to him grimly,
crying out:

"Get hold of his legs! Queeck! Will you?"

When the sergeant major, attracted by the unwonted uproar, appeared upon
the scene, there was a man on every one of McQuaig's limbs, and another
one astride his stomach. "Heavin' like sawlogs shootin' a rapid," as
Private Corbin, a lumberjack from the Eau Claire, was later heard to
remark.

"What is he like now?" inquired the colonel, after listening to the
sergeant major's report of the Homeric combat.

"He is in a compartment in the hold, sir, and raging like one demented.
He very nearly did for Major Bustead, smashing at him with a scantling
that he ripped from the ship's timbers, sir. He still has the scantling,
sir."

"Let him cool off all night," said the Commanding Officer, after
consultation with the adjutant.

Barry, who with difficulty had restrained himself during the sergeant
major's report, slipped from the room, found the M. O., to whom he
detailed the story and dragged him off to visit the raging McCuaig.

They found a corporal on guard outside.

"I would not open the door, sir. He is really dangerous."

"Oh, rot!" replied the M. O. "Open up the door!"

"Excuse me, sir," said the corporal, "it is not safe. At present, he is
clean crazy. He is off his nut entirely."

The M. O. stood listening at the door. From within came moaning sounds
as from a suffering beast.

"That man is suffering. Open the door!" ordered the M. O. peremptorily.

The corporal, with great reluctance, unlocked the padlock, shot back the
bolt, and then stood away from the door.

"It is the medical officer, McCuaig," said the doctor, opening the door
slightly.

Bang! Crash! came the scantling upon the door jamb, shattering it to
pieces. The whole guard flung themselves against the door, shoved it
shut, and shot the bolt.

"I warned you, sir," said the panting corporal. "Better leave him until
morning. He's a regular devil!"

"He is no more a devil than you are, corporal," said Barry, in a loud,
clear voice. "He is one of the best men in the battalion. More than
that, he is my friend, and if he spends the night there, I spend it with
him."

So saying, and before any one could stop him, Barry shot back the bolt,
opened the door, and with his torchlight flashing before him, stepped
inside.

"Hello, McCuaig," he called, in a quiet, clear voice, "where are you?
It's Dunbar, you know."

He drew the door shut after him. The corporal was for follow