Keep your eye on Jim, though, he's a mighty hand at going more than his share." "Trust me," growled Corporal.
Then Percy felt himself seized again and dragged forward.
In about five minutes they halted again, and the whistle was repeated.
The answer came from close at hand this time.
"All square ?" whispered Corporal.
"Yes!" replied a new indistinct voice--"come on." "Jim's screwed again," said the other man; "I can tell it by his voice; there's no trusting him.

Come on." They had moved forward half a dozen steps more, when Corporal suddenly found his head enveloped in a sack--a counterpart of his own--while at the same moment the other man was borne to the ground with a great dog's fangs buried in his neckcloth.
"Hold him!" called Jeffreys to the dog, as he himself applied his energies to the subjugation of the struggling Corporal.
It was no easy task.

But Jeffreys, lad as he was, was a young Samson, and had his man at a disadvantage.

For Corporal, entangled with the sack and unprepared for the sudden onslaught, staggered back and fell; and before he could struggle to his feet Jeffreys was on him, almost throttling him.

It was no time for polite fighting.