“Gee!” muttered the artilleryman, “that was about the worst of all. They keep an awful lookout, our fellows do. Wonder they didn’t shoot you.”
“We thought of that,” admitted Enos mildly, “so we decided to keep a talkin’ as we come near, so they could hear we was English-speakin’. So we did. The outpost heard us and challenged us, and we told our story. They was bound to make sure we wasn’t spies, so they kep’ askin’ us questions. By and by they called the corporal of the guard, and after he’d asked us forty-’leven more questions he took us back to Regimental Headquarters, and there was some officers there that I’d see before. I was surprised that they remembered me, but they did.”—Jane was not surprised to hear this.—“And then, well, there wasn’t anything too good for us. They had some chow heated up for us, and they told us we could have the best there was to sleep on—and we did—only the best there was was the floor,” he explained with a laugh. “This bed certainly feels good,” he added.
That was his whole story of an exploit which had saved a battalion. Seven hundred men had gone forth to take the objective, two hundred and twenty-seven of them had been able to walk out, when the rescue came. The chances of a runner getting through the enemy lines by which the men were surrounded had been desperate ones, and Dyer had taken them and had come through without a hair of his head having been touched.
He turned to Jane, lowering his voice. “Did you ever get my letter I sent you?” he asked.
“Yes, Enos. Doctor Leaver brought it to me.”
“I knew it,” he said triumphantly. “I knew you was prayin’ for me to get my chance, or I wouldn’t have got it so easy.”
Jane’s eyes fell before his.
“You did do what I asked, didn’t you?” he insisted, confidently.
She shook her head. “No, I didn’t pray for that, Enos. All I could think of was that you might come through safely.”
“And that was what you prayed for?”