e noise of trap-wheels could
be heard across the plain. Major Oldyne Commanding the Horse Battery,
was coming back from a dinner in the Civil Lines; was driving after his
usual custom--that is to say, as fast as the horse could go.

"A orf'cer! A blooming spangled orf'cer," shrieked Simmons; "I'll make a
scarecrow of that orf'cer!" The trap stopped.

"What's this?" demanded the Major of Gunners. "You there, drop your
rifle."

"Why, it's Jerry Blazes! I ain't got no quarrel with you, Jerry Blazes.
Pass frien', an' all's well!"

But Jerry Blazes had not the faintest intention of passing a dangerous
murderer. He was, as his adoring Battery swore long and fervently,
without knowledge of fear, and they were surely the best judges, for
Jerry Blazes, it was notorious, had done his possible to kill a man each
time the Battery went out.

He walked toward Simmons, with the intention of rushing him, and
knocking him down.

"Don't make me do it, Sir," said Simmons; "I ain't got nothing agin you.
Ah! you would?"--the Major broke into a run--"Take that then!"

The Major dropped with a bullet through his shoulder, and Simmons stood
over him. He had lost the satisfaction of killing Losson in the desired
way: hut here was a helpless body to his hand. Should be slip in another
cartridge, and blow off the head, or with the butt smash in the white
face? He stopped to consider, and a cry went up from the far side of
the parade-ground: "He's killed Jerry Blazes!" But in the shelter of the
well-pillars Simmons was safe except when he stepped out to fire. "I'll
blow yer 'andsome 'ead off, Jerry Blazes," said Simmons, reflectively.
"Six an' three is nine an one is ten, an' that leaves me another
nineteen, an' one for myself." He tugged at the string of the second
packet of ammunition. Corporal Slane crawled out of the shadow of a bank
into the moonlight.

"I see you!" said Simmons. "Come a bit furder on an' I'll do for you."

"I'm comm'," said Corporal Slane, briefly; "you've done a bad day's
work, Sim. Come out 'ere an' come back with me."

"Come to,"--laugbed Simmons, sending a cartridge home with his thumb.
"Not before I've settled you an' Jerry Blazes."

The Corporal was lying at full length in the dust of the parade-ground,
a rifle under him. Some of the less-cautious men in the distance
shouted: "Shoot 'im! Shoot 'im, Slane!"

"You move 'and or foot, Slane," said Simmons, "an' I'll kick Jerry
Blazes' 'ead in, and shoot you