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 Dragon, lay submissive under the horses' hoofs. The empty road trembled and jingled under the blows of the iron horseshoes.

At rare intervals they came upon poor villages and collections of wretched huts, but the Centurion, overcome by the heat, relented in his purpose of searching out those who might be in hiding. As he sat in his saddle, jogging rhythmically with his horse's movement, he thought merely of the end of the journey, the escape from the heat, the cool tent, the night tide, the new bride.

A young soldier, however, interrupted his thoughts, saying:

"Over there by the roadside I see a crowd of people. Order us, Marcellus, and we will whirl down upon them and scatter them. The wind which our horses will make will disperse the stupor into which the heat has cast us, and will fan away the dust and tiredness from both you and us."

The Centurion cast his sharp gaze in the direction indicated by the soldier, and looked attentively.

"No, Lucillus," said he, smiling, "that crowd is a crowd of children playing by the roadside. It's not worth chasing them. Let them look at our fine horses, at our