“‘For a moment all we does is stand an’ look; the surprise of it leaves no idee of action.  The lancers swings across the grassy levels.  Thar’s not a shot fired; Edson’s people ain’t got nothin’ but them reedic’lous spears, an’ the Yanks, who seems to know it, stands like the rest of us without firin’ an’ watches ’em come.  It’s like a picture, with the thin bright air an’ the settin’ sun shinin’ sideways over the gray line of mountains fifty miles to the west.

“‘I never sees folks more placid than the Yanks an’ at the same time so plumb alert.  Mountain lions is lethargic to ’em.  When Captain Edson an’ his lancers charges into ’em the Yanks opens right an’ left, each sharp of ’em gettin’ outen the way of that partic’lar lancer who’s tryin’ to spear him; but all in a steady, onruffled fashion that’s as threatenin’ as it is excellent.  The lancers, with Captain Edson, goes through, full charge, twenty rods to the r’ar of the Yankee line.  An’, gents, never a man comes back.

“‘As Edson an’ his troop goes through, the Yanks turns an’ opens on ’em.  The voices of the Spencers sounds like the long roll of a drum.  Hoss an’ man goes down, dead an’ wounded; never a gent of ’em all rides back through that awful Yankee line.  Pore Edson shore has his wish; he’s cut the trail of folks who’s cap’ble of aimin’ low an’ shootin’ half way troo.

“‘These sperited moves I’ve been relatin’ don’t take no time in the doin’.  The hairbrain play of Captain Edson forces our hands.  The Old Man orders a charge, an’ we pushes the Yanks back onto their hosses an’ rescoos what’s left of Edson an’ his lancers.  After skirmishin’ a little the Yanks draws away an’ leaves us alone on the field.  They earns the encomiums of my serjeant, though, before ever they decides to vamos.

“’Edson’s been shot hard and frequent; thar’s no chance for him.  He looks up at me, when we’re bringin’ him off, an’ says: 

“‘"Joe,” an’ he smiles an’ squeezes my hand, while his tones is plenty feeble, “Joe, you notes don’t you that while I ain’t goin’ back to Texas, I don’t have to desert.”

“’That night we beds down our boy Captain in a sol’tary Mexican ’doby.  He’s layin’ on a pile of blankets clost by the door while the moon shines down an’ makes things light as noonday.  He’s been talkin’ to me an’ givin’ me messages for his mother an’ the rest of his outfit at Waco, an’ I promises to carry ’em safe an’ deliver ’em when I rides in ag’in on good old Texas.  Then he wants his mare brought up where he can pet her muzzle an’ say Adios to her.

“‘"For, Joe,” he says, “I’m doo to go at once now, an’ my days is down to minutes.”

“’"The medicine man, Ed,” I says, “tells me that you-all has hours to live.”

“’"But, Joe,” he replies, “I knows.  I’m a mighty good prophet you recalls about my not goin’ back, an’ you can gamble I’m not makin’ any mistakes now.  It’s down to minutes, I tells you, an’ I wants to see my mare.”