A' the same, I wisht
fat Maggie was here the noo. I could dae fine wi' a bit squeeze.'
'My! ye're a fair treat!' said Macgregor, chuckling in his misery.
''_Sh_! Keep still! Something comin'!'
The distant gun-fire had diminished. There were appreciable
silences between the blasts. But during a flash Macgregor detected
a helmeted crawling shape. Willie's hand stole out and grasped the
bayonet.
'Number twa!' he muttered, with a stealthy movement. 'I maun get
him!'
But Macgregor's ears caught a faint sound that caused him to grip
the other's wrist.
'Wait,' he whispered.
The helmeted shape came on, looking neither to right nor left, and
as it came it sobbed. And it passed within a few yards of them,
and into the deeper gloom, sobbing, sobbing.
'Oh, Christ!' sighed Willie, shuddering.
'Put yer arm roun' me, Mac. I'm feart.'
Five minutes later he affected to jeer at himself. 'Weel, I'm
rested noo,' he continued, 'an' it's time we was gettin' a move on.
Mornin's comin', an' if we're spotted here, we're done for. Can ye
creep?'
Macgregor tried and let out a little yelp.
'Na, ye canna. Ye'll jist ha'e to get on ma back.'
'Wullie, gang yersel'----'
'Obey yer corporal!'
'Ye're no a corp----'
'If they dinna mak' me a corporal for this, I'll quit the service!
Onyway, I'm no gaun wi'oot ye. Same time, I canna guarantee no to
tak' ye to the German lines. But we maun risk that. Ye'll ha'e to
leave yer rifle, but keep on the dish-cover till I gi'e ye the
word.
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