8-Jul

Previous

And the next night, first of October, they were relieved. The thing seemed impossible. They had always lived in the tunnel; would continue to live there till the end of time. The big man in khaki who sat talking to them had no corporeal existence. He was a joke—an elaborate joke. “Of course, Stark, I shan’t occupy these headquarters.” Of course he wouldn’t. Why should he? Nobody except themselves....

“Hallo,” laughed a voice, “your Adjutant’s gone to sleep.”

“I’m not asleep, sir.” Peter, very indignant, started up from the Weasel’s berth on which he had been sitting; dived back to his own part of the tunnel. The two Colonels heard his voice down the telephone: “Very well Corporal. If the Brigade’s gone, you can disconnect. Are the horses ready? Just coming up the road. Thanks....”

And then, for the first time in his life, Peter knew fear. Real crazy fear. It was midnight. Pitch-dark. Not a shell falling. But a shell might fall. If it did, what would happen to Little Willie? Little Willie was trotting up that damned road. If anything happened to Little Willie. If Jelks hadn’t fed Little Willie properly. Little Willie was the finest horse....

“Your coat, sir, and your spurs. I’ve packed your belt in the valise. And there’s only two cigars left, sir?”

Driver Garton, smiling, proffered one of them.

“Got a match?” asked Peter.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Clyx.com


Top of Page
Top of Page