"I'm from Timaru, but I'm not timorous," shouted a voice. "Buck up, lads!"
"That's the Corporal," decided Malcolm. "At all events we haven't all been done in."
"Hallo there!" exclaimed Corporal Preston, as Malcolm gained the lip of the crater. "Who are you?"
"Carr."
"Shouldn't have recognized you," continued the non-com., for Malcolm was hatless, his coat was partly torn away, while his face was black with grime. "Got a buckshie? No--good!"
"Cheer-o, Malcolm!"
This from Selwyn, who was engaged in binding a first-aid dressing round the ribs of the prophetic sergeant of engineers. Four other men lay on the ground, killed outright. Two of them belonged to the ration-party, and the others were Tommies who had been engaged in relaying the uptorn line.
"No use waiting here," declared Preston. "Bring that other truck along."
The first truck lay on its side, the woodwork shattered, and the rations scattered in all directions. The two men on the side nearest the exploding shell had been instantly killed, but the others, sheltered to a certain extent by the vehicle, had got off at the expense of a severe shaking. Nevertheless, all available hands set to work to retrieve the rations, and to set the second truck upon the uninterrupted stretch of rails.
High-explosives were still bursting at varying distances as the ration-party continued their perilous way across the open. It was with feelings of relief that Malcolm heard the Corporal give the word to unload once more. The men had reached the beginning of the communication-trench.