CHAPTER XXIX
THE SUPREME SACRIFICE
The men of our regiment were falling in line, and my company had already formed, as I took my place on its right awaiting orders to advance. The bugle rang out and the advance began.
At the foot of a little hill which was scarred by battle-marks we halted, while our air craft circled about it for observation. The tanks were awkwardly trundling into place. A first aid station was set up, and surgeons and devoted Red Cross helpers were coming to do their part. It presaged a battle.
Then I heard the sharp crack of rifles, and calls and cries of men in the distance.
“The Boches are coming!” I heard some one say.
“It’s new,” said another, “for them to advertise a raid in that way.”
“And don’t you believe it,” said another; “they haven’t gone crazy yet. But something is up.”
The shouts and rifle shots grew nearer, and we were on the tips of our toes for action, when there came into view a lone horse speeding like the wind, while the outcry behind him showed that he was escaping in desperate flight from the enemy.
What did it mean? The horse seemed riderless. But a nearer view showed that a man or boy was on the side furthest from the enemy, with his arms around its neck, and his heels holding to the cantle of the saddle like an Indian.
“It must be some one of consequence, to make all that row about,” said our top sergeant.