xplained Lathrop. "It's the same thing."

Miss Farrar smiled vindictively. Her eyes shone. "You need not wait
long," she said. There was a crash of a falling stone wall, and of
parting bushes, but not in time to give Lathrop warning. As though from
the branches of the trees opposite two soldiers fell into the road;
around his hat each wore the red band of the invader; each pointed his
rifle at Lathrop.

"Hands up!" shouted one. "You're my prisoner!" cried the other.

Mechanically Lathrop raised his hands, but his eyes turned to Miss
Farrar.

"Did you know?" he asked.

"I have been watching them," she said, "creeping up on you for the last
ten minutes."

Lathrop turned to the two soldiers, and made an effort to smile.

"That was very clever," he said, "but I have twenty men up the road, and
behind them a regiment. You had better get away while you can."

The two Reds laughed derisively. One, who wore the stripes of a
sergeant, answered: "That won't do! We been a mile up the road, and you
and us are the only soldiers on it. Gimme the gun!"

Lathrop knew he had no right to refuse. He had been fairly surprised,
but he hesitated. When Miss Farrar was not in his mind his amateur
soldiering was to him a most serious proposition. The war game was a
serious proposition, and that, through his failure for ten minutes to
regard it seriously, he had been made a prisoner, mortified him keenly.
That his humiliation had taken place in the presence of Beatrice Farrar
did not lessen his discomfort, nor did the explanation he must later
make to his captain afford him any satisfaction. Already he saw himself
playing the star part in a court-martial. He shrugged his shoulders and
surrendered his gun.

As he did so he gloomily scrutinized the insignia of his captors.

"Who took me?" he asked.

"WE took you," exclaimed the sergeant.

"What regiment?" demanded Lathrop, sharply. "I have to report who took
me; and you probably don't know it, but your collar ornaments are upside
down." With genuine exasperation he turned to Miss Farrar.

"Lord!" he exclaimed, "isn't it bad enough to be taken prisoner, without
being taken by raw recruits that can't put on their uniforms?"

The Reds flushed, and the younger, a sandy-haired, rat-faced youth,
retorted angrily: "Mebbe we ain't strong on uniforms, beau," he snarled,
"but you've got nothing on us yet, that I can see. You look pretty with
your hands in the air, don't you?"

"Shut up,"