shiny knives
that swung at their sides. The sight of them set Pasha's nerves
tingling. He would sniff curiously after them and then prick forward his
ears and dance nervously.

Of course Pasha knew that something unusual was going on, but what it
was he could not guess. There came a time, however, when he found out
all about it. Months had passed when, late one night, a hard-breathing,
foam-splotched, mud-covered horse was ridden into the yard and taken
into the almost deserted stable. Pasha heard the harsh voice of "Mars"
Clayton swearing at the stable-boy. Pasha heard his own name spoken, and
guessed that it was he who was wanted. Next came Miss Lou to the
stable.

"I'm very sorry," he heard "Mars" Clayton say, "but I've got to get out
of this. The Yanks are not more than five miles behind."

"But you'll take good care of him, won't you?" he heard Miss Lou ask
eagerly.

"Oh, yes; of course," replied "Mars" Clayton, carelessly.

A heavy saddle was thrown on Pasha's back, the girths pulled cruelly
tight, and in a moment "Mars" Clayton was on his back. They were barely
clear of Gray Oaks driveway before Pasha felt something he had never
known before. It was as if someone had jabbed a lot of little knives
into his ribs. Roused by pain and fright, Pasha reared in a wild attempt
to unseat this hateful rider. But "Mars" Clayton's knees seemed glued to
Pasha's shoulders. Next Pasha tried to shake him off by sudden leaps,
sidebolts, and stiff-legged jumps. These man[oe]uvres brought vicious
jerks on the wicked chain-bit that was cutting Pasha's tender mouth
sorrily and more jabs from the little knives. In this way did Pasha
fight until his sides ran with blood and his breast was plastered thick
with reddened foam.

In the meantime he had covered miles of road, and at last, along in the
cold gray of the morning, he was ridden into a field where were many
tents and horses. Pasha was unsaddled and picketed to a stake. This
latter indignity he was too much exhausted to resent. All he could do
was to stand, shivering with cold, trembling from nervous excitement,
and wait for what was to happen next.

It seemed ages before anything did happen. The beginning was a tripping
bugle-blast. This was answered by the voice of other bugles blown here
and there about the field. In a moment men began to tumble out of the
white tents. They came by twos and threes and dozens, until the field
was full of them. Fires were built on the gr