All told, the battle of Peitsang lasted from three o’clock, Sunday morning, the 5th of August, until well toward noon. The principal troops engaged were the Russian and Japanese, and the total loss to the Allies was twelve hundred killed and wounded. How many the Chinese lost will probably never be known, but they certainly numbered into the thousands. The capture of Peitsang was important, and many supposed that the Allies would rest there. But this was not to be; for that would have given the Chinese time to throw up intrenchments at Yangtsun, seven miles distant. “We must go right after them!” said more than one soldier. And go after them they did, early on Monday; and by Tuesday Yangtsun had fallen, and the Chinese were retreating in the direction of Ho-Si-Wu and Matow. The awful heat told fearfully upon Captain Banner’s company; and most of the soldiers were glad enough to rest at Yangtsun for half a day, to await rations and some necessary equipments. The only troops who would not rest were the Japanese. Those little fighters were on the go night and day, and did not seem to know what exhaustion meant. “They beat me,” declared Captain Banner. “I have seen Indians keep it up pretty well, but never like these sons of Japan. I believe they’ll go right straight through to Pekin without sleeping.” And the captain was about right. At Yangtsun, Gilbert was placed in charge of a detachment stationed not far from the river, where there were a number of large warehouses filled with rice and other produce. These warehouses were owned by Americans, and it was the young lieutenant’s duty to see that they were not destroyed. The night was a gloomy one, as if rain was coming. It was Gilbert’s time off, yet he felt too stirred up to sleep. Besides this, the wound over his breast, while it did not hurt outright, itched considerably, adding to his wakefulness. Unconscious of danger, he walked slowly down the street upon which the warehouses were located. He met a number of Chinese; but all were unarmed, and appeared to be friendly. At the end of the block was a sort of hotel, which was now almost deserted. But there was one Chinaman standing at the front door; and, as Gilbert passed, this fellow eyed the young lieutenant narrowly. “It is the same!” he exclaimed in Chinese. “The very same!” And he clenched his fists in rage. “Did you speak?” asked a second Chinaman, standing within the front room of the hotel. “I did, Tung,” was the answer. “Do you see yonder American officer?” And the man at the doorway pointed with his long bony finger. “And what of that soldier?” “It was he who caused my brother Fun’s house to be burnt down, and caused Fun and Ching Wo to be killed.” “Ah! You are sure of that?” “I am positive.” Chow Ching grated his yellow teeth. “Would that I could lay him low!” “Would that we could lay all the foreign devils low!” answered the one called Tung. “We will do that in time. But this man,--he helped to kill my brother!”