“Oh, well; it is too late, now,” muttered the taiko’s once trusted ally, giving the order, in reality, for an unrecallable, before-the-day-break assault; then staggering to the ground, helplessly, under the weight of his own remorseful thirst, as he did the quenchless deed. “Stab; yes, stab her, too!”

And Yodogima answered, that final test, as became a weaker hand, if stronger heart.

Fog clouds hung low, the darkness grew intense, and these men could scarcely see their way; dread uncertainty had laid hold on shrivelled hearts; Maeda’s advance groped its way round the hill Sasayama; Maeda and some few others climbed up.

“Where is he?” asked they, of one another; “these grounds seem deserted.”

“Hark!” ventured someone.

“Did you hear that snore?” inquired another.

“It is Sanada; he sleeps; over there; at the outer castle gate; let us strike him; he is foolish.”

They stumbled forward, in the darkness, and coming upon a man propped against a stake. Date prodded him; this daimyo had been doing similar service since the days of Odawara.

“What are you doing here; do you not know that we are enemies?” inquired Mori, another of Hideyoshi’s upon-a-time staunch supporters.

“I wait to see, that we make no mistake; we have some farmers’ arrows to shoot with, but would do no harm, to a friend.”