“’"Which if we has the luck,” says this Captain Edson, “to cross up with any Yanks who’s capable of aimin’ low an’ shootin’ half way troo, I’ll find a way to dodge that goin’ back without desertin’.”

“‘No, I don’t make no argyments with him; it’s hopeless talkin’ to a gent who’s melancholly an’ who’s pride’s been jarred; thar’s nothing but time can fix things up for him.  An’ I allers allows that this boy Captain would have emerged from the clouds eventooal, only it happens he don’t get the time.  His chance comes too soon; an’ he shore plays it desperate.

“‘Our first offishul act after reachin’ the Rio Grande is to lay for a passel of Yank cavalry—­thar’s two thousand of ’em I reckons.  We rides up on these yere lively persons as we sounds a halt for the evenin’.  It looks like our boogles is a summons, for they comes buttin’ into view through a dry arroya an’ out onto the wide green bottoms of the Rio Grande at the first call.  They’re about a mile away, an’ at sight of us they begins in a fashion of idle indifference to throw out a line of battle.  They fights on foot, them bloo folks do; dismounting with every fourth man to hold the hosses.  They displays a heap of insolence for nothin’ but cavalry an’ no big guns; but as they fights like infantry an’ is armed with Spencer seven-shooters besides, the play ain’t so owdacious neither.

“‘Thar’s mebby a hour of sun an’ I’m feelin’ mighty surly as I gets my battery into line.  I’m disgusted to think we’ve got to fight for our night’s camp, an’ swearin’ to myse’f in a low tone, so’s not to set profane examples to my men, at the idee that these yere Yanks is that preecip’tate they can’t wait till mornin’ for their war-jig.  But I can’t he’p myse’f.  That proverb about it takin’ two to make a fight is all a bluff.  It only takes one to make a fight.  As far as we-all rebs is concerned that evenin’ we ain’t honin’ for trouble, leastwise, not ontil mornin’; but them inordinate Yanks will have it, an’ thar you be.  The fight can’t be postponed.

“‘Thar’s no tumblin’ hurry about how any of us goes to work.  Both sides has got old at the game an’ war ain’t the novelty she is once.  The Yanks is takin’ their p’sition, an’ we’re locatin’ our lines an’ all as ca’mly an’ with no more excitement than if it’s dress p’rade.  The Yanks is from Colorado.  My sergeant speaks of ’em to me the next day an’ gives his opinion touchin’ their merits.

“’"Where did you say them Yankees comes from, Major?” says my serjeant.

“’"Colorado,” I replies.

“’"Which thar’s about thirty minutes last evenin’,” says my serjeant, “when I shorely thinks they’re recrooted in hell,” an’ my serjeant shakes his head.

“‘While I’m linin’ up my battery mighty discontented an’ disgruntled, an orderly pulls my sleeve.

“’"Look thar, Major!” he says.

“‘I turns, an’ thar over on our right, all alone, goes Captain Edson an’ his lancers.  Without waiting an’ without commands, Captain Edson has his boogler sound a charge; an’ thar goes the lancers stampedin’ along like they’re a army corps an’ cap’ble of sweepin’ the two thousand cool an’ c’llected Yankees off the Rio Grande.