One at a time, in patches of hot shade, they lay
tumbled for a moment of oblivion, their backs studded thickly with
obstinate flies like the driven heads of nails. As thickly, in the dust,
empty Mauser cartridges lay glistening.
"And I bought food," mourned the captain, chafing the untidy stubble on
his cheeks, and staring gloomily down at the worthless brass. "I bought
chow, when all Saigong was full o' cartridges!"
The sight of the spent ammunition at their feet gave them more trouble
than the swarming flies, or the heat, or the noises tearing and
splitting the heat. Even Heywood went about with a hang-dog air,
speaking few words, and those more and more surly. Once he laughed, when
at broad noonday a line of queer heads popped up from the earthwork on
the knoll, and stuck there, tilted at odd angles, as though peering
quizzically. Both his laugh, however, and his one stare of scrutiny were
filled with a savage contempt,--contempt not only for the stratagem, but
for himself, the situation, all things.
"Dummies--lay figures, to draw our fire. What a childish trick! Maskee!"
he added, wearily "we couldn't waste a shot at 'em now even if they
were real.
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