Then a group of officers approached, with a mounted officer in the middle of them, and a lantern swinging.  The group was not proceeding in any particular direction, but following the restless motions of the uneasy horse.  George, suddenly startled, recognized the voice of the rider; it was Colonel Hullocher’s voice.  The Brigade-Commander had come in person to investigate the melancholy inexcusable case of No. 2 Battery, and he was cursing all men and all things, and especially the Divisional Staff.  It appeared that the Staff was responsible for the hitch of organization.  During the day the Staff had altered its arrangements for No. 2 Battery of the Second Brigade, and had sent an incomplete message to the Army Service Corps Headquarters.  The A.S.C. had waited in vain for the completion of the message, and had then, at dark, dispatched a convoy with provender for No. 2 with instructions to find No. 2.  This convoy had not merely not found No. 2—­it had lost itself, vanished in the dark universe of rain.  But let not No. 2 imagine that No. 2 was blameless!  No. 2 ought to have found the convoy.  By some means, human or divine, by the exercise of second sight or the vision of cats or the scent of hounds, it ought to have found the convoy, and there was no excuse for it not having done so.  Such was the expressed opinion of Colonel Hullocher, and a recital by Major Craim of the measures taken by him did nothing to shake that opinion.

“How exactly do you stand now?” the Colonel fiercely demanded.

“The men and the horses will manage fairly well with what they’ve had, sir,” said the Major; and he incautiously added:  “But my officers haven’t had anything at all.”

The Colonel seized the opening with fury.

“What the devil do I care for your officers?  It’s your horses and your men that I’m thinking about.  It’s to-morrow morning that I’m thinking about.  I—­”

The horse, revolving, cut short his harangue.

“Keep that d—­d lantern out of his eyes!” cried the Colonel.

George jumped up, and as he did so the water swished in his boots, and a stream poured off his cap.  The horse was being fatally attracted towards him.  The beam of the lantern fell on him, illuminating before his face the long slants of rain.

“Ha!  Who’s this?” the Colonel demanded, steadying the horse.

George smartly saluted, forgetting his fatigue.

“You, is it?  And what are you supposed to be doing?  Look here—­” Colonel Hullocher stopped in full career of invective, remembering military etiquette.  “Major, I suggest you send Mr. Cannon with some men to find the convoy.”  The Major having eagerly concurred, the Colonel went on:  “Take a few men and search every road and track between here and Kingswood Station—­systematically.  Kingswood’s the rail-head, and somewhere between here and there that convoy is bound to be.  Systematically, mind!  It’s not a technical job.  All that’s wanted is common sense and thoroughness.”