“Then what can we do?” cried Marcus.
“I’ll tell you what’s best, boy,” said the old soldier, thoughtfully. “They’re a long way off us, both in front and on the left.”
“Ah, try and trick them?” cried Marcus. “I know!”
“That’s right, then, boy,” said Serge, with a smile. “How would you do it?”
“Why like this,” cried Marcus, excitedly—“Pull up!” he cried to the driver.
The man obeyed, and the ponies stopped short, looking full of go, but with their sides marked heavily with sweat and foam.
“Now,” cried Marcus, laying down his spear and leaping out of the chariot, “out with you both. Lie down, Lupe! Quiet, sir!”
The driver and Serge sprang from their places and followed Marcus to the heads of their steeds, to begin patting and caressing them in the full sight of the army.
“Now,” continued Marcus, “you get back into the car,” and the driver stepped into his place.
“Take hold of the reins and hold them ready, but sit down as if your work was done. You, Serge, lead one pony; I’ll lead the other, and we’ll walk them slowly towards the enemy away here to the left.”