worse, and the road from bad became abominable, rising by an easy
ascent between great sterile fields in which the only signs of
vegetation were the everlasting pine woods with their dark verdure,
forming a dismal contrast with the gray-white soil. It was the most
forlorn spot they had seen yet. The ill-paved road, washed by the
recent rains, was a lake of mud, of tenacious, slippery gray clay,
which held the men's feet like so much pitch. It was wearisome work;
the troops were exhausted and could not get forward, and as if things
were not bad enough already, the rain suddenly began to come down most
violently. The guns were mired and had to be left in the road.

Chouteau, who had been given the squad's rice to carry, fatigued and
exasperated with his heavy load, watched for an opportunity when no
one was looking and dropped the package. But Loubet had seen him.

"See here, that's no way! you ought not to do that. The comrades will
be hungry by and by."

"Let be!" replied Chouteau. "There is plenty of rice; they will give
us more at the end of the march."

And Loubet, who had the bacon, convinced by such cogent reasoning,
dropped his load in turn.

Maurice was suffering more and more with his foot, of which the heel
was badly inflamed. He limped along in such a pitiable state that
Jean's sympathy was aroused.

"Does it hurt? is it no better, eh?" And as the men were halted just
then for a breathing spell, he gave him a bit of good advice. "Take