CHAPTER V

In the darkness an occasional murmur of voices ... a moving about of dimly apprehended forms ... and, now and then, the sucking sound of boots pulled out of wet mud. The wind blew gently through the long grass in front of the trench, a soft breath on the faces of those who watched for morning. The stars paled. The east, towards which all eyes strained, glimmered with gray ... red ... gold. In the shallow trench the forms of the watchers became ever more distinct ... a band of towsled tramps. Alexander Falcon, mo…