“I’ll go,” Dan told him. He thought that he was stronger than he had been in days; he was strong enough to freeze his face as he talked with Tyler. But he hated his body nevertheless—hated the worms in his brain and the sore tendons lacing him together. “I gave you that tobacco pouch,” he said. “Now you’ve got to give me some food.”

The boy tossed a roll of damp newspaper across the grass. Inside was a wad of crushed cherries and gingerbread. The soldier turned back to his card game. Fill up my floosh, somebody else demanded. The dealer said: How’s a diamond, Stemson? The ridge toward the west was still pimpled with its armies; animals crept among the trees, hauling guns. The sounds of their journeying came in a faint discussion—all echoes flat and baked by the high heat of noon, and the mile of grain baking in between.

The cherries and soaked gingerbread were vile enough; Dan ate as the starving eat. The man on his right had an open cartridge-pouch between his legs and was counting paper cartridges into it, and he kept declaring to a sergeant while he counted: No, their powder tests better than ours. Try it—that’s all I got to say—try it. You know well enough ours is half dirt and too much charcoal, and them that make it are setting on their fat asses, getting rich.

Captain Ballou arrived with an officious rattle of equipment, swinging past the angle of the wall to where Dan sat. Ballou had taken off his blouse and now wore his sword-belt over a wet flannel shirt. “You’ll have to come with me to headquarters,” he announced. “I’ve been talking to Colonel Baker about it. We can’t have a civilian sitting at the line with us; I have orders to evacuate you to the rear.”

Bale stood up. He wiped the soggy crumbs from his hands. “I must see Fanning,” he said.

There were deep pencil-lines between the young officer’s pale eyes. “You should be thankful that I permitted you to lie down and sleep, sir. Now will you come along, please.” The nearby men had fallen silent; they were watching.

“Wait,” Bale cried. He felt for his watch. The chain hung loose, its links shorn in two.

The captain shook out the folds of his dirty havelock. “Some of our burglars attended you, I see,” and the card-players bent closer over their game. “Well,” Ballou nodded, “General Hancock once said that he wouldn’t give a damn for a man who was issued half enough food and couldn’t steal the other half. They rob the dead: God help the living.” He seemed rather proud of his burglars.