“Sergeant, we’d be pinned in this place like rats in a trap,” Ranson speculated, “if Sandino or any of his men should suddenly turn up with a surprise attack.” The bulky top kick, the same hard breathing, puffy Marine who, with a small company some weeks before, were the first to see the arrival of the flying squadron, looked over the situation with the trained eye of a seasoned campaigner. He nodded his head in a grave manner and turned to his superior: “Yes, sir. We are right at the foot of them mountains, an easy target for an attack from that angle. Just ahead is the jungle that no white man could ever pass through alive. To the right is the road into town. If we retreated in that direction, we’d be bait for snipers on house tops and the charging greasers at our heels from the mountains.” “Yes, and if we stay here long enough to be inspected by any of the post commandant’s aides, we’ll be court-martialed for billeting the men in such a hole,” the lieutenant added good-naturedly. “No fresh water within five miles of here and the surroundings are reeking with typhoid and malaria!” “Well, if you ask me, sir,” the top kick drawled, “I prefer this hole to travelin’ with them damn horses, machine guns and mules in this heat!” The lieutenant lighted a cigarette and nodded his head in affirmation. “I think you’re right, Cosgrove, in fact, I’m inclined to feel that way myself. Our water ought to last us another two days and, by that time, we should pass through some village where we can refill the canteens. The food is still plentiful and there is enough ammunition to cause plenty of damage if we have to use it.” “With your permission, sir, I’m gonna put a machine gun right in front of this gate, loaded with a fresh magazine just in case,” the sergeant announced, “and I think we should double the guard, bein’ that we’re so near Ocotal!” “Put the machine gun wherever you want to but doubling the guard isn’t necessary. If you ask me, I think we have been ordered back to Managua because the show is over!” “You mean, they—they’ve got Sandino?” Cosgrove asked eagerly. “No—well, that is, I don’t know about capturing him,” Ranson explained, “I think he got cold feet and beat it out of the country!” “Well,” the sergeant admitted, “that won’t make me sore. We’ve been down here goin’ on three months and we ain’t had sight nor smell of them blasted greaser bandits, but this hide-and-seek game through mountain paths, searchin’ for somethin’ what just ain’t—I’m about licked from it all!” Ranson smiled and turned toward the shack. “Pick your guard and see that the men are comfortable. The sun is getting pretty bad. If the horses and pack mules have been watered, let the boys turn in for a couple of hours.” The two men saluted and parted, each going in the opposite direction.