"You've got an ear! They do sort of go up and down."
"Le's fight some more."
"Oh, Jimmie, dry up!"
High noon over the corn, and the woods, and the white building with the squat chimney.
Jimmie again. "Le's fight so—Oh!"
He leaped, flung up his hands and fell—his rifle clattering behind—his head rolled over once and lay still. The man next him lifted Jimmie's head, laid it down gently and turned away. Some one farther along said, "Pshaw!" One still farther, "Who's that?"—"Jimmie"—"Oh!"
The captain took the rifle and belt with fifteen counted cartridges and walked down the line to the man with the shattered rifle.
"Here you are."
Company B was silent, and crouched more closely. The sun slipped down perceptibly and burned red in the smoke. The throb of the unseen guns grew Quicker. From woods' edge and cornfield, from covered lines in the weeds by zigzag fences, the smoke was living and leaping, Company B busy and interested. A horseman clattered by. "Get ready!"
"Bayonets?"