“Thank you, sir,” said the youth, turning to his job again.
They rode a hundred yards, when another shell came, there was a terrific explosion, apparently just at the spot where the young officer had been standing.
“By Jove! I'm afraid that's got him,” said the O. C.
“I'll go and see, sir,” said Barry, spurring his horse back to the spot.
“Come back here, Barry,” called the major. “Darn him for a fool! What's the use of that? That isn't his job,” he added angrily.
“He thinks it is, probably,” said the O. C.
Barry found a great hole in the road with the officer's horse lying disembowelled beside it, kicking in his death agony. There was no sign of his rider anywhere. Fortunately there was a gap in the column, so that no one else was near enough to be injured.
As Barry stood gazing about, a voice hailed him from the ditch, which was several feet deep.
“I say, sir,” said the voice, “I wouldn't just stay there. They generally send over four of 'em. That's only the third. I find this ditch very convenient, though somewhat mucky.”
Barry looked at him in astonishment. He was white and shaken, covered with mud, but trying to get his cigarette case open.