Wash stared hard at Don for a moment. A big, whizzing shell, with a noise like that made by a nail when thrown through the air, passed over, not very far away, and exploded with a horrible rending sound, but the negro only shook himself and then grinned. Presently he replied to his companion:
“An’ Ah ain’t yaller, neither! No, sah! En’ yu-all ain’t gwine tuh have no call tuh say Ah is yaller. No, sah! Ah’s gwine tuh stay on dis job ontil de yearth jes’ fade away an’ kingdom come, Ah is. Scairt? Is Ah? Yu jes’ watch me! An’ ef Ah’s gotta git hit, why Ah jes’ gits hit an’ Ah reckon Ah kin stan’ it ez well ez a yuther o’ them niggahs a-fightin’, or any white man, either! Yes, sah!”
And that was all there was to it. Wash meant what he said. Not another whimper did Don hear from him, no matter what their duties were, nor how fast the shells flew. The darky was on the job to prove that he was all one solid color, figuratively as well as literally, even if his name was White. And it became certain that there was no pallor in his liver to indicate his name.
The boys’ first trip close to the battle lines near Château-Thierry resulted in their return with three Frenchmen, one dying and beyond possible help, and two others wounded. Don and Wash had reached the crest of a hill on the road running southwest into LaFerté when they came upon a Red Cross ambulance which had been disabled. Don pulled up a moment to ask if he could briefly give aid, thinking to tow the other car in, if necessary. It was not the custom for a car loaded with blessés to spend any time on the road, if it could be avoided.
A weazen little man, with a foreign face, replied to the boy, in good English:
“Can you lend us a heavy wrench? We have only one and a light one. We need two to take off a bolt.”
Don produced the desired tool from his box and turned to hand it to the little fellow. At the same instant the voice of someone on the other side of the crippled car called quite loud and in French, presumably a command to the little man. The latter made answer as if in protest. Then he handed the wrench back to Don.
“We can obtain another. We should not keep you. Thanks.”
“No, use it,” Don insisted. “I must give my wounded some water and see if they are comfortable. It will not take you long.”
The little man ran quickly to his car and dived beneath it. Don, influenced partly by curiosity and partly by instinct, walked past the front end and on to the other side of the disabled car. A man there, whose voice he had heard—glared at him for a moment, then turned away, rounding the rear end of the car and keeping his back to Don. This fellow was tall, thin, with a narrow face and contracted eyes. He was dressed in khaki, with the white band and Red Cross on his arm.