as singularly suited to the great, bull voice
of its composer, born to the red and become Captain Stransky in the red
business of war. It was he who led the thunder of its verses not far
from where Peterkin led the song of the Grays.

"I certainly like that song," said Stransky. Well he might. It had made
him famous throughout the nation. "There's Jehovah and brimstone in it.
Now we'll have our own."

"Our own" was also of Stransky's composition and about Dellarme; for
Stransky, child of the highways and byways, of dark, tragic alleys and
sunny fields, had music in him, the music of the people. The skin on his
high cheek-bones was drawn tighter than before, further exaggerating the
size of his nose, and the deeper set of his eyes gave their cross a more
marked character. He carried on the spirit of Dellarme in the company in
his own fashion. The survivors among his men were as lean and dirty as
Fracasse's, but, never having expected to reach the enemy's capital, war
had brought few illusions. They had known sleepless vigils, but not much
digging since they had fallen back on the main line into the
fortifications which, with all resources at command, the engineers had
built before the war. And the Browns still held the range! The principal
fortifications of Engadir and every other vital point of the main line
was theirs. All that the enemy had gained in his latest attack were a
few minor positions.

"But we're always losing positions!" complained one of the men. "Little
by little they are getting possession."

"They say the offensive always wins," said another.

"Five against three! They count on numbers," said Lieutenant Tom
Fragini.

"There you go, Tom! Any other pessimists or anarchists want to be
heard?" called out Stransky. "Just how long, at the present rate, will
it take them to get the whole range? There's a limit to the number of
even five millions."

"Yes, but if they ever break through in one place and get their guns
up--"

"As you've said before, Tom!"

"As we want to keep saying--as we want to keep fighting our damnedest to
make sure they won't," Tom explained.

"Yes, that's it!" declared a chorus.

"That's it, no matter what we pay!" declared Stransky. "We're not going
back there except in hearses!" He swung his hand in a semicircle toward
the distant hills, gold and purple in their dying foliage under the
autumn sunlight.

Then the telephone in the redoubt brought some news. The staff begge