The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1909-02-05
(To be Contin ued.l

signs of the passage, and finally there
 was proof ahead that Pillar had stop
 ped to give battle. He had reached
 his vantage ground. Cornell and his
 men drew back and waited. Nightfal
 came and with it the spiteful crack of
 the Mauser rife. A brawny troope,
 toppled over with a great hole ill his
 head. Pilar's pickets could see like
 cats in the night. The native scout
 reported that the big village Of Con
 cepcion was not far ahead; Pilar's men
 were making their stand before this
 rather important stronghold.
 "We'l get a scrap that is a scrap
 boys" said Cornell exultingly. 'These fellows are going to put up fight at
 last. They're like bees up wonder. We've got to fall back on the com pany. If we don't, they'll chew US up before the little captain can get to us" ;"
 Too well did the men know the belli- cose temperament of the big Irishman to think of grumbling at such com mand. yet it was with a certain reluc- tance which Invariably accompanies a backward step that the men retired to meet the advancing company. Young Bansemer in his khaki uni form was not the immaculate, debon- naire man of the drawing room. Serv- ice, though short, had been hard and grueling. His face was even hand somer with its rugged lines and set features. He was thinner and brown CT; his eyes were clearer and a darker gray; his hair seemed thicker and fairer than before; his figure more erect and sinewy. The wistful look in his eyes seemed to betray hunger for action; his ever ready eagerness to be on the move told of his strength and of his weakness. He had the lean, active bearing of the panther and the restless daring of that 1.-the animal. No man in the company had stood fire as valiantly as he. He courted the whiz of the bullet, scoffed at the rig ors of the march and instinctively was good shot with the rife. He bore no grudge against the department at home; he had no grievance.
 The officers recognized in him a man of parts, man of station far above the position which be had chosen in the army. He was source of mys- tery to the men of his own rank in the line-the plowboys, the teamsters, the roustabouts and the ne'er-do- wells who had gone into the army from choice or discretion. At first they had called him the dude" and had laughed at his white hands and clean jaws. His indifference to their taunts annoyed them. One day he knocked down the biggest bully of the lot and walked away without even waiting to see whether he would arise after the blow He simply glared at the next man who chaffed. It was enough The com pany held him in new respect that forbade the reporting of the incident to the officer of the day.
 Every night before he lay down to sleep in the rice field or the barrios, he took from his pocket leather case and gazed at the small portrait it shel- tered. No one had been permitted to see him in his devotions, for that was what he called these sacred moments His lean face, full of fierce energy all day long. softened as his eyes de- voured the dainty miniature.
 
 "Halt! Who goes therer"
 A shot rang out in the stiffness of the night. It was answered at once by another closer in. More shots fol- lowed, gradually increasing to fusil- Jade 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 nearerv'
 They had not long to wait From all sides horde of shouting, firing men were rushing on the little square.
 "Here they are! Now, then, boys, frer'
 Volley after volley rang out The foremost of the enemy fell at their feet. Hand to hand was the fighting. The bayonets lunged with deadly eff feet, but seemed powerless to thrust the mass back on itself. Men shot, hacked, stabbed and clubbed each otb- CT. It was a whirl Of uplifting and descending rifles and bolos.
 Fierce oaths vied with the shrieks of the wounded for supremacy. The grunt of men who slaughter, the gasps of the victims when the steel went home, were heard on all sides. At times the soldiers could not see on ac- count of the sweat and blood pouring from their faces. The very air was foul from the steam from the living and the dead. They could not breathe. A sort of vertigo overpowered them, and they only kept their feet by grap- bling with the enemy.
 To .Bansemer 1t seemed that all his life he had been doing nothing but warding off and delivering blows Fighting side by side with Rogers, he saw, with horror, that the soldiers rifle had been torn from his hands and that he had no weapon to defend himself, but before he could see just how if bannened thiS individual com