And so it was that those first hours Culver recollected as being the most harrowing of all, even though the later hours brought more subtle refinements of pain. He reasoned that this was because during the first few miles or so he was at least in rough possession of his intellect, his mind lashing his spirit as pitilessly as his body. Later, he seemed to be involved in something routine, an act in which his brain, long past cooperation, played hardly any part at all. But during these early hours there was also the fact of Mannix. Superimposed upon Culver’s own fantasies, his anger, his despair (and his own calm moments of rationalization, too) was his growing awareness of what was happening to the Captain. Later, Mannix’s actions seemed to become mixed up and a part of the general scheme, the nightmare. But here at first Culver’s mind was enough in focus for Mannix’s transformation to emerge clearly, even if with the chill, unreal outlines of coming doom--like a man conversing, who might turn around briefly to a mirror and see behind him in the room no longer his familiar friend, but something else--a shape, a ghost, a horror--a wild and threatful face reflected from the glass. They made the highway at ten o’clock, almost to the minute. When the Colonel looked at his watch and stopped and the Major raised his arm, shouting, “Breather! Ten minutes!” Culver went over to the side of the road and sat down in the weeds. Blood was knocking angrily at his temples, behind his eyes, and he was thirsty enough to drink, with a greedy recklessness, nearly a third of his canteen. He lit a cigarette; it tasted foul and metallic and he flipped it away. His knees and thighs, unaccustomed to so much pounding, were stiff and fatigued; he stretched them out slowly into the dewy underbrush, looking upward at a placid cloud of stars. He turned. Up the road, threading its way through a barrier of outstretched legs and rifles, came a figure. It was Mannix. He was still muttering as he lumbered up and sank down beside him. “Those goddam people, they won’t keep it closed up. I have to dog them every minute. They’re going to find themselves running the whole way if they don’t keep closed up. Gimme a butt.” He was breathing heavily, and he passed the back of his hand over his brow to wipe the sweat away. “Why don’t you leave them alone?” Culver said. He gave the Captain a cigarette, which he lit, blowing the smoke out in a violent sort of choked puff.