Bruce, as a rule, when he honored the “Here-We-Comes” with a visit, spent the bulk of his time with Mahan and old Vivier.  But to-day neither of these friends was an inspiring companion.  Nor were the rest of Bruce’s acquaintances disposed to friendliness.  Wherefore, as soon as supper was eaten, the dog returned to his heap of bedding, for the hour or so of laziness which Nature teaches all her children to demand, after a full meal,—­and which the so-called “dumb” animals alone are intelligent enough to take.

Dusk had merged into night when Bruce got to his feet again.  Taps had just sounded.  The tired men gladly rolled themselves into their blankets and fell into a dead sleep.  A sentry-relief set forth to replace the first batch of sentinels with the second.

Mahan was of the party.  Though the top-sergeant had been a stupid comrade, thus far to-day, he was now evidently going for a walk.  And even though it was a duty-walk, yet the idea of it appealed to the dog after his long inaction.

So Bruce got up and followed.  As he came alongside the stiffly marching top-sergeant, the collie so far subverted discipline as to thrust his nose, in friendly greeting, into Mahan’s slightly cupped palm.  And the top-sergeant so far abetted the breach of discipline as to give the collie’s head a furtive pat.  The night was dim, as the moon had not risen; so the mutual contact of good-fellowship was not visible to the marching men on either side of Mahan and the dog.  And discipline, therefore, did not suffer much, after all.

At one post after another, a sentinel was relieved and a fresh man took his place.  Farthest in front of the “Here-We-Comes” lines—­and nearest to the German—­was posted a lanky Missourian whom Bruce liked, a man who had a way of discovering in his deep pockets stray bits of food which he had hoarded there for the collie and delighted to dole out to him.  The Missourian had a drawlingly soft voice the dog liked, and he used to talk to Bruce as if the latter were another human.

For all these reasons—­and because Mahan was too busy and too grumpy to bother with him—­Bruce elected to stay where he was, for a while, and share the Missourian’s vigil.  So, when the rest of the party moved along to the next sentry-go, the dog remained.  The Missourian was only too glad to have him do so.  It is tedious and stupid to pace a desolate beat, alone, at dead of night, after a day of hard fighting.  And the man welcomed the companionship of the dog.

For a time, as the Missourian paced his solitary stretch of broken and shrub-grown ground, Bruce gravely paced to and fro at his side.  But presently this aimless promenade began to wax uninteresting.  And, as the two came to the far end of the beat, Bruce yawned and lay down.  It was pleasanter to lie there and to watch the sentinel do the walking.

Stretched out, in a little grass-hollow, the dog followed blinkingly with his soft brown eyes the pendulumlike progress of his friend.  And always the dog’s plumed tail would beat rhythmic welcome against the ground as the sentry approached him.