A patriarchal pheasant, drumming on a log near by some uxorious communication to his brooding mate, distended his round eyes in amazement at the strange irruption of men and horses, and then whirred away in a transport of fear.

A crimson crested woodpecker ceased his ominous tapping, and flew boldly to a neighboring branch, where he could inspect the new arrival to good advantage and determine his character.
The men threw themselves down for a moment's rest, on the springing moss that covered the whole mountain side.

A hum of comment and conversation arose.

Jake Alspaugh began to think that there was not likely to be any fight after all, and his spirits rose proportionately.

Abe Bolton growled that the cowardly officers had no doubt deliberately misled the regiment, that a fight might be avoided.