"Depends on where he's hit. Then, there was that time when he dumb the hill back yonder and turned the fire o' the gugus so's we could get up into the pass. He makes me think o' Lawton. There's the boy for me. If we had a few more generals like Lawton we'd put a crimp in these niggers so quick it would look like a spasm." Having delivered himself of this safe prophecy, Mr. Rogers glared about him for opposition. None forthcoming, he proceeded, with a satisfied snort, to refill his pipe. "Lawton's makin' history, and don't you forget it," observed Luke Hardy. "He's from Indiana," piped up a homesick ploughboy from the Hoosier State. "Then, it'll be a historical novel," said the gaunt young recruit from Grand Rapids. He was a cynic who had tried newspaper work, and who still maintained that the generals did not have as much intelligence as the privates. "I'll never forget Bansemer when he first enlisted," reflected Joe Adams. "He wanted to go out for a cold plunge and a morning stroll, and then asked the sergeant where he could get a good riding horse. He's not so keen about strolls these days." "He don't turn up his nose at things like he used to, either." "I don't see why the devil he keeps so clean," grumbled Adams. "I can't." "I'll bet one thing," mused Rogers. "He'll be a captain or something before this scrap is over." "He'll be a corpse, that's what he'll be." "It's my opinion he'd just as lief be shot as not," said Relander. "The only trouble is that these measly niggers can't hit anything they shoot at. If the darned fools would only try to miss him, they'd get him sure. The devil and Tom Walker--what's that?" CHAPTER XXIII THE FIGHT IN THE CONVENT "Halt! Who goes there!" A shot rang out in the stillness of the night; it was answered at once by another closer in. More shots followed, gradually increasing to a fusillade as the scouts and pickets came running back. Men sprang up from the ground, but even as they did so another volley reached them, and three men dropped with a groan and lay still. The alarm sounded clear from the bugle and echoed back from the surrounding hills. A sharp command came from the throat of the sergeant; the company seized the stacked rifles. Captain Groce gave another order; the formation to repel attack was made in an incredibly short space of time. There was no disorder; no confusion. The little officer was as cool as if on dress parade. "Steady, men! Wait until they're nearer!" They had not long to wait. From all sides a horde of shouting, firing men were rushing on the little square. "Steady, men!" was still his only command. Then, when it seemed almost a physical impossibility to restrain their itching fingers from pulling the triggers, the longed for word was given. "Here they are! Now, then, boys, fire!"