and preserve themselves from it.

Having lost all causes and connections, having forgotten their religions, they still had one god, their lieutenant. He was, after all, a highly satisfactory god. He fed them, clothed them and conserved their lives—which was more than any other god could have done.

Now and then eyes wandered to the lieutenant and were quieted by the sight of him. For, despite all danger, the lieutenant was sitting upon the half-submerged wheel of a caisson, shaving himself with the help of a mirror stuck in the crotch of a forked stick.

The cook came up with a kettle of hot water which he emptied into the old helmet which served the lieutenant as a washbasin. The cook was a lean fellow of rather murderous aspect, wholly unwashed and hairy and carrying a naked bayonet thrust through his belt.

"Can I get the leftenant anythin' else, sir?"

"Why, yes. A fresh shirt, an overcoat, a new pistol and some caviar."

"I would if them Russians had any, sir."

"I have no doubt of it, Bulger," smiled the lieutenant. "But, really, haven't you something a bit special for breakfast? This is an anniversary, you know. My fifth year at the front was done yesterday."

"Congratulations, leftenant, sir. If you don't mind my mentioning it, are you goin' to start the sixth year with a fight?"

"Ho!" said a rough voice nearby. "You'll be advising us on tactics next. Stick to your foraging, Bulger." And Pollard, the sergeant major, gave the cook a shove back toward the fire. "Sir, I just toured the outposts and they been hearin' troops movin' on the high ground. Weasel is out there and he claims he heard gun wheels groanin' about four."

"Gun wheels!" said the lieutenant.

"That's what he said."

The lieutenant grinned and rinsed off his face. "Some day a high wind is going to catch hold of his ears and carry him off."

"About them Russians, sir," said Pollard, soberly, "are we just going to stay here until they close in on us? They know we're down here. I feel it. And them fires—"

Pollard was stopped by the lieutenant's grin. He was a conscientious sergeant, often pretending to a sense of humor which he did not possess. No matter how many 

 Prev. P 9/119 next