David raised his head from the paper he was studying. He looked at Lacey
sharply. "And how many rounds of ammunition?" he asked.

"Ten thousand, Saadat."

"How many shells?" he continued, making notes upon the paper before him.

"Three hundred, Saadat."

"How many hundredweight of dourha?" "Eighty--about."

"And how many mouths to feed?" "Five thousand."

"How many fighters go with the mouths?"
"Nine hundred and eighty-of a kind."

"And of the best?'

"Well, say, five hundred."

"Thee said six hundred three days ago, Lacey."

"Sixty were killed or wounded on Sunday, and forty I reckon in the
others, Saadat."

The dark eyes flashed, the lips set. "The fire was sickening--they fell
back?"

"Well, Saadat, they reflected--at the wrong time."