"Yslemont!"
"Our men," said Guild, rising.
Michaud came up in the darkness. "The shepherd, Jean Pascal, and Schultz, and the men of Yslemont are out there yet. Nothing I say affects them. They say that they need another Uhlan to bleed. Imbeciles!"
"Won't they obey you?"
"No, by God! The two sheep dogs of Jean are there, grave and wise as two big-eared devils squatting. And the half-crazed lad is teaching them to track Uhlans—making them sniff the bloody schapskas like a hunter who trains pups with a dead hare!"
He looked around at the dozen shadowy figures gathering in the carrefour; the star-light sparkled on guns and belts and slings, and here and there on the vizor of a casquette-de-chasse.
"The Grey Wolves," said Michaud, "can never find us in The Pulpit. If Monsieur is ready?"
"Quite ready," said Guild. And the shadowy file, led by Michaud, moved straight into the woods.