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 bedding, there to rest until supper should be ready.

Several times, as he lay there, soldiers passed and repassed.  One or two of them snapped their fingers at the dog or even stooped, in passing, to stroke his head.  But on the faces of all of them was unrest and a certain wolfish eagerness, which precluded playing with pets at such a time.  The hot zest of the man-hunt was upon them.  It was gnawing in the veins of the newest recruit, ever, as in the heart of the usually self-contained colonel of the regiment.

The colonel, in fact, had been so carried away by the joy of seeing his men drive the hated graycoats before them that day that he had overstepped the spirit of his own orders from the division commander.

In brief, he had made no effort to “dress” his command, in the advance, upon the regiments to either side of it.  As a result, when the signal to bivouac for the night was given, the “Here-We-Comes” were something like a mile ahead of the regiment which should have been at their immediate right, and nearly two miles in front of the brigade at their left.

In other words, the “Here-We-Comes” now occupied a salient of their own, ahead of the rest of the FrancoAmerican line.  It was in rebuke for this bit of good progress and bad tactics that the division commander had written to the colonel, in the dispatch which Bruce had brought.

German airmen, sailing far above, and dodging as best they could the charges of the Allied ’planes, had just noted that the “Here-We-Comes” “salient” was really no salient at all.  So far had it advanced that, for the moment, it was out of touch with the rest of the division.  It was, indeed, in an excellent position to be cut off and demolished by a dashing nightattack.  And a report to this effect was delivered to a fumingly distracted German major general, who yearned for a chance to atone in some way for the day’s shameful reverses.

“If they hadn’t halted us and made us call it a day, just as we were getting into our stride,” loudly grumbled one Yankee private to another as the two clumped up to the kitchen, “we’d have been in Fere-en-Tardenois by now.  What lazy guy is running this drive, anyhow?”

“The same lazy guy that will stick you into the hoosgow for insubordination and leave you to do your bit there while the rest of us stroll on to Berlin!” snapped Top-Sergeant Mahan, wheeling upon the grumbler.  “Till you learn how to obey orders without grouching, it isn’t up to you to knock wiser men.  Shut up!”

Though Mahan’s tone of reproof was professionally harsh, his spirit was not in his words.  And the silenced private knew it.  He knew, too, that the top-sergeant was as savage over the early halt as were the rest of the men.