"I suppose so," still doubtfully.
Grannis hearkened equivocally. No one was about, likely to overhear him disobeying instructions, and the temptation was strong.
"You know McFadden?" he queried suddenly.
Blair nodded.
"Well, say, that Scotchman is a tiger. He got to the front somehow when you called for reinforcements, and when you went down he was Johnny-on-the-spot taking your place. Some of the rest of us got in there pretty soon, and for a bit things was lively. It was rather close range for gun-work, but knives were as thick as frogs after a shower." With a sudden movement Grannis slipped up the sleeve of his left arm, showing a bandage through which the blood had soaked and dried. "All of us got scratched some. One fellow of the opposition—Mick Kennedy—met with an accident."
"Serious?"
"Rather. We planted him after things had quieted down."
For a moment the two men looked at each other steadily, and the subject was dropped.
"Well," suggested Blair once more.