"If I were Fritz I'd think twice before standing up to one of those brutes," soliloquized Malcolm. "Twenty-two of them. This will be a big stunt, and no mistake."
At length, after many delays, the ration-party arrived at the farm--or, rather, the pile of rubble that was known as La Tuille Farm before a nest of German machine-guns had attracted the notice of an observant battery-commander. That was three months ago. Already nettles and briers were covering the blackened debris, as if Nature were doing her best to disguise the destructive handiwork of Man.
At the rear of the mound was the A.S.C. advanced depot. Piles of bully-beef tins, tiers of barrels and cases, small mountains of loaves covered with tarpaulins, were diminishing rapidly under the heavy calls made upon them by deputations from the men in the trenches. Although within range of hostile guns, the "dump" had so far escaped serious damage, To bring the supplies nearer the lines by mechanical transfer would be to court disaster, so every ounce of food had to be carried by squads detailed for that purpose. Every scrap of provisions the men in the trenches received had to be brought at the risk of life and limb. The task was a hazardous one, but there was never any lack of men willing and eager to run the risk of being strafed for the sake of feeding their comrades in the firing-line.
Corporal Preston went off to find the non-com. who had to issue the rations to his section, leaving his men to stand easy until he returned.
Someone touched Malcolm on the shoulder.
"Bear a hand, chum, and help me turn off the tap," said a husky voice.
Malcolm turned, and found that the speaker was Grouser Joliffe.
"Turn off what tap?" he asked.
"S--sh! Not so loud!" continued the rifleman. "It's my arm, I mean. Bleeding like anything. Help me off with my coat and clap a first-aid dressing on it, and I'll be all right. No dressing-station for me, I'll miss this stunt. Think we'll be back in time?" he added anxiously. "Corporal's a long time about it."
The two men withdrew a few paces, and Carr helped Joliffe to remove his coat. Already the sleeve was moist and clammy. On the left arm, just below the shoulder, was a nasty gash, caused by a fragment of a shell.