“Worse luck,” said Larry, “I’d sooner have the bullets than the shells any day.”
“Ar’n’t you the Stonewalls?” suddenly demanded a voice from above them, and the three looked up to see a couple of men standing on the rearward edge of the trench.
“Yes, that’s right,” they answered in the same breath, and one of the men turned and waved his hand to the rear.
“Somebody is lookin’ for you,” he remarked, jumping and sliding down into the trench. “C Company o’ the Stonewalls, ’e wanted.”
“That’s us,” said Larry, “but if he wants an officer he must go higher up.”
Another figure appeared on the bank above, and jumped hastily down into the trench.
“Stonewalls,” he said. “Where’s ‘C’—why ’ere yer are, chums——”
“Pug?” said Larry and Kentucky incredulously. “We thought that—why, weren’t you hit?” “Thought you was ’alf-way to Blighty by now,” said Billy Simson.
“You were hit, after all,” said Larry, noticing the bloodstains and the slit sleeve on Pug’s jacket.