I stooped down and with a sudden movement snatched the gun from his grasp. “Don’t mind it, Bucks,” said the man in the tree; “I’ll shoot.” “If you do,” I cried, “I’ll put a bullet through you the next moment.” “And if you should chance to miss,” said Whitestone, coming up beside me, “I’ve a bullet in my gun for the same man.” The man in the tree was no martyr, nor wanting to be, and he cried out to us that he would not shoot. In proof of it he took his gunstock from his shoulder. The other men did nothing, waiting upon my movements. “Bucks,” I said, “if I give you your gun, do you promise not to shoot at those women?” “Do you take all the responsibility?” “Certainly.” “Give me my gun. I won’t use it.” I handed him his rifle, which he took in silence. I don’t think Bucks was a bad man, merely one borne along by an excess of zeal. He has thanked me since for restraining him. The women, Kate still leading them, filled their buckets and pails at the river and walked back to the camp with the same calm and even step. Again and again was this repeated, and many a fever-burnt throat in the besieged camp must have been grateful. I felt a glow when I sent a messenger to our colonel with word of what I had done and he returned with a full indorsement. How could our officers have done otherwise? I was sorry I could not get a better view of Kate Van Auken’s face. But she never turned it our way. Apparently she was ignorant of our existence, though, of course, it was but a pretense, and she knew that a dozen of the best marksmen in America lay on the hill within easy range of her comrades and herself. “There’s but one thing more for you to do, Mr. Shelby,” whispered Whitestone. “What’s that?” “Save the life of madame, her mother. She’s the only one yet unsaved by you.” “I will, Whitestone,” I replied, “if I get the chance.” After a while, though late, the women ceased to come for the water. Presently the sun went down and that day’s work was done. My belief that Chudleigh was a very fortunate man was deepening. CHAPTER XXI. THE MESSENGER. I rose early the next morning, and my first wish was for duties other than keeping the enemy away from the water. I found Whitestone sitting on his camp blanket and smoking his pipe with an expression of deep-seated content. “What are we to do to-day?” I asked him, for Whitestone usually knew everything. “I haven’t heard of anything,” he replied. “Maybe we’ll rest. We deserve it, you and I.” Whitestone has some egotism, though I do not undertake to criticise him for it.