"Your mule is ready," said I. But she shook her head.
"You gentlemen must give your mules up to the sick and wounded. We well ones can walk."
I did not know how to answer her, although I knew she was wrong. The way to organize a marching column is not to level down to the ability of the weakest, although the pace of the weakest may have to be the measure of speed. We, who had to protect the column and shepherd it, would need our mounts; without them we should all be at the mercy of any enemy, with no corresponding gain to any one except the litter-bearers. All the same, I did not care to take issue with that capable young woman then and there. She would have put me in the wrong and left me speechless and indignant, after the fashion that is older than poor Shylock's tale.
But Fred is made of sterner stuff than I, and was never above amusing himself at the expense of anybody's dignity.
"Will is the youngest," he answered. "Besides, he's keeping us all waiting with his love-affairs! He ought to be made to walk!"
"His love-affairs?"
"He went into the woods to see a woman," Fred answered imperturbably. "Let him forfeit his mule. Here he comes. Did you find her, America?"
Will emerged out of gloom with a grin on his face.
"Just my luck!" he said simply. "What are we waiting for? I can hear the Kurds. Let's start."
At that Gloria got excited.
"D'you mean you're willing to leave a woman behind alone in that forest?" she demanded, and Will's jaw dropped.
Fred nudged my ribs.
