“But you said you’d be willing to clear out of this soon, Jack. I wish you’d settle on doing so now.”
“I suppose I’ll have to keep my word,” agreed the other, “though between you and me I haven’t seen half enough of this thrilling picture. It’s ten times as interesting as looking at one of those war panoramas like Gettysburg, the Siege of Paris, and all the rest.”
“And a thousand times more terrible,” added Amos, “because we know that what we’re looking at isn’t a painting on canvas but the real thing.”
“Just give me one more chance to see through a gap in the smoke,” pleaded Jack. “I’d like to know what became of those men in the kilts, and with the bare knees.”
“The Highlanders, you mean,” said Amos. “Oh! they’ve found shelter behind some other stone wall, and are holding their own, I’m dead certain. Just as you said a while ago the canny Scot keeps a grip on what he can seize like a bulldog might.”
“Now the breeze has struck up again, Amos, and it’s blowing the smoke away, like we saw that fog at sea driven off. Use your eyes and tell me if you can pick out the men from the Scotch hills.”
Jack had hardly ceased speaking when his companion uttered a loud cry, as though he had made a discovery.
“There they are, flattened out along the ground, and against that small rise just like so many cats waiting to pounce on a robin. And, Jack, see what a distance they’ve gained, will you?”
“I’d like to predict that the terrible German drive has reached its limit in this direction,” said the Western boy, confidently.
“They’re shooting as fast as they can, too, what at I’m not able to say, for all the smoke. Somewhere beyond there the enemy lies, and I’m afraid some of those fellows we can see stretched out on the ground will never take part in another battle.”