Round the corner, on a shaggy yellow horse almost _ventre-a-terre_, came a little man in a cocked hat, who rose in his stirrups drunkenly and blew a kiss to a dozen armed pursuers pounding at his heels.
Between wonder and alarm, the Major (you have guessed it was he) sprang up from his seat by the fountain.

Fatal movement! At the sudden apparition the yellow horse shied violently, swerving more than halfway across the road; and its rider, looking backwards and taken at unawares, was shot out of his stirrups and flung shoulders-over-head in the dust, where he rolled sideways and lay still.

His pursuers reined up with loud outcries of dismay.
The Major advanced to the body, knelt beside it and turned it over.
The man was bleeding from a cut in the head; but this and a slight concussion of the brain appeared to be the extent of his injuries.
His neck-cloth being loosened, he groaned heavily.

The Major looked up.
"A nasty shock! For the moment I was half afraid--" The words died away on his lips.

One or two of the riders had alighted and all stood, or sat their horses, around him in a ring.
He knew their faces, their names; yes, one and all he knew them; and they wore the uniform of the Troy Volunteer Artillery! With a tightly beating heart he waited for their recognition.