During the rapid work about the stronghold, Lieutenant Whitcomb had gone out on picket duty, choosing the valley side of the hill. The corporal was on the hillside above. The orders then to the squad were that all who could must get some sleep before morning. The food had been exhausted, but the boys, though ravenously hungry, made no complaint. Some coarse rye bread, found in the Kits of the dead Huns, did not go very far nor give much satisfaction. Into the shelters several of the boys went and to sleep almost immediately; others were too wakeful to think of closing their eyes. Jennings and Gill, questioned as to their need of rest, declared they were too empty to sleep and being used to long night vigils when hunting, they preferred to chat awhile.
“Ever go on a coon hunt, son?” Jennings asked Kelly. The latter had never experienced that pleasure.
“Me, I’ve been coon hunting three nights straight an’ follered the plow all day between,” Gill said.
“Huh! Four nights straight fer me,” was Jennings’ boast.
“Sho! ’Course you’d lie to beat the world’s record for stayin’ up. Jen, listen: I’m an awful good liar myself, but you make me jealous.”
“Fact, you runt! Four nights. Me an’ my brother Ben. You knowed Ben an’ you kin ask him.”
“Now? Where is he?”
“Back home; when you go back——”
“Mebbe I won’t, so I better do it now, only my holler’s a little wore out tryin’ to talk sense into you and I reckon Ben wouldn’t hear me ’bout four thousand miles.” Then the two went on bantering over some trifling incident.