CHAPTER XXIII.
WHEN VILLA CAME.
"Seems to me they are dropping down closer and closer all the time. How about that, Rob?" questioned Andy presently, as a new burst of shots rang out.
"They are closing in some, for a fact," admitted the scout master, who had been well aware of this condition right along, though up to now he had kept it to himself, waiting to ascertain whether any one of his comrades would notice it.
"Hasn't the time come yet, Rob?" pleaded Andy.
"For what?" asked the other, although he could easily guess what Andy meant by the way he handled his rifle and looked anxiously up the slope to where those little jets of smoke accompanied each shot on the part of the advancing Federals.
"To let us have a hand in the mix-up," Andy continued. "You as much as said that if things got down to hard pan we'd just have to help the rebels. They're our best friends, and you reckoned the others would treat us mean if they made us prisoners of war,—p'raps stand us up against a rock and wind us up, like they're so fond of doing with lots of prisoners down in this heathen country. Please say 'yes,' Rob. I'm not a sharp-shooter, p'raps, but I just know I could chip off a shoulder strap from the uniform of that officer trying to hide behind that stump up there. Let me make him jump, won't you, Rob?"
But the other shook his head in the negative.
"Not yet, Andy, so lay your gun down again," he said, at which the other grumbled not a little.
"You said you'd let us if we got close to the last ditch, Rob," he remarked complainingly; "and seems like we might be close on that line now."