“I can tell you I felt pretty bad down there in the gully all alone,” returned Roger. “Once or twice I tried to crawl out, but the pain in that ankle was so terrific it was too much for me. I was afraid that I might faint, and then if my mask got loose in any way it would have been all up with me.”
As they advanced Dave told of finding the pile of three-inch shells hidden in the brushwood. Roger was as much interested as Phil had been.
“Do you suppose they were put there lately, Dave?” questioned the corporal.
“I don’t believe so, Roger. I think they date back to some other time—probably some time before we were on or near this front. You know this part of France had been under fire for many months.”
The sky was growing dark again, and now came a flash of lightning at a distance, followed by a rumble of thunder. Then came more rain and several other lightning flashes, each one a little nearer than those before.
“We’re in for it, all right enough,” was Phil’s comment. “I wish we were back in the shelter of the cliff.”
“How far is that from here?” questioned Roger.
“At least a quarter of a mile,” answered Dave.
With the storm coming on again the wood grew rapidly darker, so that it was with difficulty that the young engineers picked their way through the tangle of brushwood and around the rocks and fallen trees. It was now raining steadily, and before long all were wet to the skin.
“It’s too bad I took you so far out of the way, Phil,” remarked Dave. “I suppose we might have gone on direct to the shelter of the cliff, and I could have come back to look for that watch some time later.”