less in the midst of a
horrid din, he knew not what to do, nor which way to turn. His only
impulse was to escape. But where? Lifting high his fine head and
snorting with terror he rushed about, first this way and then that,
frantically seeking a way out of this fog-filled field of dreadful
pandemonium. Now he swerved in his course to avoid a charging squad, now
he was turned aside by prone objects at sight of which he snorted
fearfully. Although the blades still rang and the carbines still spoke,
there were no more to be seen either lines or order. Here and there in
the dust-clouds scurried horses, some with riders and some without, by
twos, by fours, or in squads of twenty or more. The sound of shooting
and slashing and shouting filled the air.

To Pasha it seemed an eternity that he had been tearing about the field
when he shied at the figure of a man sitting on the ground. Pasha was
about to wheel and dash away when the man called to him. Surely the
tones were familiar. With wide-open, sniffing nostrils and trembling
knees, Pasha stopped and looked hard at the man on the ground.

"Pasha! Pasha!" the man called weakly. The voice sounded like that of
Mr. Dave.

"Come, boy! Come, boy!" said the man in a coaxing tone, which recalled
to Pasha the lessons he had learned at Gray Oaks years before. Still
Pasha sniffed and hesitated.

"Come here, Pasha, old fellow. For God's sake, come here!"

There was no resisting this appeal. Step by step Pasha went nearer. He
continued to tremble, for this man on the ground, although his voice was
that of Mr. Dave, looked much different from the one who had taught him
tricks. Besides, there was about him the scent of fresh blood. Pasha
could see the stain of it on his blue trousers.

"Come, boy. Come, Pasha," insisted the man on the ground, holding out an
encouraging hand. Slowly Pasha obeyed until he could sniff the man's
fingers. Another step and the man was smoothing his nose, still speaking
gently and coaxingly in a faint voice. In the end Pasha was assured that
the man was really the Mr. Dave of old, and glad enough Pasha was to
know it.

"Now, Pasha," said Mr. Dave, "we'll see if you've forgotten your tricks,
and may the good Lord grant you haven't. Down, sir! Kneel, Pasha,
kneel!"

[Illustration: "Come, boy. Come, Pasha," insisted the man on the
ground.]

It had been a long time since Pasha had been asked to do this, a very
long time; but here was Mr. Dave asking him, i