John leaned back in the seat.
"Terrible way to squander human beings," he said.
The lieutenant's teeth were set.
"You haven't seen anything yet," he said to John. "We've got two more kegs of dynamite and no orders to the contrary. Let's go back to the front lines."
"Front lines!" exclaimed John.
The lieutenant smiled.
"You've studied medicine; I've studied war. It is two and a half hours since we left the meeting. The Roman—or whatever the blank they are—infantry has made ten miles south and west. Our troops from the Fort have easily made thirty or forty in their trucks, and started digging trenches and emplacing guns. That would mean that there must be fighting north and west of here. Isn't that so?"
"I hadn't thought of it," John admitted.
"Also by this time there must be two or three regiments of State militia on trucks and bound in this direction; and the artillery and machine-guns from Ashland ought to be ready any minute. We've got two more kegs. Are you game?"
As if in answer, a dull boom sounded from the northwest, followed by another; and in five minutes the banging was almost continuous.