Part 42 (2/2)

The crash of the sh.e.l.ls in their rear drowned Hawke's exclamation, but they saw him stop and turn, look under his hand at the barrage, and dart back towards it like a hare.

”Hawke, stop! Are you mad?” cried Bob, making a grab at him as he went by, but Hawke's face was white and set, and he paid no heed as they watched him curiously.

”I know!” shouted Dennis in his brother's ear, ”his chum's. .h.i.t. Look at that, Bob--there's devotion for you! Those two fellows are the greatest toughs in the regiment, and they're inseparables.”

They saw the little c.o.c.kney private fling himself down on his knees beside a fallen man, tear with both hands at the front of his tunic, and then fling his arms up above his head with a tragic gesture of despair.

Then he slung his rifle, and, stooping again, dragged the figure up, hoisted him across his shoulder, and came staggering back under the heavy load, the heroic group telling blackly out against the searchlights' white glare.

A sh.e.l.l burst thirty feet way, but the little c.o.c.kney came doggedly on, and they waited for him, even retracing their steps to meet him.

”What's up, Hawke?” shouted Dennis; ”do you want us to give you a hand?”

And he was about to add something else, but the look of piteous entreaty in Hawke's eyes checked the words.

”I'd rather take him in myself, sir,” he said hoa.r.s.ely; ”it's true what they says in the papers abart making a man a new face in the 'orspitals, ain't it? They'll be able to patch 'im up, don't you think, sir?”

Dennis and Bob exchanged a look, for the savage earnestness. .h.i.t them both hard from its very hopelessness.

Tiddler's visage was nothing but a hideous pulp.

And they knew in a moment that poor Tiddler had already pa.s.sed beyond all human aid; Major Dashwood made another mental note, to be placed upon official record later on--if he himself should be spared!

At the mouth of a communication Hawke paused to readjust his burden. The limp figure was somehow slipping from his grasp, and, seeing at last, he realised that his errand had been in vain.

As he stood looking down at the crumpled thing that a few minutes before had been a living, moving part of the great war machine, Dennis laid a hand on his shoulder.

”He was a good plucked 'un, Hawke, and you did your best for him,” said Dennis; ”now you've got to keep a stiff upper lip.”

”Yus, I know, sir,” was the husky reply, as something rolled glistening down the dirty cheek. ”'Im and me 'listed the same day, and Tiddler was the only pal I ever 'ad.”

He turned a fierce and flas.h.i.+ng eye towards the enemy barrage; an eye that positively flamed vengeance to come, and then he pointed with his hand.

”See that, sir?” he cried hoa.r.s.ely, ”ain't that Mr. Wetherby?”

A long way out across the wet slope, where the raging Reeds.h.i.+res had taken heavy toll of the flying foe before the German gunners had drawn that barrier of fire across the way, a figure was crawling back towards them, dragging one useless leg behind him.

A very wicked piece of shrapnel had carried young Wetherby's knee-pan away, and, lodging in the joint, gave the sufferer excruciating agony every time he knocked it. More than once he almost fainted, and each time the wounded knee jarred against the rough ground young Wetherby groaned through his clenched teeth.

”Why don't the stretcher bearers come out?” he moaned.

He could see the strong enemy trench from which they had made their final advance, and knew by the bustle there that active preparations were being made to hold it should the Prussians counter-attack again, which was not unlikely.

The enemy searchlights still concentrated upon it, and the barrage never ceased to boom and burst behind him with useless expenditure of sh.e.l.ls which had already served their object.

No doubt behind that barrage the discomfited Prussian battalions were being reorganised, but young Wetherby had no thought of them, all his energies were directed to getting in as soon as possible that the doctor might ease his pain.

An unusually heavy burst of shrapnel cut up the ground round about him as he gained the crest of a bank, where three dead men lay piled one on top of the other, and, taking advantage of that gruesome cover, a Prussian officer was crouching on his face. Wetherby paused a moment as he came alongside him.

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