“It’s stampeding cavalry,” said the sharp-eyed Ethel, “and the airmen are dropping bombs on them.”

The cloud of dust came nearer and nearer until they could see the swift fall of the deadly missiles from the swooping planes and the havoc wrought in the straggling ranks by the showers of pellets from the shrapnel exploding above their heads.

When the foremost of the cavalry troop were perhaps a quarter of a mile from the observers, a commanding officer, who was riding well in the lead, wheeled his horse, threw away his jacket, tore off his white shirt and waived it frantically above his head.

An answering truce flag soon appeared from a plane above and the jaded horsemen, riding up, drew rein and waited.

The truce plane now swooped low and dropped a message fastened to a white cloth.  A soldier caught it and brought it to the officer, who signalled assent.

Orders were called along the line, and the men filed by and piled their weapons in an inglorious heap.

After this most of the lazy circling planes rose and made off to the left, while a few assigned to guard duty circled above the retreating cavalry, as they moved off slowly in the opposite direction.

Two belated members of the troop, who had lost their horses, flung themselves down to rest for a moment in the lengthening shadow of the oak tree.

“Oh Gawd!” said one, as he panted and mopped his forehead.  “Oh Gawd!  I was scared!  That damned shrapnel bursting right over us and no chance to fight back or get away.  It ain’t no fair fighting like that—­you can’t get at ’em.”

“They’ve tricked us, they have,” returned his companion.  “Our own airmen’s up in Nebraska chasing the Japs that gave us the slip this morning, and here these damn hawks come swooping in.  I reckon it’s reinforcements from Japan.  The transports that brought the first bunch must have been back and got another load, and this time it seems to be regular soldiers—­here to kill—­the others were just decoys.”

“No, they ain’t exactly decoys; they’re here to stay and raise families, and damned if that ain’t what I’m going to do, if I ever get out of this.  Gawd! our loss must be something awful, and they’re at it yet.  Look! see ’em over there by Beaumont like a flock of crows.  The bunch that got us was just a few of them.”

For a time both soldiers eyed the distant fighting.

“When I get out of this,” continued the first speaker; “when I get out, I’m going to join the Regenerationists.”

“What’s that; peace cranks?”

“Yep; but it’s more than that, it’s health cranks and temperance cranks, and moral cranks, and socialist cranks, and every other kind of crank that believes in people being decent and living happy—­health, quiet lives, instead of fighting and robbing and—­boozing and abusing themselves and each other to death.”

“Oh, Hell! don’t preach just because you’re scared,” said the other, getting up.