ns an' opens on
'em. The voices of the Spencers sounds like the long roll of a drum.
Hoss an' man goes down, dead an' wounded; never a gent of 'em all rides
back through that awful Yankee line. Pore Edson shore has his wish;
he's cut the trail of folks who's cap'ble of aimin' low an' shootin'
half way troo.

"'These sperited moves I've been relatin' don't take no time in the
doin'. The hairbrain play of Captain Edson forces our hands. The Old
Man orders a charge, an' we pushes the Yanks back onto their hosses an'
rescoos what's left of Edson an' his lancers. After skirmishin' a
little the Yanks draws away an' leaves us alone on the field. They
earns the encomiums of my serjeant, though, before ever they decides to
_vamos_.

"'Edson's been shot hard and frequent; thar's no chance for him. He
looks up at me, when we're bringin' him off, an' says:

"'"Joe," an' he smiles an' squeezes my hand, while his tones is plenty
feeble, "Joe, you notes don't you that while I ain't goin' back to
Texas, I don't have to desert."

"'That night we beds down our boy Captain in a sol'tary Mexican 'doby.
He's layin' on a pile of blankets clost by the door while the moon
shines down an' makes things light as noonday. He's been talkin' to me
an' givin' me messages for his mother an' the rest of his outfit at
Waco, an' I promises to carry 'em safe an' deliver 'em when I rides in
ag'in on good old Texas. Then he wants his mare brought up where he
can pet her muzzle an' say _Adios_ to her.

"'"For, Joe," he says, "I'm doo to go at once now, an' my days is down
to minutes."

"'"The medicine man, Ed," I says, "tells me that you-all has hours to
live."

"'"But, Joe," he replies, "I knows. I'm a mighty good prophet you
recalls about my not goin' back, an' you can gamble I'm not makin' any
mistakes now. It's down to minutes, I tells you, an' I wants to see my
mare."

"'Which the mare is brought up an' stands thar with her velvet nose in
his face; her name's "Ruth," after Edson's sweetheart. The mare is as
splendid as a picture; pure blood, an' her speed an' bottom is the
wonder of the army. Usual a hoss is locoed by the smell of blood, but
it don't stampede this Ruth; an' she stays thar with him as still an'
tender as a woman, an' with all the sorrow in her heart of folks. As
Edson rubs her nose with his weak hand an' pets her, he asks me to take
this Ruth back to his sweetheart with all his love.

"'"Which now I'm goin'," h