The click of a rifle jerked Routledge out of his musings. A Japanese lieutenant and a non-commissioned officer were standing twenty paces away. The enlisted man had him covered. TWENTY-SECOND CHAPTER ROUTLEDGE STRIKES A CONTRAST BETWEEN THE JAPANESE EMPEROR AND THE JAPANESE FIGHTING-MAN, WHILE OKU CHARGES INTO A BLIZZARD OF STEEL Queerly enough, Routledge’s first thought was that the moment of the wound had come, but this was out of the question. These men would not fire at him. They would send him to the rear under a guard; or, worse, escort him to the command where the other correspondents were held. The Englishmen would then suggest to the Japanese that their captive had once proved a traitor to England, and that it would be well to look deep into his present business, lest he repeat.... He would miss the battle, be detained for a Russian spy--and Noreen would hear. Routledge was ordered to approach, and obeyed, swallowing Failure. The lieutenant spoke English, but disdained to look at proffered credentials. The sergeant gripped Routledge’s arm, and his superior led the way down the slope through the lines of troops. Many of the little soldiers of Oku were eating rice and drinking tea from bowls; some were bathing their bodies, others cleansing their teeth with great zeal, using soaps and pointed sticks. These meant to be gathered unto their fathers that day with clean mouths. Down and forward, the American was led, no word being spoken until they were in the midst of Oku’s front. Here was the field headquarters of some high officer of the left wing. Routledge breathed a hope that action would be joined before he was ordered back. The unknown commander stood in the centre of a thick protecting cordon of men. Evidently he was too rushed at present to attend the case of the detained civilian. Aides and orderlies spurred out with dispatches, and others riding in took their places. Three or four minutes had passed when certain commands went ripping down the unformed lines and action was indeed joined. The lieutenant was brushed away in the torrent of infantry which just now swept over them, but the sergeant held grimly to his prisoner’s arm. Oku had ordered the first charge of the day. This was the reeking red splash on the map of all the world. The soldiers leaped over Routledge and his captor. Shielding his head from their boots and rifle-butts, the American looked deep into the sweating brown faces that rushed past--red, squinting eyes, upper lips twisted with a fury they could not have explained, the snarling muscles drawn tight--and not a zephyr of fear in the command! Some of the men still had their eating-sticks and bowls and paper napkins. One stuffed the contents of a dish of rice into his mouth as he ran--an eight-pound rifle clapped between his elbow and ribs.