The back bobbed to greater effort. The blind one held him fast, and the Redhead left his trail of blood and murmured about the storm.... It was a long range for the rifles, and seemed as harmless as sandflies after the horror of hornets they had known.... They were alone. They saw the heaped rims of the Russian works ahead—five of them, alone, for, queerly enough, they were as one.
And now from ahead, from the concealed Russian lines, arose a roar such as Peter had never known. It struck him with a psychic force that filled his eyes with tears, though he did not understand. He thought that the end of the war must have come—so glad and so mighty was that shouting.
Now a fragment of the line ran forth to bring the little party in, not minding Peter's gestures in the least; for he waved them back, lest they start the machines again.... It appeared that his little group of maimed and blind came home marching into the very hearts of the command—even the Red one.... They had laid their burdens down; an incoherent Boylan took Peter, leading the way back to the staff. Kohlvihr and Dabnitz stood there, the old man repeating:
“Get the name of the hospital man.”
Dabnitz plucked the sleeve of Samarc's coat.
“Hospital steward,—I have that,” he said a second time, “but what's the name and the division?”
“He can't speak,” said Peter. “I'll get his name later. He's been wounded in the mouth.”
Curiously enough in this turmoil it appeared for the first time why Samarc had been allowed a free field practically—why he had not been impressed for service by one of the batteries. It was the steward's blouse that Abel had given him.... Peter lost wonder at this. Things were darkening about him. He smelled the cedars. Her colors seemed just out of view.... She had been near.
“Peter—are you hit?” It was Boylan's voice.
“No, just bushed.”