Surrender

of his pack. He might have been a fallen horse pinned down by the shafts of a cart.

"What are you doing there, you lousy swine?" He recognised the voice. It belonged to Sergeant Major Hauptmann, the tyrant whom he most feared.

"Get up, you." Hauptmann offered the encouragement of his boot. Yet in spite of a couple of well directed kicks Dorland was unable to rise. The sergeant grinned and spat in a way he had. "Look here, my old," he said, "don't sham dead with me or when you get home you shall have another dose of the crapaudine."

Dorland had had one go already of that brutal torture. His flesh crept at the thought of a second. But it was no use struggling, he was unable to rise. In spite of all he could do his eyes darkened again. When with a mighty effort he regained a sense of himself he heard another voice speaking.

"All right, Sergeant. I daresay I can fix him."

"Only shamming, the white llvered----!"

"Well, leave him to me. I'll fix him."

With a