Bareheaded, through the hot sun, they travelled rapidly along the turnpike, keeping a sharp lookout for occasional parties of cavalry and hiding in the fields until they passed.  Sometimes they talked of the contrasted ways of life in Japan and in America, and again Winslow wrote hurriedly in his note-book as he walked.

About three o’clock in the afternoon they stopped in the shade where a rivulet fell over a small cataract.

“Aren’t you hungry?” asked Ethel, after they had drunk from the brook.

“I don’t know.  I hadn’t thought of it particularly,” replied her companion.  “Let’s see, the last time I ate was in a farmhouse north of Houston.  That was eight days ago.  When have you last eaten?”

“Yesterday morning,” replied the girl.

“Then you are probably hungrier than I am.”

With their conversation and the murmur of the waterfall they had failed to detect the approach of two cavalry officers, who, walking their tired mounts, had come up unheeded.

“Hey! look at the beauty in breeches!” called one of the approaching men.

[Illustration:  He rolled a bundle of “Regenerationists” on the wing of the aeroplane below.]

“Her for mine,” returned the other.

“I saw it first—­hie!” returned the first, drawing rein.

“Give it to me, you hog; you’ve got one!”

“All right, all right—­go take it—­maybe the bum will object,” laughed the first, as the unshaven Winslow advanced in front of the girl.

“Run quick,” called Winslow to Ethel.  “They’re too drunk to shoot straight.”

The turnpike was inclosed by a high, woven-wire fence, and the girl obeying turned down the road.  Her would-be claimant put spurs to his horse and dashed after her, leaving Winslow covering the rear horseman with his magazine pistol.

“Well,” said the drunken officer weakly, “I ain’t doing nothing.”

“Then ride down the road the other way as fast as you can go.”

The officer obeyed.

For a moment Winslow watched him and then turned to see Ethel climbing over the woven-wire fence with the soldier trying to urge his horse up the embankment to reach her.

Winslow started to run to the girl’s rescue, but no sooner had he turned than a bullet sang past his ear.  Wheeling about he saw the other cavalryman riding toward him firing as he came.

With lewd brutality calling for vengeance in one direction and a man firing at his back from the other, Winslow’s aversion to bloodshed became nil; and, aiming cool, he began firing at the approaching officer.

It must have been the horse that got the bullet, for with the third shot mount and rider somersaulted upon the macadam.

Without compunction, Winslow turned and sprinted down the roadway.  He saw Ethel dashing across the field, hurdling the cotton rows.  The officer was racing down the road, seeming away from her, but in another moment he turned through a gap in the fence and rode down upon the fleeing woman.