't you stop one of those ambulances, Jack? I
want to get him to the surgeons as soon as possible----"

"You bet!" said Casson, wheeling his horse and displaying the new
chevrons of a sergeant. "Hey, you black offspring of a yellow
whippet!" he bellowed to a driver, "back out there and be damn
quick about it!" And he leaned from his saddle, and seizing the
leaders by the head, swung them around with a volley of profanity.
Then, grinning amiably at Berkley, he motioned the stretcher
bearers forward and sat on his horse, garrulously superintending
the transfer of the injured man.

"There's an emergency hospital just beyond that clump of trees," he
said. "You'd better take him there. Golly! but he's hard hit. I
guess that bullet found its billet. There's not much hope when
it's a belly-whopper. Too bad, ain't it? He was a bully old boy
of a colonel; we all said so in the dragoons. Only--to hell with
those lances of yours, Berkley! What cursed good are they
alongside a gun? And I notice your regiment has its carbineers,
too--which proves that your lances are no good or you wouldn't have
twelve carbines to the troop. Eh? Oh, you bet your boots, sonny.
Don't talk lance to me! It's all on account of those Frenchmen on
Little Mac's staff----"

"For God's sake shut up!" said Berkley nervously. "I can't stand
any more just now."

"Oh!" said Casson, taken aback, "I didn't know you were such
cronies with your Colonel. Sorry, my dear fellow; didn't mean to
seem indifferent. Poor old gentleman. I guess he will pull
through. There are nurses at the front--nice little things. God
bless 'em! Say, don't you want to climb up with the driver?"

Berkley hesitated. "Do you know where my regiment is? I ought to
go back--if there's anybody to look after Colonel Arran----"

"Is that your horse?"

"No--some staff officer's, I guess."

"Where's yours?"

"Dead," said Berkley briefly. He thought a moment, then tied his
horse to the tail-board and climbed up beside the driver.

"Go on," he said; "drive carefully", and he nodded his thanks to
Casson as the team swung north.

The Provost Guard, filing along, carbines on thigh, opened to let
him through; and he saw them turning in their saddles to peer
curiously into the straw as the ambulance passed.

It was slow going, for the road was blocked with artillery and
infantry and other ambulances, but the driver found a lane between
guns and caissons and through t