“Little we thought of him while he shared All that was worst in the long campaign; Little he guessed that we really cared, But drums roll now for the slain. Spreading the Flag o’er his last long sleep, Leading the horse which he may not ride. Tho’ for the living the roads are steep— The road for the Dead rolls wide.” “’Ere, stop that!” Red howled at him, then wiped his eyes with his sleeve, as the Blackguard went on in a broken voice, revelling in grief. “Bravely he suffer’d and manly fought; Great with Death’s majesty rides he there; Royal the honors he dearly bought— The peace which we may not share.” “Oh, shut up!” Red wailed, but la Mancha grinned at him. “Blackguard, got any more ammunition?” The Blackguard chuckled: “For my self? why, plenty!” and he fired at a pearly gust of smoke among fairy trees of diamond. Then he heard the death scream of a horse at the rear, the shouting of orders, and a bugle crying, “Cease firing! Retire!” II. The horses were bought up from the rear, bucking, fighting, breaking away, or falling in their traces as the teamsters took them in charge. Then the enemy charged, the rear guard held them back, and confusion verged towards panic under a galling fire. La Mancha, with Red for his off man, was lucky enough to get a team away unharmed, but, as his horses plunged through breast-high drifts, he heard the outcry of two wounded men. Their sleigh, with one horse killed, and the other dying, had been abandoned. “All right, Gilchrist!” he called. “Keep your hair on, Smith!” then swung his team about—“Drive on!” yelled Inspector Sarde, jumping directly in his path. For answer the Blackguard drove straight over him to the rescue. In another moment willing helpers had carried the wounded men to la Mancha’s sleigh, and half a dozen jumped in to defend them, as the teamsters swung away towards the trail. When he had tailed in with the retreat he turned, “What became of Sarde the Coward?” he called back over his shoulder. “In your sleigh, constable!” answered the officer. “Sergeant, put this man under arrest.” “Yes, sir,” the sergeant saluted. “Constable la Mancha,” he called, “for charging an officer with cowardice in the field, consider yourself under arrest.” The charge was made, and only la Mancha could withdraw that now. Sarde looked from face to face and all eyes accused him; all these men were witnesses against him on a charge of cowardice in the field. He set his teeth. “Sergeant,” he said, “when we reach the Fort you will put this constable under close arrest.”