t ten feet away. The soldier was holding
a sub-machine gun in the crook of one arm, and patting it affectionately
with his hand. He paused in his patting long enough to jerk a thumb to
his left. Dawson looked in that direction and started inwardly as he
made out the huddled figure of a dead man on the ground. The thing that
made him start was the fact that the dead man was barefooted. One
glance, and Dawson turned his attention to Major Parker, who was now on
his feet, gently pushing aside the guard corporal's efforts to keep
holding him.

"It's all right, Corporal, thanks," Major Parker said. "And I don't want
any ambulance. Somebody loan me a handkerchief until I can get a real
patch for this thing."

"I've a First Aid patch right here, sir," Freddy Farmer spoke up
quickly. "Here, let me put it on. There! I say, sir, what happened?"

The major tested the First Aid patch with his fingers and grinned a
trifle stiff-lipped at Dawson and Farmer.

"He seems to have gone in for numbers tonight," he said. "I was just
coming around the corner of the Non-Coms' mess over there, when I
thought I heard a sound behind me. I turned, but it was quite dark at
that spot, so I didn't see anything clearly. Just--well, just somebody
diving at me. I didn't bother to ask questions. I dropped and went for
my gun. That's what saved me a really nasty crack, I guess. It messed up
his aim, because he had to reach out farther. But I missed, too, when I
shot at him as we both fell to the ground. Singed him, though, because
he cried out. The crack he gave me made me see a few stars, so I missed
again as he jumped to his feet and started running. Private Marvin,
here, arrived on the scene just in time, and Private Marvin is the kind
who doesn't miss. Let's go take a look."

The whole group moved over to the dead man on the ground. The flashlight
beams were played on him. Somebody leaned down and turned the corpse
over on its back. The dead man was dressed in cheap native clothing, and
his skin was burned almost as black as the night sky. There was
something about the features, particularly the wide forehead, that
arrested Dawson's attention. As he leaned closer for a better look, he
caught sight of a corner of white showing beneath a tear in the dead
man's shirt. On impulse, Dawson reached down and pulled. Out came a
white envelope, and Dave's heart leaped up into his throat. He didn't
have to look inside the envelope to know what was there. I