Loubet prevented him, however: No, thanks! They were not at all anxious to have a row with the Prussians, who, under penalty of death, had forbidden the prisoners to kill a single one of the horses, for fear lest the abandoned carcase might foment a pestilence. It was necessary to wait till night had closed in. And this was why they were all four gathered in that ditch, watching with glittering eyes which did not stir from the animal.
'I say, corporal,' suddenly asked Pache in a somewhat faltering voice, 'you are a man of ideas, couldn't you kill him without hurting him?'
With a gesture of revolt Jean declined the cruel task. Kill that poor, agonising beast? No, no! His first impulse was to flee and carry Maurice away with him, so that neither might take any part in that frightful butchery. But at sight of his companion's pallor he scolded himself for his sensibility. After all, animals were intended for the food of man. A fellow ought not to let himself die of hunger when there was meat available. And pleased to see that Maurice was some what inspirited by the prospect of dining, he put on a good-humoured air and answered: 'Well, no, I have no idea as to that, and if he's got to be killed without being hurt——'
'Oh! I don't care a fig about that,' interrupted Lapoulle, I'll manage it, you'll see.'
When Jean and Maurice had seated themselves in the ditch, the waiting was resumed. From time to time one of the party rose up to make sure that the horse was still on the same spot, stretching its neck towards the fresh breezes from the Meuse, towards the setting sun, as though to drink in the life that lingered there. Then, as the twilight slowly fell, all six men rose up to continue their savage watch, impatient for the laggard night, and glancing on all sides with wild anxiety to ascertain if anyone were observing them.
'Ah! dash it!' suddenly exclaimed Chouteau, 'now's the time.'
The surrounding landscape was still broadly defined in the equivocal owl's light which now prevailed. And Lapoulle ran up the first, followed by the five others. He had picked up a large round stone in the ditch, and he rushed upon the horse and began to batter its skull, with his arms stiffly outstretched as though they had formed a club. At the second blow, however, the horse made an attempt to get up. Chouteau and Loubet, standing over its legs, were trying to hold them down, and calling to the others to help them. The animal neighed in a terrified, dolorous, almost human voice, struggled to rise, and would have shattered them like glass had it not been already half dead of starvation. Its head continued moving, and Lapoulle's blows missed their aim, so that he was unable to despatch it.
'Curse it! how hard the brute's bones are! Hold him so that I can settle him.'
Jean and Maurice, whose hearts were frozen, did not hear Chouteau calling to them, but stood by with hanging arms, unable to make up their minds to intervene. And, all at once, Pache dropped upon his knees—in an instinctive impulse of religious pity—joined his hands, and began stammering prayers such as are said at the bedside of the dying.
Once more did Lapoulle miss his aim, merely tearing off one of the ears of the wretched horse, which fell back, giving vent to a loud cry.