"I'll drar 'un off for ee, zur, nex' time the patrols pass. When I holler, yew and the others, yew run. Thirty-one forty-three Sapper Maggs, R.E., from Chewton Mendip ... that's me... maybe yew'll let us have a bit o' writing to the camp."
I stretched out my hand in the darkness to stop him. He had gone.
I leant forward and whispered to Francis:
"When you hear a shout, we make a dash for it!"
I felt him look at me in surprise—it was too dark to see his face.
"Right!" he whispered back.
Now to the left we heard voices shouting and saw torches gleaming red among the trees. To right and rear answering shouts resounded.
Again the patrols met at the plank above our heads, and again their departing footsteps rustled in the leaves.
The murmur of voices grew nearer. We could faintly smell the burning resin of the torches.
Then a wild yell rent the forest. The voice above us shouted "Halt!" but the echo was lost in the deafening report of a rifle.