had passed Prescott ran along by the marching men until he had
gained the head. If the men suffered acute discomfort in marching
Prescott experienced more suffering in running under that hot
sun. But he was intent only on the idea of having the best company
in what he fondly hoped would turn out to be the best regiment
in the Army.

For some minutes Greg had been aware that Sergeant Mock, of his
company, was hobbling along. Now, as he turned to glance backward,
he saw Mock step out of the ranks, go to the side of the road
and sit down.

A glance at his wrist watch, and Greg saw that the first half-hour
was nearly up. In a minute or two more, he knew Major Bell would
give the order for a counter-march, and the first battalion would
swing and come back on its own trail. So Captain Holmes turned
and ran back to his non-commissioned officer.

"What's the matter, Sergeant?" the young captain inquired pleasantly.

Mock made as though trying to rise from the ground to stand at
attention, but his lips twisted as though he were in pain.

"Rest," ordered Greg, "and tell me what ails you."

"My feet are killing me, sir," groaned the sergeant.

"That's odd," Captain Holmes commented. "You were all right at
assembly---lively enough then. Has half an hour of marching used
up a sound, healthy man?"