Fortune favored him,
and the roar of the explosion followed his flying heels over the
parapet.
The officer, dazed, shaken, and not yet realizing what had happened,
had gathered neither his wits nor his limbs to rise when Macalister
leaped down almost on top of him. The officer's hand still clung to the
pistol he had held, but Macalister's grasp swooped and clutched and
wrenched the weapon away.
"Get up, my man," he said grimly. "Get up, or I'll blow a hole in ye as
ye lie."
He added emphasis with the point of the pistol in the other's ribs, and
the officer staggered to his feet.
"Now," said Macalister, "you'll quick mairch--that way." He waved the
pistol towards the British trench.
The officer hesitated.
"It is no good," he said sullenly. "I should be killed a dozen times
before I got across."
"That's as may be," said Macalister coolly.
"But if you don't go you'll get your first killing here, and say
naething o' the rest o' the dizen."
A shell cracked overhead, and the shrapnel ripped down along the trench
behind them with a storm of bullets thudding into the ground about
their feet.
"I will make you an offer," said the officer hurriedly. "You can go
your way and leave me to go mine."
"You'll mak' an offer!" said Macalister contemptuously. "Here"--and he
waved the pistol across the open again.
Pages:
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29