"Dead."

There was the Turk--a great heat-swollen figure stinking in the
sunshine. As I moved forward a swarm of green and black flies, which
had been feeding on his face and crawling up his nostrils, went up in
a humming, buzzing cloud.

A bit of wood lying near had looked like his rifle from a distance;
and now we saw that, instead of lying on his stomach, he was lying on
his back, and looked as if he had been killed by shrapnel.

"Putrid stink," said I; "come on--let's clear out."

And so our sniper-hunt led to nothing but a dead Turk stewing in the
glaring sunshine. We rejoined the squads. No one had missed us. This
first day was destined to be one of many adventures.




CHAPTER XIII


THE ADVENTURE OF THE WHITE PACK-MULE


That night was dark, with no stars. I didn't know what part of
Gallipoli we were in, and the maps issued were useless.

The first cases had been picked up close to the firing-line, and were