times, and without any apparent reason. Four seconds later another
rolled out, followed closely by a third, fourth and fifth. Soon a
regular cannonade broke out. There was obviously mischief in the air, so
he crammed the maps hastily into his haversack and the chocolate into
his pocket and regained the Battalion as soon as he could on the
exhausted animal. Even as he was pressing forward, he heard the crackle
of musketry somewhere out of sight on the left.

Of course, the very thing that he had feared had happened. His Company
had been rapidly deployed and had already disappeared over the crest. He
explained matters to the Major who was in command of the remainder
during the Colonel's absence; dismounted, and set off on foot towards
the sounds of the firing. He ran against the Company Sergeant-Major in
charge of the ammunition, who told him where his Platoon was.

The next thing was to cross the fire-swept crest. Now, crossing
fire-swept crests is manifestly unpleasant--especially if you are alone.
If you are leading fifty men at least one and half times as old as you
are, who look to you for guidance and control, it is not so bad. Bravery
is very closely allied to "conspicuous gallantry," and "conspicuous
gallantry" in the field is almost impossible when there is no one to
look on. But he was too tired to worry much whether he was hit or not,
and his Platoon had to be reached as soon as possible.

He found them lined up behind a small bank, waiting for orders to
reinforce the first line. Taking his glasses out of their case, he
crawled forward to have a look at the position for himself. The Platoon
in front was established behind a mud bank, firing occasional shots at
the enemy, who appeared to have dug himself in behind a railway cutting
at least five hundred yards distant. Although bullets were humming