“You mean some of the fellows that have been killed?” Hicks asked. “I don’t like to do that. It seems too ghoulish.” “I don’t cah what it seems like. I’m hawngry. Le’s go.” “Maybe Bedford’ll stop us.” “Naw, he won’t. He’s too damned scared to git out of his hole.” They climbed out of the ravine and started back through the woods. “Hicksy! Be damned! Lookit that!” “Where, where? What is it?” “Look!” Pugh pointed his finger toward a large tree. Its knees on the ground and its forehead pressed stiffly against the bark of the tree, a body kneeled. “Let’s go back.” “Naw, I wanta git some of that salmon.” It was easy enough without touching the bodies to collect armfuls of canned salmon from the packs of the dead men. Soon they had all they could carry. Besides the salmon, Pugh had collected several razors and a carton of talcum. They had but reached the ravine when the bottom seemed to drop from the sky, dumping a deluge of shells. For a moment the men were stunned by the fierceness of the bombardment. Hicks and Pugh emptied their arms of the cans and dived for a burrow, reaching it simultaneously. Another flock of shells struck in and around the ravine. It was not until after they had exploded that the report of their having been fired was heard. “Oh-o, Hicksy, can’t you get in a little closer and give me some room,” Pugh yelled. “Them’s the whizz-bangs they’ve been tellin’ us about.” The shells, with their terrific “bz—BANG, bz—BANG” poured in upon the men. “Stretcher bearer on the left!” some one screamed above the racket. The plea went unheeded. “God damn it, there’s a man half killed up there. Stretcher bearer on the le-f-f-t.” “I didn’t know there was anybody fool enough to yell for one of them lousy stretcher bearers. Hicksy, le’s you and me go up.” While the shells fell and burst directly in front of him, behind him, and on each side, a huge fellow whose proportions made him an easy target, walked conscientiously along the ravine. In his hand was a bag containing first-aid implements. To Hicks, as he passed, the huge fellow, with the red cross on his arm, looked like a doting father who felt the necessity forcibly to reprimand a child. A few minutes later Hicks saw him, with the wounded man thrown over his shoulder as if he were a bag of salt, making his way along the ravine and through the woods to the dressing station. Bang—CRASH. The ravine reverberated from the explosion. Another volley had been hurled into it. “Stretcher bearer on the left. Stretcher bearer on the left,” some one called. From time to time the cry was repeated, each time less hopefully, more stridently. Fiercely whining, a shell bore down upon the ground under which Hicks and Pugh were crouched. It landed softly. They waited, breathless, for it to burst. Hicks was convulsed. Oh, if only it would explode and end the suspense. Hicks found himself wanting the shell to burst, imploring it!