ord, hunt up Lieutenant-Colonel O'Brien, and ask him
to come to me at once."

O'Brien was a famous Irishman who had served with San Martin all
through the Chilian War. He was a fine fellow, standing six feet six
inches high, and well proportioned. Every one loved him for his
winning ways, his ready smile, his perfect honesty, and his absolute
fearlessness.

"Colonel Miller?" said he, on hearing my message. "Faith, I'll come
instantly." And we rode back together.

"You're prompt, O'Brien," exclaimed the colonel, laughing; "Have you
had enough of this slow-time business?"

"More than enough, colonel. What are your fellows looking so pleased
about?"

"First, the prospect of a breakfast; and then--"

"You've badgered the general into giving you a free hand!"

"Not quite that; but I have permission to push on. I fear it's too
late. Canterac is a fine soldier, and will be ready for us now; but I
am going to see if he has left any weak places. Would you care to come
with me?"

"You're just a jewel, colonel," exclaimed the big Irishman
enthusiastically, "and I'm eternally devoted to you. When do we start?"

"Directly after breakfast. Will you take some with me?"

"That will I, colonel, and I'm as charmed with the second invitation as
the first. I dined with the general the day we left Mirones, and
haven't had a decent meal since."

The colonel laughed, saying, "I'm afraid I can't say much for the
quality of our food."

"Never mind the quality, colonel; I think more of quantity just at
present."

"Well, that's on a par with the quality."

This did not sound very promising; but we managed to satisfy our
hunger, and the men, having eaten their scanty rations, were drawn up
ready for the start. At nine o'clock we left the camp, and a rapid
march brought us to the village of Macas, which the enemy had just
abandoned. Here, to our great delight, we discovered a number of sheep
dressed and ready for cooking; so, for once in a way, we enjoyed a
really good meal, while cracking many jokes at the Spaniards' expense.
Then having rested, we pushed on to the foot of the mountains, where
the men bivouacked, being too tired to drag themselves any further.

I was just preparing to off-saddle when the colonel said, "Crawford, if
you aren't too tired, you can come with me. I am going just a little
way up the mountain."

"Very good, sir," I answered, climbing into the saddle again, but
wishing that he had taken