"List! The cry of the sons of Mattathias--Mi-camo-ca-ba! 'who is like unto thee among the Gods!' Judas is conquering. See! See! Our people are over the hilltops. They are rushing down into the Wady. God be praised! The sword of the Lord and of Judas!" She seemed to forget the presence of her companion, yet at the slightest movement on his part her hand stayed him. "I will hasten to the eastward. Surely our troops will cut their way out there upon the open road," cried Dion. "Nay, but see! Jonathan and the men from Hebron are there." "Then I can follow into the ravine and die with my brave soldiers." "That way is also closed," said Deborah, "for Simon and the tribesmen from the north are pressing in after the Greeks. Look!" "How knew you this?" cried Dion, as his trained eye saw that the woman was correct. "Are you a spirit of battle? Do you hold the armies of Antiochus as you have held me? Are you witch, or are you woman?" "I know not," she replied, "I only know that Dion dies not to-day with the rest." Then the Greek broke away from his captor. It was but for a moment, for all around were Jews, who sprang up as if from the ground. "Back, back, or you are slain! These peasants never miss with the arrow or sling. Back!" She drew him to the covert. "For myself I care not, but you." "For my sake then, O Dion, do not leave me. They will kill me. Save me, Dion! Back! They will see your Greek armor, and the arrows will not leave a branch on the tree if you are detected. Back!" She had scarcely spoken when a missile clanged against the rock at her side. Deborah sprang from the covert, and stood exposed in the open. Dion heard the call of a Jew to his comrades: "It is only a woman; forward, men!" The group of patriots hurried by. Deborah scanned the field far and wide. Seeing that the Jews had all entered the ravine, she turned to her companion: "Dion, go quickly! Once Dion was called a traitor to his people because he saved the daughter of Elkiah; to-day Elkiah's child had almost betrayed her people that she might save the life of the noblest of Greeks. Hasten away." His arms would have retained her, but swift as a frightened fawn she ran, and, breathless in his futile pursuit, the Greek watched her agile form until it disappeared among the throngs which marked the edge of the battle. Then he sought to rejoin his forces. But it was only to be caught in a crowd of fugitives who had escaped from the Wady, and, helmetless, were making their way to the west. The setting sun that day was not so red as the blood-stained rocks in the Wady. Thousands of corpses lay amid the broken spear-shafts and empty helmets which lined the dry bed of the brook, waiting until the next winter's storms should flood its banks and wash away the signs of one of the grandest victories of few over many that history has ever recorded.