A gray dawn, an east wind with a driving mist, a day afield in every promise, and Big Belt had missed none of these since the full darkness. With the first relief of the morning-guard at headquarters, he was there. Dabnitz appeared and smiled grimly. The wire was already busy; Kohlvihr came in unsteadily, the old about him that made Boylan lick his lips. His own nerves had been badly . He could have a , but he hadn't thought of it alone.  
“You're looking for word from the Commander?” Dabnitz asked.
 
“Yes.”
 
“So are we. It's up to him to-day. We're a wisp of what we were—”
 
Boylan simulated interest. There was but one idea in his world, however.
 
“By the way,” Dabnitz added. “The Commander asked for full particulars this morning at three. They were sent to him—Mr. Mowbray's case—”
 
Boylan jerked up his chin. Of late, his collar had shrunk.
 
“You haven't heard yet?”
 
“Not yet. We're waiting—”
 
“Nothing will be done until you hear?”
 
“Not in Mowbray's case. The others—the others have had tea.... They are very quiet this morning—no singing.”
 
Boylan hated him for that, a but scarring .... The field telephone began. Presently it occupied the steady swift attention of a whose pages were put on the machine and handed in strips to the staff members, like a last-minute news story to compositors. ...One of the hardest things Boylan ever did was to speak to Dabnitz as follows: “I'd better be there if you take the others and leave—leave Peter Mowbray. He's . You wouldn't want a scene—you know—”
 
“Wait a minute—I think your matter is on the wire,” Dabnitz said, drawing back to the telegraph.
 
“Yes,” he nodded, and a moment later handed Big Belt this message:
 
“My compliments to Mr. Boylan and assurances of excellent regard. I have found the favor he asks, however, altogether out of my power to grant.”
 
Boylan's dropped; his mouth filled with . Dabnitz said something, “... sorry... couldn't possibly have ended another way.”
 
“Come, come—this won't do,” Big Belt muttered queerly. He was not answering Dabnitz, but commanding himself.... He swallowed again and turned:
 
“You will have charge of the affair?”
 
“Yes, doubtless. It will be very short—”
 
“I will wait for you below. Of course, I'll want to be there, you know—”
 
“I didn't know,” Dabnitz sighed.
 
Boylan was below. He heard distant firing through the rain in the direction of the field.... Lornievitch had doubtless begun a flank movement. Kohlvihr would lick his wounds in Judenbach for another day.
 
Dabnitz appeared from the stairway, a paper in his hand. He dispatched a to the barracks for a platoon, and stood waiting impatiently for its coming. Big Belt, in the door of his quarters a few paces distant, swallowed again.... It might delay matters.... The black fact was that it would not do more....
 
“Oh, I say, , come here a moment, please. I want to show you something—”
 
Boylan led the Russian in, and turned. The place was empty. Dabnitz regarded him wearily—then with sudden .
 
It was a kind of bear reaching. He was pulled down, his face in a woolen shirt that covered a breast like cushioned stone. The building must have fallen. The hands were neither rough nor swift, but they pawed him with a kind of power that turned him to . There was one finger upon his at the neck that shut off the life currents.... Dabnitz opened his eyes presently—a choking wad of paper in his mouth. The looked down upon him and said:
 
“Excuse me, Lieutenant, but I had to have a chance to think.”
 
At this instant Boylan saw the paper that the Russian had carried. It had fluttered to the floor, Kohlvihr's signature in plain view. The weights that the American had now to do with the uselessness of it all. He had rendered the momentary order and its bearer ineffectual; he might possibly divert the platoon. But the great one-eyed system was all about, knowing its single task of destruction. It would turn back to that piece by piece—until the task was done. Yet while he lived, Boylan could not let it go on, in this specific instance. He was fighting the Russian army now; that die was cast; the one thing to do was to keep Peter Mowbray alive as long as possible. He went about further details without hope, however.
 
Dabnitz was carefully bound and lifted to the corner in the midst of saddles and . An extra strip was fastened around his chin to prevent the ejection of the gag. Big Belt and softly as he worked:
 
“You're a good soldier. You play your game to the seeds. I have no objection to you. When it's all over I'll think of you—as a field man. You've been good to us, too—everything you could do to make us comfortable and to help us see the wheels go round.... Only this one little thing. Perhaps you think I take it too seriously—this Mowbray thing. Perhaps I do. That's my funeral.... Wow, and I was merely speaking figuratively!... In any event I'm not a nihilist. I've only got Mowbray on the brain.... I've hurt you as little as possible. I won't leave you here long, my boy. I wasn't rough with you. You must have seen that—”
 
Dabnitz's eyes rolled.
 
“Well, you see I couldn't have a whole lot of noise. There's the true official in your voice, Lieutenant.... Now you're , and th............