“That’s just his idea,” Feeney replied, “but don’t forget that Oyama will keep him so dam’ busy below that it will be hard for him to match us man for man and still hold on. However, remember he’s got the position, and he won’t need to match the Japanese--quite.” As a matter of fact, Kuropatkin’s far-flung antennæ had followed Kuroki well. The Russian chief, knowing the strength of his front position on the city, had determined to slip back and crush Kuroki with an overwhelming force, leaving only two corps of Siberians, under Zurubaieff, to hold off Nodzu and Oku from the inner defenses of Liaoyang. General Orloff, who was in command at the Yentai Collieries, where Kuroki’s flanking point was aimed, was under orders to attack the Japanese in flank at the moment Kuropatkin’s main force appeared to hit the Japanese in full. There was the constant roar of big guns in Orloff’s ears in that dawning of September first--a rainy dawn. Also his own troops were moving along the railroad. Another thing, there had been a vodka-train broken into the night before by his own men. Orloff thought he saw Kuropatkin coming, and set out prematurely. Kuroki was concealed in the fields of ripe millet, and turned to the work of slaughter with much enthusiasm, wondering at the weakness of the enemy. This slaughter of Orloff, which lost the battle for the Russians, Feeney and Finacune saw. “There’s eighteen burnt matches in your coat pocket, my young friend,” said Feeney, “and your pipe would light better if you put some smokin’ in it--in the bowl, y’know. For what do you save the burnt matches?” Finacune grinned shyly. “Wait till the fire starts--I’ll be warmer. I’m always like this at first--like the little boy who tried to cure bees with rheumatism.” “Something’s wrong with the Russians,” Feeney declared in low excitement. “We should all be dead by this time--if they are going to whip Kuroki. Oh, war--war is a devil of a thing!” he added flippantly. “We’re crushing the farmers’ grain.” “Shut up, you fire-eater. Haven’t you any reverence? I’m preparing myself for death.” That instant they heard a low command from an unseen Japanese officer, and a long drawn trumpet-cry. The Japanese leaped up from the grain. All was a tangle. Feeney, grabbing Finacune’s arm, seized the moment to break from Major Inuki and the others, and rushed forward to the open with the infantry. “Come on,” he said excitedly. “We’re foot-loose! Come on, my little angel brother, and play tag with these children!... ‘Onward, Christian Soldiers!’”