushing past Jane Ryder as the door opened. For a
moment I could see nothing whatever, not even the woman who had opened
the door, but when my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom that pervaded
the house--all the windows were closed--I saw the big Irishman whom I
had met at the tavern a few nights before. He was sitting very quietly
in the chimney-corner, but I observed that he had me covered with his
rifle. I stared at him without a word, and he was equally as silent,
but something in the situation--or in his face, for he had as pleasing
a countenance as I have ever seen--caused me to laugh.

[Illustration: He had me covered.]

"'Tis a long mile from a joke," he declared. "Ye see before ye Private
O'Halloran av the sharpshooters. Wan av us is a prisoner, an' I'm
thinkin' it's not meself."

"It is not given to every man," I replied, "to be taken prisoner while
he is still a prisoner. You will have to speak to Colonel Ryder."

The woman had come from behind the door to greet Jane Ryder, and now
she was giving her all the details of her troubles, her voice pitched
in a very high key. Meanwhile, half a dozen children in various stages
of undress swarmed from under the bed and stood staring at us. "The
sound of the woman's screams," said I, turning to Jane Ryder, "caused
me to forget that I am a prisoner. I hope your brother doesn't think
that I made that an excuse for running away."

"And why shouldn't a prisoner escape--if he