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“Pull up!” said the Second in Command; “I don’t want my step in that way, Colonel. He’s as dangerous as a mad dog.”

“Shoot him like one, then,” said the Colonel bitterly, “if he won’t take his chance. My regiment, too! If it had been the Towheads I could have understood.”

Private Simmons had occupied a strong position near a well on the edge of the parade-ground, and was defying the regiment to come on. The regiment was not anxious to comply, for there is small honour in being shot by a fellow-private. Only Corporal Slane, rifle in hand, threw himself down on the ground, and wormed his way towards the well.

“Don’t shoot,” said he to the men round him; “like as not you’ll ‘it me. I’ll catch the beggar livin’.”

Simmons ceased shouting for a while, and th noise of trap-wheels could be heard across the plain. Major Oldyne, Commanding the Horse Battery, was coming back from a dinner in the Civil Lines; was driving after his usual custom – that is to say, as fast as the horse could go.

“A orf’cer! A blooming spangled orf’cer!” shrieked Simmons; “I’ll make a scarecrow of that orf’cer!” The trap stopped.

“What’s this?” demanded the Major of Gunners. “You there, drop your rifle.”

“Why, it’s Jerry Blazes! I ain’t got no quarrel with you, Jerry Blazes. Pass, frien’, an’ all’s well!”

But Jerry Blazes had not the faintest intention of passing a dangerous murderer. He was, as his adoring Battery swore long and fervently, without knowledge of fear, and they were surely the best judges, for Jerry Blazes, it was notorious, had done his possible to kill a man each time the Battery went out.

He walked towards Simmons, with the intention of rushing him and knocking him down.

“Don’t make me do it, Sir,” said Simmons; “I ain’t got nothing ag’in’ you. Ah! you would?” – the Major broke into a run – “Take that, then!”

The Major dropped with a bullet through his shoulder, and Simmons stood over him. He had lost the satisfaction of killing Losson in the desired way: but here was a helpless body to his hand. Should he slip in another cartridge, and blow off the head, or with the butt smash in the white face? He stopped to consider, and a cry went up from the far side of the parade-ground: “He’s killed Jerry Blazes!” But in the shelter of the well-pillars Simmons was safe, except when he stepped out to fire. “I’ll blow yer ‘andsome ‘ead off, Jerry Blazes,” said Simmons reflectively. “Six and three is nine an’ one is ten, an’ that leaves me another nineteen, an’ one for myself” He tugged at the string of the second packet of ammunition. Corporal Slane crawled out of the shadow of a bank into the moonlight.

“I see you!” said Simmons. “Come a bit furder on an’ I’ll do for you.”

“I’m comin’,” said Corporal Slane briefly; “you’ve done a bad day’s work, Sim. Come out ‘ere an’ come back with me.”

“Come to,” laughed Simmons, sending a cartridge home with his thumb. “Not before I’ve settled you an’ Jerry Blazes.”

The Corporal was lying at full length in the dust of the parade- ground, a rifle under him. Some of the less cautious men in the distance shouted: “Shoot ‘im! Shoot ‘im, Slane!”

“You move ‘and or foot, Slane,” said Simmons, “an’ I’ll kick Jerry Blazes’ ‘ead in, and shoot you after.”

“I ain’t movin’,” said the Corporal, raising his head; “you daren’t ‘it a man on ‘is legs. Let go o’ Jerry Blazes an’ come out o’ that with your fistes. Come an’ ‘it me. You daren’t, you bloom- in’ dog-shooter!”

“I dare.”

“You lie, you man-sticker. You sneakin’, Sheeny butcher, you lie. See there!” Slane kicked the rifle away, and stood up in the peril of his life. “Come on, now!”

The temptation was more than Simmons could resist, for the Corporal in his white clothes offered a perfect mark.