"That's true."
"And they free the investing army for operations up here."
"That's true." He shook his head. "But Liao-Yang will be decisive."
They got up to go then and the bearded one simply bowed. The other two shook hands all around, and when they were through, the third said: "Well, I will shake hands, too," and he went the round.
Lewis has just come in—his face luminous with joyful news. General Oku has sent us over:
1 doz. bottles of champagne.
4 doz. bottles of beer.
1 package of fly-paper.
1 live sheep.
Liao-Yang is only about twenty-nine miles away, and the Three Guardsmen say we are not to be here very long. If the Russians can drop a shell on us here, I wish they would—just one, anyhow. Even one would save the faces of us a little.
... That poor Manchuria lamb of General Oku's died voluntarily this morning before the canteen-man could kill it—but the champagne, the beer, and the fly-paper are all the heart could desire. This day has been interesting. The Three Guardsmen rounded us up this afternoon and took us to see General Oku.
We burnished up riding-gear and riding-clothes and at three o'clock the compound was filled with squealing stallions and braying jackasses. It took three men to saddle Reggie's savage Mongolian. The Irishman, as usual, was not to be found—he and Scull had gone afoot, to the worry of the Three Guardsmen; but we rode out finally, single-file, a brave but strangely assorted company—Brill on his chestnut, Lewis on a milk-white charger, the Italian on an iron-gray, Davis on Devery, Laguerié on a little white donkey, Prior on his seventeen-hand, weak-backed white horse, and big Burleigh on a tiny savage pony that pasted Prior's horse, as we marched, with both heels.