shore--while the water ran past him red with
blood. And, through it all, looking backward, Crittenden saw little
Carter coming on horseback, calm of face, calm of manner, with his hands
folded over his saddle, and his eyes looking upward--little Carter who
had started out in an ambulance that morning with a temperature of one
hundred and four, and, meeting wounded soldiers, gave up his wagon to
them, mounted his horse, and rode into battle--to come out normal at
dusk. And behind him--erect, proud, face aflame, eyes burning, but
hardly less cool--rode Basil. Crittenden's eyes filled with love and
pride for the boy.

"God bless him--God save him!"

* * * * *

A lull came--one of the curious lulls that come periodically in battle
for the reason that after any violent effort men must have a breathing
spell--and the mist of bullets swept on to the right like a swift
passing shower of rain.

There was a splash in the creek behind Crittenden, and someone fell on
his face behind the low bank with a fervent:

"Thank God, I've got this far!" It was Grafton.

"That nigger of yours is coming on somewhere back there," he added, and
presently he rose and calmly peered over the bank and at the line of
yellow dirt on the crest of the hill. A bullet spat in the ground close
by.

"That hit you?" he asked, without altering the tone of his
voice--without even lowering his glasses.

Reynolds, on his right, had ducked quickly. Crittenden looked up in
surprise. The South had no monopoly of nerve--nor, in that campaign, the
soldier.

"Well, by God," said Reynolds, irritably--the bullet had gone through
his sleeve. "This ain't no time to joke."

Grafton's face was still calm--he was still looking. Presently he turned
and beckoned to somebody in the rear.

"There he is, now."

Looking behind, Crittenden had to laugh. There was Bob, in a
cavalryman's hat, with a Krag-Jorgensen in his hand, and an ammunition
belt buckled around him.

As he started toward Grafton, a Lieutenant halted him.

"Why aren't you with your regiment?" he demanded sharply.

"I ain't got no regiment. I'se looking fer Ole Captain."

"Get back into your regiment," said the officer, with an oath, and
pointing behind to the Tenth Coloured Cavalry coming up.

"Huh!" he said, looking after the officer a moment, and then he came on
to the edge of the creek.

"Go to the rear, Bob," shouted Crittenden, sharply, and the next moment