The groups of wandering horses were a tempting aim.

The poor creatures still try to get back to their lines, and some of them stand there motionless all day, rather than seek grass upon the hills.

The cavalry have made barbed-wire pens, and collect most of them at night.

But many are lost, some stolen, and more die of starvation and neglect.

An increasing number are killed for rations, and to-day twenty-eight were specially shot for the chevril factory.