Red Fleece

stead of laughter at night-fall. Another nameless village-Galician, now, for the border had been crossed, and the stillest night P

ivision was but a tooth of the main army now; the whole region was massed with Russians marching westward; but still the outfit from Warsaw

ay, making the faces harder and harder to memorize. Mowbray had been disgusted at first-faces like changelings, atrocious like chickens. But the beards were taking f

its turning. The engagement was sharp exhilaration to Peter; perhaps it was to certain of the soldiers; yet it was the first. It

le battery of mountain guns was racing forward through the infantry column, the drivers yelling for gangway. It was like a small town's fire department in action. Now the infantry poured down the rocky slopes that bordered the old iron road. Peter turned quite around in the saddle. The murmur in the air was queer-

unds like a squirrel as he ran-quite out of order and amazed at himself. He would have been struck down by his nearest neighbor ten days later, felled with

but had forgotten in the length of days. This was the red fleece-its drips of red were in each raw soul now. A little way farther and the staff awoke. An officer spoke. The peasant was caught and booted quiet. Kohlvihr licked his lips to keep them stil