O’Reilly, unable to contain himself, burst forth in a rage:  “You infernal fool!  Do you want to be shot robbing a clothes-line?”

“Rats!” ejaculated Leslie, sourly.  “I told you I had to have some clothes.”

“Lopez ought to court-martial you.  What are you going to do with that junk, now that you have it?  You can’t take it with you on the march.”

“You wait and see,” said the other.  “I’m going to be comfortable, if—­” He paused, with a peculiar, startled expression on his face.  “Did you hear anything?” he queried after a moment.  “No.  What?”

“Oh, nothing.”  The two men rode on in silence for a time, then Leslie said:  “Queer thing happened back there while those Romeos were popping at me.  I heard a baby crying.”

“A baby?”

“Sure.  I suppose it was the washerwoman’s kid.  When we flushed her she probably vamped out and left it in the grass.  Anyhow, it let up an awful holler.”

Jacket and the other loot-laden soldiers had been sent on ahead, together with those troopers who were sharing mounts with the rescued prisoners; they were now waiting perhaps two miles from town for their companions to overtake them.  As the column came up and halted, O’Reilly addressed a remark to Leslie Branch, but in the middle of it the faint, unmistakable complaint of a child came to his ears.

“Listen!” he exclaimed.  “What on earth—­”

“I’ve been hearing it right along,” Branch said.  “I—­I thought I had the willies.”

The nearest riders abruptly ceased their chatter; they questioned one another mutely, doubting their own ears.  Again came that thin, muffled wail, whereupon O’Reilly cried in astonishment: 

“Leslie!  Why, it—­it’s in your bundle!” He pointed to the formless roll of bedding which hung from his friend’s saddle-horn.

“G’wan!  You’re crazy!” Branch slipped to the ground, seized the bundle in his arms, and bore it to the roadside.  With shaking hands he tugged at the knotted corners of the comforter.  “Pure imagination!” he muttered, testily.  “There’s nothing in here but bedclothes.  I just grabbed an armful—­” The last word ended in a yell.  Leslie sprang into the air as if his exploring fingers had encountered a coiled serpent.  “Oh, my God!” He poised as if upon the point of flight.  “Johnnie!  Look!  It’s alive!”

“What’s alive?  What is it?”

With a sudden desperate courage Branch bent forward and spread out the bedding.  There, exposed to the bulging eyes of the onlookers, was a very tiny, very brown baby.  It was a young baby; it was quite naked.  Its eyes, exposed to the sudden glare of the morning sun, closed tightly; one small hand all but lost itself in the wide, toothless cavity that served as a mouth.  Its ten ridiculous toes curled and uncurled in a most amazing fashion.

“Oh, my God!” Branch repeated, aghast.  “It’s just b-born!  Its eyes aren’t open.”