When Corporal Cameron saw the writing on that envelop he went white under the tan of the battlefield, but he stood still and showed no other sign:
“When I get back home I’m going to be married,” said the complacent voice, “and my wife and I will want you to come and take dinner with us some day. I guess you know who the girl is. She lives in Bryne Haven up on the hill. Her name is Ruth Macdonald. I’ve just had a letter from her. I’ll have to write her how you saved my life. She’ll want to thank you, too.”
How could Cameron possibly know that that envelope addressed in Ruth Macdonald’s precious handwriting contained nothing but the briefest word of thanks for an elaborate souvenir that Wainwright had sent her from France?
“What’s the matter with Cammie?” his comrades asked one another when he came back to his company. “He looks as though he had lost his last friend. Did he care so much for that Wainwright guy that he saved? I’m sure I don’t see what he sees in him. I wouldn’t have taken the trouble to go out after him, would you?”
Cameron’s influence had been felt quietly among his company. In his presence the men refrained from certain styles of conversation, when he sat apart and read his Testament they hushed their boisterous talk, and lately some had come to read with him. He was generally conceded to be the bravest man in their company, and when a fellow had to die suddenly he liked Cameron to hold him in his arms.
So far Cameron had not had a scratch, and the men had come to think he had a charmed life. More than he knew he was beloved of them all. More than they knew their respect for him was deepening into a kind of awe. They felt he had a power with him that they understood not. He was still the silent corporal. He talked not at all of his new-found experience, yet it shone in his face in a mysterious light. Even after he came from Wainwright with that stricken look, there was above it all a glory behind his eyes that not even that could change. For three days he went into the thick of the battle, moving from one hairbreadth escape to another with the calmness of an angel who knows his life is not of earth, and on the fourth day there came the awful battle, the struggle for a position that had been held by the enemy for four years, and that had been declared impregnable from the side of the Allies.
The boys all fought bravely and many fell, but foremost of them all passing unscathed from height to height, Corporal Cameron on the lead in fearlessness and spirit; and when the tide at last was turned and they stood triumphant among the dead, and saw the enemy retiring in disorder, it was Cameron who was still in the forefront, his white face and tattered uniform catching the last rays of the setting sun.
Later when the survivors had all come together one came to the captain with a white face and anxious eyes:
“Captain, where’s Cammie? We can’t find him anywhere.”
“He came a half hour ago and volunteered to slip through the enemy’s lines to-night and send us back a message,” he said in husky tones.