ce of
what he said. You know his way."

"Yes; he must have something to grumble at," replied Bracy. "If he were
with a regiment of veterans--"

"Yes, of course; he'd be snarling because they were what he'd call
worn-out, useless cripples, only fit for Chelsea Hospital. The Doctor
was right: it's his liver."

"Yes," said Bracy; "and when we are in camp to-night and at dinner he'll
be in the highest of glee, and do nothing but brag about how he made the
enemy run."

"Well, yes; a bit of work always does him good. It isn't brag, though,
for I believe the Major to be a splendid officer, and if we have much to
do he'll begin showing us greenhorns what a soldier ought to be. But, I
say, don't talk about dinner. I didn't think of it before; now I feel
famished. My word! I shall punish it to-night."

"If we get safely into camp," cried Bracy excitedly. "Down with you, my
lads, and look out. It came from across the valley there, from among
those trees."

Even as he spoke, pat, pat, pat came as many bullets, to strike against
the bare face of the rock over their heads and fall among the stones at
their feet, while the reports of the pieces fired were multiplied by the
echoes till they died away.

"Nothing to mind," said Roberts coolly. "They're trying to pick us off!
We can laugh at any attack if they try to cross the depths below
there."

"Nothing to mind so long as we are not hit," replied Bracy; "but I
object to being made a mark for their practice. What have you got
there, Jones?"

"One of their bullets, sir," said the man, who had picked up a messenger
which had come whizzing across the valley.

"Bullet--eh? Look here, Roberts," and Bracy handed his brother officer
a ragged piece of iron which looked as if it had been cut off the end of
a red-hot iron rod.

"Humph! Nice tackle to fire at us. Lead must be scarce. Now, that's
the sort of thing that would make a wound that wouldn't heal, and
delight old Morton."

Pat, pat, again overhead, and the missiles fell among the stones.

"We must stop this," said Roberts.--"Hold your fire, my lads, till you
have a good chance. One telling shot is worth a hundred bad ones."

"Ah! Look out," cried Bracy, who was scanning the distant grove of
large trees across the valley a quarter of a mile away. "There they go,
breaking cover to take up ground more forward, to have at us again."

For, all at once, some fifty white-coats became visible, as their owne