They rode to their camp in almost complete silence, except for a grunt or two from the O. C. who seemed in a grumpy mood.
When they arrived at Headquarters, the O. C. drew up his horse and turning to the major, said,
“I don't know just what to do with this Pilot of ours. He is a fool in some ways.”
“A darned fool, sir,” said the major emphatically.
“And,” continued the major, “I am selfish enough to say that I am damned glad—I won't apologise, Pilot—that he decided to stay with us. It would have been just a little harder to carry on if he had left us.”
“Yes,” growled the major, “but, oh, well, we have got to stick it I guess. The Pilot is a soldier all right.”
There was nothing further said about the matter, but next day as Barry walked about the camp, among the men, their eyes followed him as he passed, and every officer in the mess seemed to discover an errand that took him to Barry's tent.
Two days later the Canadians moved up into the line and took over from the Australians. They followed the Bapaume Road toward Pozieres, passing through a country which had seen the heaviest fighting in the war.
“This,” said the O. C., drawing aside from the road, and riding to a slightly rising ground, “is La Boiselle, or at least where it was, and that I fancy is the famous mine crater. Sixty thousand pounds of gun cotton blew up that hole.”
There was absolutely no sign of the village, the very foundations of the houses, and the cellars having the appearance of a ploughed field.