"All the way, then," said the Doctor, "out to the farthest trenches. We'll make a clean sweep."
They shot past Hoogar, and out through the wood, and on to the trenches of the Cheshires. Just back of the mounded earth, the reserves were sleeping in the mud of the road, and on the wet bank of the ditch. The night was dark and silent. A few rods to the right, a shelled barn was blazing.
"Have you any wounded?" asked Dr. McDonnell.
"So many we haven't gathered them in," answered the officer. "What is the use? No one to carry them away."
"I'll carry as many as I can," said the Doctor.
"I'll send for them," replied the captain. He spread his men out in the search. Three wounded were placed in the car, all of them stretcher cases.
"Room for one more stretcher case," said Dr. McDonnell; "the car only holds four."
"Bring the woman," ordered the officer.
His men came carrying an aged peasant woman, grey-haired, heavy, her black dress soggy with dew and blood.
"Here's a poor old woman," explained the captain; "seems to be a Belgian peasant. She was working out in the fields here, while the firing was going on. She was shot in the leg and fell down in the field. She's been lying on her face there all day. Can't you take her out of the way?"