"Will you help me to a nip, Colonel ?" "Pardon me, gentlemen; I had forgotten that your hands were still in cords.

Corporal," to a trooper, "relieve their hands." The prisoners rubbed their wrists and hands, which were numb and cold.
Maurice produced his flask.
"I was bringing it along for your sprained ankle," he said, as he extended the flask to Fitzgerald, who drank a third of it.

"I'd offer you some, Colonel, only it would be like heaping coals of fire on your head; and, besides, I want it all myself." He returned the emptied flask to his pocket, feeling a moderate warmth inside.
"Drink away, my son," said the Colonel, climbing into the saddle; "there'll be plenty for me for this night's work.

Forward!" The troop took up the march again, through a splendid forest kept clear of dead wood by the peasants.

It abounded with game.