Now, as he turned to glance backward, he saw Mock step out of the ranks, go to the side of the road and sit down.
A glance at his wrist watch, and Greg saw that the first half-hour was nearly up.

In a minute or two more, he knew Major Bell would give the order for a counter-march, and the first battalion would swing and come back on its own trail.

So Captain Holmes turned and ran back to his non-commissioned officer.
"What's the matter, Sergeant ?" the young captain inquired pleasantly.
Mock made as though trying to rise from the ground to stand at attention, but his lips twisted as though he were in pain.
"Rest," ordered Greg, "and tell me what ails you." "My feet are killing me, sir," groaned the sergeant.
"That's odd," Captain Holmes commented.

"You were all right at assembly---lively enough then.

Has half an hour of marching used up a sound, healthy man ?" Instantly the sergeant's look became surly.
"All I know, sir, is that I could hardly stand on my feet.