Behind the advance, full four hundred yards, rode the
skirmish line from the first platoon, a dozen strong. Far out to the
east and west the flankers moved steadily northward, keenly watching the
slopes beyond them and scanning the crooked line of the arroyo ahead.
Not a sign at the moment could be seen of the painted foe, yet every man
in the troop well knew they swarmed by dozens behind the buttes and
ridges ahead. Ray and Field, riding easily along in rear of the line,
with only the trumpeter within earshot, relaxed in no measure the
vigilance demanded by the situation, yet each was deeply concerned in
the subject of the talk.
"There was no time. We had to start at once," continued Ray. "Wait until
you are back at the old desk, Field, and you'll find the major is, and
was, your stanch friend in this matter--"
"I'll never go back to it, captain!" broke in Field, impetuously. "If
ordered to resume duty as adjutant, come what may, I shall refuse."
But before Ray could interpose again there came sudden and stirring
interruption. From a point far down the "swale," from behind the low
bank of the stream bed, three rifle shots rang out on the crisp morning
air. The horse of the leading flanker, away out to the right, reared and
plunged violently, the rider seeming vainly to strive to check him.
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