Colonel Killem. Tell him he's a poor
fellow wot's wrong in his head, an' thinks he's at a cricket match."

The captured umpire, who was a sportsman with a real sense of humour,
laughed heartily as he was led away.

"Knew he was mad," commented Bill, as he watched him go. "Now, Paddy,
that patrol has scooted; let's get after them."

The attack was now well into the first stage. The scouts of the
Lancashires were fighting a running action with the scouts and patrols
of the Australians. From knoll to knoll they were pressed, both sides
skilfully using every fold in the ground. Bill, by this time, had
increased his army to about twenty men. Using the most original
adjectives and assuming a superior air, he ordered his command about
like some old fire-eating colonel. His vigorous pursuit kept the enemy
busy, but eventually they pulled him up in front of a roughly-made
sangar. This was a strong detached post thrown out in front of the
outpost line. The defenders gave his little army a fierce fusillade of
blank.

"That's up _you_, Buffalo Bill," said the mischievous Doolan.

"Silence in the ranks," roared Bill, who was taking himself very
seriously. He carefully surveyed the position, which held fifty men.
They were not to be moved, that was evident. Bill determined to do so.

"Fix bayonets!" he shouted.

"Ain't allowed," said a stripling at his side.

"Fix bayonets!" he ordered again.

"I tell you it ain't allowed at these sham shows. Colonel's orders."

"Look 'ere, you take Bill Buster's orders, or you'll get a thick ear."
That settled the matter.

"Charge!" roared the leader, jumping up and leading the twenty
full-blooded desperadoes up to the redoubt.

"Halt, you fellows! Halt!" roared a Lancashire subaltern, jumping up.
"Are you off your bally heads?"

"'Ere, mate, you're supposed to be dead," said Bill, panting and
blowing, but holding a bayonet at his chest. The remainder of his
party were, meantime, tickling the fast retreating Lancashire lads with
the points of their bayonets.

"Don't you know who I am?" said the indignant subaltern.

"Look 'ere, young fellow, you're supposed to be dead."

"How dare you--I'm an officer!"

"I'm Bill Buster. Now will you lie down an' kid you're dead. That's
wot you've got to do at these shows."

"Don't be a bally ass!"

"All right, cocky; hand me that sword."

As Bill's bayonet looked rather unpleasant, the officer complied. Then
Bill sat down