Corporal Jerry Jackson came in, from changing guard, and stood warming himself by the fire.
"By jiminy, those hosses are being eaten alive," he said. "I do pity 'em. I'd hate to be a hoss, on a trip like this."
"Yes; a man can understand an' grin an' bear it; but a hoss hasn't any sense o' the why an' wherefore."
"Those pesky magpies are still at 'em, are they?" asked the sergeant.
"A man to a hoss couldn't keep the things off with a club."
"They even try to take the meat out a fellow's hands," quoth Freegift Stout.
For the hungry magpies—bold birds of black-and-white, with long tails—hovered over the unsaddled and unpacked horses, lighted and pecked their raw backs until the blood flowed afresh. The horses, poor weak, thin creatures, kicked and whinneyed in vain. The magpies stuck fast and rode upon them, pecking. And as Freegift declared, swooped at the men also and grabbed for the meat in their hands.
"Have Roy and Gordon come in sight yet?" Sergeant Meek asked.
"We thought we could see 'em away out," replied Corporal Jerry.
