But Bob refused to move. He seemed to be fascinated by what he saw. He loathed the sickening sights which met his gaze, but he could not tear himself away. "See the hundreds of little mounds!" he cried. "They will be the graves of the fellows who fell here. Don't you remember what we read in the papers? When the Germans retreated, a number of men were left behind to dig little graves, and throw the dead into them." "Come away, I tell you!" shouted Pringle. "This is the beginning of war's aftermath, only the beginning--but, great God, think of it! What is that?" "What?" "Surely that's some one alive over there! Don't you see? In the ditch yonder." As if by a magnet the two men were drawn to the spot to which Bob had pointed. "It's a man, anyhow," said Pringle. "No, there are two." "They are alive." "No, they are dead." A few seconds later they reached the spot, and saw what they will never forget, if they live twice the years allotted to man. In a dry ditch, locked in each other's embrace, were two dead soldiers, one a Frenchman, the other a German. Both had evidently been wounded, but they had engaged in a death struggle. They had fought to the deaths without either conquering the other, and they had died in each other's arms. There was no look of fury or hatred in the face of either. The hand of death had smoothed away all traces of this. Nevertheless, it had been a duel to the death. They were little more than boys, perhaps about twenty-four, and both were privates. Their faces proclaimed their nationalities even more plainly than their uniforms. "I expect they had never seen each other before," said Bob, like one thinking aloud; "they bore no enmity towards each other." "Except that one was French and the other German," said Pringle. "That was enough for them. Somehow they found themselves together, and fought it out. I expect it was at night time. By God, it's ghastly, isn't it? And this is war!" "No, it's only the shadow of it, the aftermath. There are no groans here, no suffering. It's peace, but it's the peace of horrible, unnatural death. We shall see real war presently." "Come, let's get away. It's sickening." "The Prime Minister was right. It's hell let loose. All the same, I'm aching to be at it. I never hated it as I hated it now. God helping us, this shall be Europe's last war." They slowly returned towards the railway siding when in the distance they saw the train standing still. "Look," said Pringle, "there's been a fire here. It looks as though they had a meal. Here's an empty wine bottle, and a crust of bread." "Yes, and here's a pipe half full of tobacco. It might have been thrown down in a hurry, as though some chap were having a quiet smoke, and was suddenly called to duty. Look, it's an English-made pipe. It must have belonged to one of our men. I wonder where he is now. I'll take it as a souvenir."