The two men slept in a deserted hut that night, but an hour before daybreak they were wending their way through the communication-trenches to the front line. It was half-an-hour before "Stand to" when the major and his unkempt companion reached the last dark trench where sentries were straining their eyes at the blackness of No Man's Land. A junior officer stepped up to the major and reported, quietly, the situation during the night.
"They've got a machine-gun post," he said at the end, "somewhere over by those three trees. Can you see them, sir? They got five of our chaps last night and two the night before."
"Humph! They tried for me too, yesterday afternoon. Can't the guns do anything?"
"They've tried, sir, but the rise in the ground seems to protect them from anything except a direct hit."
Even in the darkness the young lieutenant could notice the sudden look of decision which flashed into Campbell's eyes.
"Give me an A form," he said tersely.
The lieutenant handed him a message-pad on which he wrote a few words.
"See that the colonel gets this," he said, "and pass word along to the other companies that Private Des Rosiers and I are going to get that machine-gun post; so if we come back don't give us too hot a reception from your sentries.—Sergeant, some bombs.—And let Des Rosiers have that revolver, old chap. My batman will give you one of mine. Right—thanks."
"But, sir"—the young officer was vastly troubled—"it's not up to you. I'll go, major. Honestly, I want to——"
"Thanks, old man; but this is a bigger job than it looks. Not that you couldn't do it as well or better, but—well, I've set my heart on going, that's all."