hundred pair of eyes watched those two there on the bridge of logs.

“Dolly, you are mad!” he said, with the angry colour flashing in his face and staining throat and brow.

“Will you do me justice before you go?”

“Will you stand aside?” he said between his teeth.

“Yes — I will stand aside� . And may you remember me when you burn at the last reckoning with God!”

“‘Tention! Trail arms! By the left flank — march!” he cried, his voice trembling with rage.

The shuffling velvet tread of his riflemen fell on the bridge; and they passed, rifles at a trail, and fringes blowing in the freshening breeze.

Without a word I fell in behind. After me loped my Indians in perfect silence.