Then for no earthly reason the assault was at an end.
One by one the men dropped back and disappeared from the plateau. There
was no overt signal, no sound; but in a little the annoyed garrison were
looking at vacancy and one another.
"This is the devil's own business," said Andover, rubbing his eyes. The
men, too astonished to pick off stragglers, allowed the enemy to melt
into space; then they set themselves down with rifles cuddled up to
their chins, and stared at Andover.
"It beats me," said that disturbed man. "How many killed?"
"Seven," said a sergeant. "About five more wounded. None of us
touched, barring a bullet in my boot, and two Johnnies slashed on the
cheek. Seems to me as if the gen'lman, Mr. 'Aystoun, was 'it, though."
At the word Andover ran for his quarters, where he found his servant
dressing Lewis's wounded ear. That young man with a face of great
despair was inclining his head over a basin.
"What's the matter, Andy? Don't tell me the show has stopped. I
thought they were game to go on for hours, and I was just coming to join
you."
"They've gone, every mother's son of them. I told you it was comic
opera all along. Seven of them have found the part too much for them,
but the rest have cleared out like smoke. I give it up."
Lewis stared at the speaker, his brain busy with a problem. For a
moment before the fight, and for a little during its progress he had
been serenely happy.
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