eyes last. The fog was no obstacle at all to the collie. He
understood the Sergeant's order, and he set out at once to obey
it.

But at the very first step, he was checked. Mahan did not release
that feverishly tight hold on his mane, but merely shifted to his
collar.

Bruce glanced back, impatient at the delay. But Mahan did not let
go. Instead he said once more:

"CAMP, boy!"

And Bruce understood he was expected to make his way to camp,
with Mahan hanging on to his collar.

Bruce did not enjoy this mode of locomotion. It was inconvenient,
and there seemed no sense in it; but there were many things about
this strenuous war-trade that Bruce neither enjoyed nor
comprehended, yet which he performed at command.

So again he turned campward, Mahan at his collar and an
annoyingly hindering tail of men stumbling silently on behind
them. All around were the Germans--butting drunkenly through the
blanket-dense fog, swinging their rifles like flails, shouting
confused orders, occasionally firing. Now and then two or more of
them would collide and would wrestle in blind fury, thinking they
had encountered an American.

Impeded by their own sightlessly swarming numbers, as much as by