“Everything depends upon what you get used to,” put in Major Morris, who was near. “Now look at Captain Cannon, for example. He has been in both the army and the navy, and he virtually knows nothing else. He would rather fight than eat, and nothing would suit him better than for the United States to start out on a world-conquering tour. He told me yesterday that he hoped we should keep on fighting in China for at least a year.”
“A year!” cried Gilbert. “Well, I don’t agree with him. I trust we have only one or two good battles, and that the Chinese then come to terms. I am afraid it would make me sick to fight the pig-tails for a whole year. I was heartily tired of fighting the Filipinos when I left Manila.”
By noon the battalion had gone along the railroad line for a considerable distance, and from ahead came the booming of a cannon in the direction of Chung-Liang-Cheng. There was a wide paddy field to cross; and beyond was a small wood, flanked on the right by a mud embankment and a ditch.
“Some Russian troops ahead,” announced Major Morris, after surveying the situation with his field-glasses. He turned to Gilbert. “Lieutenant Pennington, take two men with you over to yonder embankment, and find out what is going on.”
“I will do so, Major Morris,” answered the young lieutenant, and saluted. The major next issued a command for the battalion to halt, and the four companies came to a rest at the edge of the rice field.
Gilbert knew that he could trust no men more than Stummer and Casey, and soon had them at his side. The trio hurried across the field, but with caution, and soon entered the wood previously mentioned. From a distance the cracking of rifles continued, but the sounds showed that both the enemy and the Russians were shifting their positions.
“We’ll be nixt to it very soon now,” muttered Dan Casey, as he clutched his gun in such a manner that he might use it at the slightest warning. “It sames to me I’m afther hearing thim Chinks yell already.”
“I dink dem vos Roossins you vos hear,” answered Stummer. “Da vos firin’ by— Here da come now!”
There was a rushing of many feet and a yelling in a tongue that was foreign to Gilbert, and the next instant a body of Cossacks burst into view. Whether they were making a flank movement or retreating, the young lieutenant could not tell. As they swept along, a captain of the command saw the three, and ran toward them.
“Who are you? Where come you from?” he asked in the Russian tongue, and then, noting the uniforms, added, “Americans?”