which was near
the cut. He saw men drop out of line to make a cradle of their arms for
comrades who had been hit; and these finally passed out of danger with
their burdens.

"No flock in sight! It's the turn of the individual birds!" thought
Stransky, and heard a familiar sound about his ears.

"Bullets!" exclaimed grandfather. "Don't whistle like they used to. They
kind of crack and sizzle now. Maybe if they hit me I'll stop 'em, and
that'll save you."

"That's so," replied Stransky glumly, realizing that he was running with
a human shield on his back. "But they'll go right through him he's so
thin," he thought in relief. The worst of it was that he had to receive
without sending, which made him boil with rage. He wished that the bush
had legs so it could run toward him; he half believed that it had and
was retreating. "They're shooting right at us, and that's in our favor.
It's hard to get the bull's-eye at that range," he assured grandfather.

Whish-whish-whish! Enough pellets were singing by to have torn away the
rim of the target, yet none got the centre before Stransky dropped
behind the bush. Blessed bush! Back of it was a bowlder. Thrice-blessed
bowlder! It protected grandfather as securely as the armor of a
battleship.

"We are having a noisy time," remarked Stransky as two or three of the
leaves fell. "Intelligent thieves! How did you guess we were here?" and
he put his big thumb to his big nose.

"But they didn't know about the bowlder!" said the old man with a senile
giggle. "Say, I didn't mean it when I called you a traitor--not after
the fight! I just said that to make you mad so you'd put me down and we
shouldn't lose a good fighting man trying to save an old bag of bones
like me. You ain't no traitor! You're a patriot!"

"More politics, when I'm simply full of cussedness!" grumbled Stransky.
"Not having any home, I'm fighting to save the other fellows' homes,
principally because I was married this morning by a shrapnel-shell to a
lady that understands me perfectly. Say, shall we give them a few?" he
asked with a squint down the bridge of his nose as he took up his rifle.

"Yes, give 'em a few!" grandfather urged when they ought to have
remained quiet, as the firing was dying down. It was not worth while to
shoot at a bush, and after all the torrent of lead that they had poured
into the bush the Grays had concluded that nothing behind it could
remain alive.

Stransky aimed at a head and shoulde