“But, Sarge!” pleaded Cash, “you don’t git the idee. You don’t git it at all. Those Germans will be shyer’n scat, now that I’ve flushed ’em. An’ the longer the news has a chance to git round among ’em, the shyer they’re due to git. Why, even if I was to go out thar straight off it ain’t likely I’d be able to pot one where I potted three before. It’s the same difference as it is between the first flushin’ of a wild-turkey bunch an’ the second. An’ if I’ve got to wait long there’ll be no downin’ _any_ of ’em. Tell that to the Cap. Make him see if he wants them cusses he better let me git ’em while they’re still gittable.” In vain did Top Sergeant Mahan go over and over the same ground, trying to make Cash see that the company captain and those above him were not out for a record in the matter of ambushed Germans. Wyble had struck one idea he could understand, and he would not give it up. “But, Sarge,” he urged desperately, “I’m no durn good here foolin’ around with drill an’ relief an’ diggin’ an’ all that. Any mudback can do them things if you folks is sot on havin’ ’em done. But there ain’t another man in all this outfit who can shoot like I can; or has the knack of ‘layin’ out’; or of stalkin’. Pop got the trick of it from gran’ther. An’ gran’ther got if off th’ Injuns in th’ old days. If you folks is out to git Germans I’m the feller to git ’em fer you. Nice big ones. If you’re here jes’ to play sojer, any poor fool c’n play it fer you as good as me.” “I’ve just told you,” began the sergeant, “that we——” “’Nuther thing!” suggested Cash brightly. “These Germans must have villages somew’eres. All folks do. Even Injuns. Some place where they live when they ain’t on the warpath. Get leave an’ rations an’ ca’tridges for me—for a week, or maybe two—an’ I’ll gar’ntee to scout till I find one of them villages. The Dutchies won’t be expectin’ me. An’ I c’n likely pot a whole mess of ’em before they c’n git to cover. “Say!” he went on eagerly, a bit of general information flashing into his memory. “Did you know Germans was a kind of Confed’? The fightin’ Germans, I mean. Well, they are. The hull twelve I got was dressed in gray Confed’ uniform, same as pop used to wear. I got his old uniform to home. Lord, but pop would sure lay into me if he knowed I was pepperin’ his old side partners like that! I’d figered that all Germans was dressed like the ones back home. But they’ve got reg’lar uniforms. Confed’ uniforms, at that. I wonder does our gin’ral know about it?” Again the long-suffering Mahan tried to set him right; this time as to the wide divergence between the gray-backed troops of Ludendorff and the Confederacy’s gallant soldiers. But Cash merely nodded cryptically, as always he did when he thought his foreigner fellow soldiers were trying to take advantage of his supposed ignorance. And he swung back to the theme nearest his heart.