that Scotty had
spent the previous evening with them and had only left a minute ago.

"'E's no slouch, that cook of yours," he said, "'e's a fighter, 'e is."

"That so?"

"You're right, 'e is. Wy, where 'e was stationed, when the Germans
rushed 'em in the trench, 'e 'eld 'em back, killin' two of 'em
single-handed until the others had retreated. 'E ought to get the
D.C.M., 'e ought; that's what hi say. By Gawd! when it comes to the real
thing, give me the Scotch! An' honly last night 'e was in his cookhouse
with some blighter by the name of Grant when the shells came along, and
this fellow must have 'ad a streak of yellow for he promised to 'elp
Scotty with the meal, but bolted like a bullet at the first shell."

"How did he come to be down here?" I asked.

"Wy, he got relieved."

"Where is he now?"

"Hover in the dugout."

I learned that the hero of Mons had regaled them with accounts of his
feats of valor in the trenches, very similar to the tales he had
recounted to us at Salisbury Plain of his achievements in the Great
Retreat, and the cook had given him a meal befitting a hero of his
caliber, which Scotty had devoured with the relish and avidity of four
heroes, while the others had shown him the due and necessary deference
becoming a man of action.

For the benefit of the cook I informed him that Scotty was a damned
liar; that it was I who had been with him; that he ran like a
white-livered cur under fire from his cookhouse and didn't stop until he
had reached the wagon lines; that he was there without being relieved
and that he would shortly have another tale to tell.

I hastened to the dugout he had indicated as Scotty's retreat and found
him in the innermost corner, pretending to be asleep; he didn't answer
until I called him three or four times.

"Scotty, the O.C. wants to know why you left the cookhouse without guard
permitting some Algerians to eat up his bacon and stuff, and, further,
why you ran away under fire. You are in for hell as sure as there is
heather in your hair." His countenance took on a greenish hue and he
mumbled something about being shell-shocked and refused to come. I
persuaded him, however, to come over to the Quartermaster of the wagon
line, and that officer asked him what he was doing there.

"Weel,--I was wounded and couldna' fight anither stroke; I was jeest
tired oot wi' killin' Boches and hadna' the strength to stand anither
minute; I jeest had to get away."

"Well, y