ispatch he had brought.

From outside came the voices of tired and lounging soldiers. A
traveling kitchen had just been set up near by. From it arose a blend
of smells that were mighty tempting to a healthily hungry dog. Thither,
at a decorous but expectant pace, Bruce bent his steps.

Top-Sergeant Mahan was gazing with solicitous interest upon the toil of
the cooks at the wheeled kitchen. Beside him, sharing his concern in
the supper preparations, was Mahan's closest crony, old Sergeant
Vivier. The wizened little Frenchman, as a boy, had been in the
surrender of Sedan. Nightly, ever since, he had besought the saints to
give him, some day, a tiny share in the avenging of that black disgrace.

Mahan and Vivier were the warmest of Bruce's many admirers in the
"Here-We-Comes." Ordinarily a dual whoop of joy from them would have
greeted his advent. This afternoon they merely chirped abstractedly at
him, and Mahan patted him carelessly on the head before returning to
the inspection of the cooking food.

Since an hour before dawn, both men had been in hot action. The command
for the "Here-We-Comes" to turn aside and bivouac for the night had
been a sharp disappointment to them, as well as to every unwounded man
in the regiment.

When a gambler is in the middle of a winning streak, when an athlete
feels he has the race in his own hands, when a business man has all but
closed the deal that means fortune to him--at such crises it is
maddening to be halted at the very verge of triumph. But to soldiers
who, after months of reverses, at last have their hated foe on the run,
such a check does odd things to temper and to nerves.

In such plight were the men of the "Here-We-Comes," on this late
afternoon. Mahan and Vivier were too seasoned and too sane to give way
to the bursts of temper and the swirls of blasphemy that swayed so many
of their comrades. Nevertheless they were glum and silent and had no
heart for jolly welcomings,--even to so dear a friend as Bruce.

Experience told them that a square meal would work miracles in the way
of calming and bracing them. Hence, apart from stark hunger, their
interest in the cooking of supper.

Bruce was too much a philosopher--and not devoted enough to his soldier
friends--to be hurt at the lack of warmth in the greeting. With the air
of an epicure, he sniffed at the contents of one of the kitchen's
bubbling kettles. Then he walked off and curled himself comfortably on
a pile of bed