And so at last all my squads had turned back with stretchers loaded
with men and pieces of men. I went on alone--a lonely figure wandering
about the mountains, looking and listening for the wounded.

I came now upon a party of Engineers at work making a road. They were
working with pick-axe and spade--clearing away bush and rocks.

"Any water?" they asked.

I shook my head.

"Any wounded?" I said.

"Some down there, they say," said a red-faced man.

"Damn rotten job that," muttered another, as I went on.

"Better keep well over in the bushes," shouted the red-faced man.
"They've got this bit of light-coloured ground marked--you're almost
sure ter git plugged."

"Thanks!" I called back, and broke off to my left among the sage and
thistle and thorn.

I went now downhill into an overgrown water-course (very much like the
one in which I used to sleep and eat away back by the artillery big
gun). Here were willows and brambles with ripe blackberries, and wild-
rose bushes with scarlet hips. "Just like England!" I thought.