colored figures swung out of the shadow.
They came on in loose fours, in an unending line that wound down the
steep slopes and reached the bridge-head. Then orders rolled across the
stream, the line narrowed, and the measured tramp changed to a sharp
uneven patter. The leading platoon were breaking step as they crossed the
bridge. Dick frowned impatiently. This was a needless precaution. The
engineers' work was good; it would stand the percussive shock of marching
feet.

He stood at attention, with a sparkle in his eyes, as the hot and dusty
men went by. They were, for the most part, young men, newly raised
infantry, now being hardened and tempered until they were fit to be used
as the army's spear-head in some desperate thrust for which engineers and
artillery had cleared the way. It was some time before the first
battalion crossed, but the long yellow line still ran back up the
hillside to the spot at which it emerged from the deepening shade, and
the next platoon took the bridge with unbroken step. It swayed and shook
with a curious regular tremble as the feet came down; but there was no
giving way of tie and stringer-beam, and Dick forgot the men who were
passing, and thought of fastenings and stressed material.

He was young and the pomp of war had its effect on him, but the human
element began to take second place. Although an officer of the new army,
he was first of all an engineer; his business was to handle wood and iron
rather than men. The throb of the planks and the swing of the pontoons as
the load passed over them fascinated him; and his interest deepened when
the transport began to cross. Sweating, spume-flecked horses trod the
quivering timber with iron-shod hoofs; grinding wheels jarred the
structure as the wagons passed. He could feel it yield and bend, but it
stood, and Dick was conscious of a strange, emotional thrill. This, in a
sense, was his triumph; the first big task in which he had taken a man's
part; and his work had passed the test. Taste, inclination, and interest
had suddenly deepened into an absorbing love for his profession.

After a time, the Adjutant sent for him and held out a large, sealed
envelope.

"These are the plans I showed you," he said. "Colonel Farquhar is driving
to Newcastle, and will stop at Storeton Grange for supper at midnight.
The plans must be delivered to him there. You have a motorcycle, I
think?"

"Yes."

"Very well; it is not a long ride, but I'll release y