Part 19 (2/2)
”Say, Doc, will you talk--business?” he asked in a dull voice.
”Be quiet, Duck, the bearers will be here in a minute or two----”
”T'h.e.l.l wit them guys! I'm askin' you will you make it fifty-fifty--'r'
somethin'--” Again his voice trailed away, but his bright ratty eyes were indomitable.
I was bloodily occupied with another patient when something struck me on the shoulder--a human hand, clutching it. Duck was sitting upright, eyes a-glitter, the other hand pressed heavily over his abdomen.
”Fifty-fifty!” he cried in a shrill voice. ”F'r Christ's sake, Doc, talk business--” And life went out inside him--like the flame of a suddenly snuffed candle--while he still sat there....
I heard the air escaping from his lungs before he toppled over.... I swear to you it sounded like a whispered word--”business.”
”Then came their gas--a great, thick, yellow billow of it pouring into our sh.e.l.l hole.... I couldn't get my mask on fast enough ... and here I am, Gray, wondering, but really knowing.... Are you stopping at the Club tonight?”
”Yes.”
Vail got to his feet unsteadily: ”I'm feeling rather done in.... Won't sit up any longer, I guess.... See you in the morning?”
”Yes,” said Gray.
”Good-night, then. Look in on me if you leave before I'm up.”
And that is how Gray saw him before he sailed--stopped at his door, knocked, and, receiving no response, opened and looked in. After a few moments' silence he understood that the ”Seed of Death” had sprouted.
CHAPTER XIII
MULETEERS
Lying far to the southwest of the battle line, only when a strong northwest wind blew could Sainte Lesse hear the thudding of cannon beyond the horizon. And once, when the northeast wind had blown steadily for a week, on the wings of the driving drizzle had come a faint but dreadful odour which hung among the streets and lanes until the wind changed.
Except for the carillon, nothing louder than the call of a cuckoo, the lowing of cattle or a goatherd's piping ever broke the summer silence in the little town. Birds sang; a shallow river rippled; breezes ruffled green grain into long, silvery waves across the valley; suns.h.i.+ne fell on quiet streets, on scented gardens unsoiled by war, on groves and meadows, and on the stone-edged brink of br.i.m.m.i.n.g pools where washerwomen knelt among the wild flowers, splas.h.i.+ng amid floating pyramids of snowy suds.
And into the exquisite peace of this little paradise rode John Burley with a thousand American mules.
The town had been warned of this impending visitation; had watched preparations for it during April and May when a corral was erected down in a meadow and some huts and stables were put up among the groves of poplar and sycamore, and a small barracks was built to accommodate the negro guardians of the mules and a peloton of gendarmes under a fat brigadier.
Sainte Lesse as yet knew nothing personally of the American mule or of Burley. Sainte Lesse heard both before it beheld either--Burley's loud, careless, swaggering voice above the hee-haw of his trampling herds:
”All I ask for is human food, Smith--not luxuries--just food!--and that of the commonest kind.”
And now an immense volume of noise and dust enveloped the main street of Sainte Lesse, stilling the quiet noon gossip of the town, silencing the birds, awing the town dogs so that their impending barking died to amazed gurgles drowned in the din of the mules.
Astride a cream-coloured, wall-eyed mule, erect in his saddle, talkative, gesticulating, good-humoured, famished but gay, rode Burley at the head of the column, his reckless grey eyes glancing amiably right and left at the good people of Sainte Lesse who cl.u.s.tered silently at their doorways under the trees to observe the pa.s.sing of this noisy, unfamiliar procession.
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