it's a mighty sarious difficulty. But there's no use av cryin', no matther how bad it is," finished the Irish soldier, philosophically.
A moment of reflection convinced Ben that the best thing he could do was to go back part of the distance they had come, and make an endeavor to cross the little stream at another point.
They retreated with difficulty, first one sinking into some treacherous hole and then the other. Once Casey went flat on his back, and gave a loud yell of dismay when he found himself covered with a mud that was more like a paste than anything else.
"Sure, an' I'll not go in such a cane-field again, bedad," he muttered, as he started to pick up the gun he had dropped. As he did so a cracking of cane-stalks near them caused both to straighten up in alarm.
"Who comes?" cried Ben, and drew the pistol he had shoved into his belt.
There was no answer and he repeated the demand. "Are you Americans?" he added.
Still there was no reply. But the cracking of the stalks continued, and the sounds seemed to move around the pair in something of a circle. Then
