The Sergeant hastily scuttled into one of the deep emplacements, followed in a more leisurely way by the officer. Winterbourne remained standing on top, and listened to Evans as he urged the men to get a move on. Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat. Zwiss, zwiss, zwiss, very close this time. Winterbourne felt a slight creep in his spine, but since Evans had not moved before, he decided that the right thing was to stand still. Evans visited each of the four emplacements, and then made straight for the front line. He paused at the parados. “We’re pretty close to the Boche front line here. He’s got a machine-gun post about a hundred and fifty yards over there.” Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat. Zwiss, zwiss, zwiss. “Look! Over there.” Winterbourne just caught a glimpse of the quick flashes. “Damn!” said Evans, “I forgot to bring my prismatic compass to-night. We might have taken a bearing on them, and got the artillery to turf them out.” He jumped carelessly into the trench, and Winterbourne dutifully followed. About fifty yards farther on, he stopped. “I see from your pay-book that you’re an artist in civil life.” “Yes, Sir.” “Paint pictures, and draw?” “Yes, Sir.” “Why don’t you apply for a draughtsman’s job at Division? They need them.” “Well, Sir, I don’t particularly covet a hero’s grave, but I feel very strongly I ought to take my chance in the line along with the rest.” “Ah. Of course. Are you a pretty good walker?” “I used to go on walking tours in peace time, Sir.” “Well, there’s an order that every officer is to have a runner. Would you like the job of Platoon Runner? You’d have to accompany me, and you’re supposed to take my last dying orders! You’d have to learn the lie of the trenches, so as to act as guide; take my orders to N.C.O.’s; know enough about what’s going on to help them if I’m knocked out, and carry messages. It’s perhaps a bit more dangerous than the ordinary work, and you may have to turn out at odd hours, but it’ll get you off a certain amount of digging.” “I’d like it very much, Sir.” “All right, I’ll speak to the Major about it.” “It’s very good of you, Sir.” “Can you find your way back to the sap? It’s about two hundred yards along this trench.” “I’m sure I can, Sir.” “All right. Go back and report to the Corporal, and carry on.” “Very good, Sir.” “You haven’t forgotten the pass-word?” “No, Sir, ‘Lantern.’” * * * * * About thirty yards along the trench, there was a rattle of equipment, and Winterbourne found a bayonet about two feet from his chest. It was a gas-sentry outside Company H.Q. Dugout. “Halt! Who are yer?” “Lantern.” The sentry languidly lowered his rifle. “Muckin cold to-night, mate.” “Bloody cold.” “What are you, Bedfords or Essex?” “No, Pioneers.” “Got a bit of candle to give us, mate, it’s muckin dark in them dugouts.” “Very sorry, chum, I haven’t.”