Mullins and his companions had been marching for several days in rough campaigning conditions, and almost the first thing the corporal did on entering the fine salle à manger was to fling himself into an arm-chair beside the gas fire of imitation logs.
"Everything's been cleared out," exclaimed one of his comrades. "The Germans have left nothing."
"And what if they had?" asked the corporal.
"We've strict orders not to loot, and I'm going to see them carried out."
"But there's orders and orders," responded the other.
"Anyhow, it's all the same," returned Mullins. "There's going to be no looting if I can help it."
Thereupon the rifleman sat down beside his companion, and for several minutes they smoked together. Then, all of a sudden, they heard the whistle sounding the fall-in outside, and both prepared to go. Mullins snatched his cap hastily from a Louis XV. sideboard that covered half the length of the room, and to his amazement several secret drawers opened. In some curious manner his cap had touched a knob, thereby releasing a concealed spring. The drawers were full of wondrous treasures of early French art—vases and cups of silver-gilt or gold, studded with precious stones and other valuables. Before him lay wealth and treasure enough, probably for a King's ransom.
Very thoughtfully the corporal closed the drawers again, leaving everything exactly in order as he had found it. After all, orders were orders—but what a chance for the German Crown Prince!
By this time his comrades had all fallen in, and already he could hear the steady tramp, tramp of their footsteps marching away in the distance.
As he scrambled hastily out of the door of the château, Mullins realized that he was alone, and that in his hurry he had somehow taken the wrong road. There was no one to be seen anywhere, and he could no longer hear the regiment. A few minutes later he was stumbling along through the grounds of the house, groping his way in the darkness, trying to find the highway. Presently he discerned that he was in a field enclosed by a high wooden fence, and went hurrying across it. Right out in the open he collided with some heavy object, only to recoil in horror as the thing moved and snorted. Its back was wet—wet with what the corporal later discovered to be blood. The animal, wounded probably by malevolent design, rose to its feet, its long horns and huge bulk shaping through the darkness as the form of a bull. Conceiving Mullins to be one of its tormentors, the bull first lashed its tail angrily against its sides and then galloped full pelt after him. By this time Mullins had reached the side of the corral, and crouched there, hoping that the darkness would cover him. But he was mistaken. The bull charged down upon him with lowered head, and drove its horns deep into the fencing on each side of the horrified man's head. There it remained fixed just long enough to give Corporal Mullins time to crawl out and scramble over the corral, glad to find himself still alive and uninjured. An hour afterwards he rejoined his regiment.