“They jump about as if they were mounted in balloons,” he exclaimed testily as he drew out several green-headed pins and replaced them in accordance with recent information in other localities on the map. The big headquarters clock ticked away in silence, while the gray-haired veteran again lapsed into thought over his problem. “Here are two regiments in the field,” he complained querulously; “Gordon with two companies at San Juan, Baker with a company at Binalbagan, Anderson and a battalion at Barotoc, Huse and a company at Estancia, Pollard with two companies at Kapiz, Shanks with three companies at Carles, Stewart with his rough-riders at Dumangas and Bane with his two battalions as a flying column. That ought to give us some results, and yet what have we to show for it?” The general raised his thoughtful eyes, as his orderly’s step sounded on the soft matting at his side. “A telegram,” he exclaimed with a show of interest. “Tell Major Marble I wish to see him,” he added, tearing open the yellow envelope. “Whew!” he whistled in sudden consternation as he read the unwelcome message. “They not only avoided Gordon but attacked San Juan in his absence, cutting up ten of his men left to guard the town. This thing has got to be stopped. There is a leak somewhere and I am going to put my hand on it before I send out another expedition.” He pushed the chart back on his desk and rose suddenly to his feet. “Major,” he cried as the adjutant-general’s active figure entered the office, “we are all a set of ninnies. Don’t start and look indignant, sir,” he added in mock severity. “You are as bad as the rest, but Blynn there is the worst of us all, for he can’t do what he’s employed to do--you and I are only plain, blunt soldiers, while he is supposed,” with fine scorn, “to be in addition lawyer and detective; a regular secret service sleuth and all that. “Here, read that,” he ended throwing the telegram on the desk. “You see it’s the same old story, and ten more men butchered through our stupidity.” The general paced up and down his office with quick, energetic steps. “I’ve a good mind to go out in the field myself,” he exclaimed, half to himself. “I am tired of these silly, costly blunders.” Then he glanced through the open door into the next office to his own. “Come here, Blynn!” he hailed. A stout, dark-visaged officer arose from a desk littered with countless papers and came energetically toward him. The older officer’s eyes roamed searchingly over his judge-advocate general’s strong, massive frame; he gazed with kindling eyes at the bronzed cheeks, the unbending directness of his black eyes, the firm set to the bulldog jaws. Here surely was no weakling. He waved his hand toward the adjutant-general, standing in stunned silence, the telegram crumpled in his hand. “That may interest you,” the general exclaimed as he turned away.