"And Bersaglierino? And Mollica?" Pinocchio asked himself, anxiously, feeling his throat tighten up.
Suddenly a black shadow was outlined in the gleam of a searchlight that was operated from a distance. It crawled along the ground, moving by starts. They had seen it, too, from the trenches and there were confused cries of, "Come on!" ... "Bravo!" ... "A few more steps!" ... "Stick to it!"
And the figure seemed to gain new strength and to bound like a wild beast. But who was it? Surely the Bersaglierino. The form was small, slender, and very quick. Mollica was large and slow. What had become of him? Between the roar of the explosions and the whistle of the shells there came a shrill cry of anguish. The little shadow slid along, then a leap in the silvery ray, and it was lost in the blackness of the earth torn by the rain of steel.
"Oh, beasts that they are! They have murdered him!" Pinocchio screamed. "Enough! Enough! Wretches! Don't you see that he has ceased to move? Stop shooting.... Give him time to recover.... Perhaps he is wounded."
It seemed that the Austrian fire grew even more murderous.
Pinocchio, beside himself with fury, rushed out of his hiding-place and in a couple of bounds was back in the trench.
"They have wounded Bersaglierino.... He is there ... out there in the No Man's Land.... Help him ... don't let him die so."
They sprang over the top to rescue their wounded comrades, but had scarcely gone a step before they were lost to him.
Pinocchio lost his head. He sprang out of the dugout and ran as fast as he could into the spot still illuminated by the ray of silver. He stumbled, fell, got up again, fell once more, but kept on crawling on his hands and knees.... He heard a groan, felt a body, lifted it in his arms, and, gathering all his strength together, began to drag it toward the trench. All at once he felt his legs give way and he let out a yell of terror. He was answered by another from a hundred valiant throats; he saw a strange flash, felt a hurricane strike him, a wave roll over him ... but before losing his senses there came to him the cry of victory. The Italian bersaglieri had bayoneted those who had wounded Bersaglierino and had won from the enemy one more portion of their country.
A little later the stretcher-bearers were able to gather up the wounded from the field of honor.