"My own guess is this, Tom," admitted the cavalryman. "McCalloway is on Kuroki's staff. Presumably he learned all he knew under Dinwiddie--and this campaign shows the earmarks of a similar scheme of generalship. Kuropatkin sought to delay the issue of combat, until over the restricted artery of the Siberian Railway he could augment his numbers and assume the offensive with a superior force." "And at the Yalu, Kuroki struck and forced the fight." "Precisely. He had three divisions lying about Wiju. It was necessary to cross the Yalu under the guns of Makau, and there we see the first manifestation of such an audacious stroke as Dinwiddie himself might have attempted." Prince was pacing the floor now, talking rapidly, as he had done that night when, with McCalloway, he discussed Dinwiddie, his military idol. "Kuroki--I say Kuroki, whether he was the actual impulse or the figurehead using the genius of a subordinate--threw the Twelfth Division forward a day in advance of his full force. The feint of a mock attack was aimed at Antung--and the enemy rose to the bait. One week in advance the command was given that at daybreak on the first of May the attack should develop. At many points, shifting currents had altered the channel and wiped out former possible fords. Pontoons and bridges had to be built on the spot--anchors even must be forged from scrap-iron--yet at the precise moment designated in the orders, the Mikado's forces struck their blow. But wait just a moment, Tom." General Prince opened a drawer and took out a magazine. "Let me read you what one correspondent writes: 'At ten-thirty on the morning of April thirtieth, the duel of the opposing heights began, with roaring skies and smoking hills. The slopes north of Chinlien-Cheng were generously timbered that morning. Night found them shrapnel-torn and naked of verdure. "'To visualize the field, one must picture a tawny river, island-dotted and sweeping through a broken country which lifts gradually to the Manchurian ridges. Behind Tiger Hill and Conical Hill, quiet and chill in the morning mists, lay the Czar's Third Army. "'Then were the judgments loosened.' The attack is on now, and the thin brown lines are moving forward--slowly at first, as they approach the shallows of the river beyond the bridges and the islands. Those wreaths of smoke are Zassolich's welcome--from studiously emplaced pieces raking the challengers--but the challengers are closing their gaps and gaining momentum--carrying their wounded with them, as they wade forward. There are those, of course, whom it is impossible to assist--those who stumble in the shallow water to be snuffed out, candle-fashion.'" The General paused to readjust his glasses, and Colonel Wallifarro mused with eyes fixed on the violet spirals of smoke twisting up from his cigar end. "Our friend would seem to be playing a man's game, after his long hermitage." Prince took up the magazine again.