Over in front of the last pup tent in the first line, two Marines were toying with a pair of dice. One of them, a tall, lanky, sun-tanned soldier of the sea, turned to the other, a short, stocky, freckled-faced, sandy-haired man, who, at that particular moment, was occupied in exterminating a score of crawling, red ants. “This usta be a man’s army but it ain’t nothin’ now but a lot of hikin’ boy scouts!” “What ya beefin’ about now?” the little fellow demanded, looking up at his companion. “I suppose you still believe there ain’t no Sandino?” “Believe it, hell, man, I know it!” “Aw, you make me tired! Don’t you know it cost the government a lotta dough to keep us down here? What d’ya suppose Congress would vote to continue this here war if there ain’t no guy like Sandino?” “Continue what war?” the tall Marine asked in a derisive tone. “This war we’re fightin’ now!” “Who’s fightin’ who and when?” “Well,” the freckled-faced man replied defensively, “we’re ready for a scrap, ain’t we?” “Sure we are, but there ain’t nobody to fight with. Don’t you see, we’ve been climbin’ up and down mountains for three months and we ain’t seen no sign of any guy that even looks like Sandino!” The little fellow was becoming impatient over his tent mate’s dogged belief in the non-existence of the much heralded Nicaraguan bandit chief. “Lissen here, lame brain, Congress voted to send us here, didn’t they?” “Sure, but that was a plot!” “What d’ya mean, a plot?” “I can’t explain it,” the lanky Marine began. “You got to know politics and that’s somethin’ what a guy like you ain’t had no learnin’ about, see?” “Who ain’t had no learnin’ in politics?” the other man demanded to know as his cheeks flushed with unsuppressed anger. “My old man’s uncle married a dame what was the first cousin of a guy whose mother did the washin’ for an alderman back in New York!” “Well, that’s different,” the big fellow admitted. “Now then, do you know what strategy is?” “Sure!” replied the sandy-haired man. “He was first baseman with the Chicago Cubs two years ago!” “Oh, Lord, how can you make ’em so dumb!” the lanky Marine cried in disgust. “Now lissen, when you don’t know somethin’, say so and I’ll tell you! Strategy is, well—er—if you wanted to punch me in the nose an’ you let go right now, that would be suicide, ’cause I’d he prepared and break your back——” “Who would?” yelled the little fellow in a hurt fashion. “Aw, dry up, we’re only makin’ believe. Now, then, that would be silly for you to hit me when I wuz lookin’. A smart guy would say, ‘Alex, let me see if I can tie your hands so’s you can’t get loose.’ If I let him, he’d sock me when I was tied up and couldn’t protect meself. That, stupid, is strategy!” The other fellow looked up at the tall man with a grave expression of doubt overshadowing his speckled face. “Aw, you’re full of boloney!” “Who is?” “You are. You mean to say that when you tie a guy’s hands and sock him in the nose, that’s strategy?”