The pockmarked hills that sloped down to meet the trail and mingle muddy rivulets with the slimy water that stagnated in its shell-holes took on a new lease of life as Jimmy surveyed them. Dark rings of smoke curled upward. The forms of men and animals began to appear, slowly at first, as if the bowels of the earth were giving up their recent inhabitants with great reluctance. Gradually whole processions of men moved against the horizons made by the dip and rise of Verdun’s storied hills. Mules and horses scampered at liberty and joined their braying and neighing with the sounds of human life that were heard in the great silence that obtained. Turning an abrupt curve Jimmy McGee was almost upon his battery. Even Jimmy, who had grown to believe that he had seen every sight that the front could offer, admitted that the scene before him was unusual. Humans and creatures who had been spending most of the last two months below the surface were breathing God’s free air once more without risking their lives by so doing. Men in undershirts, some without any, most all of them bareheaded, were stretching, washing, shaving, talking, and doing many other simple and ordinary things as if they were all undergoing a novel experience. There was not a clean-faced man in the crowd. The four guns that had been participating in the final barrage of the war stood in their crude emplacements like stage-settings in a scene that had been deserted by all of the actors. They looked forlorn and lonely in their abandonment. Equipment, most of it soiled, stained, and rusty, was piled in little heaps. A batch of rations had been uncovered and lay exposed to the possibility of unlawful seizure, as guards were a nonentity. Smoke issued from a field range that was in operation. The rattle of mess-kits announced the fact that the small line of men who had formed for mess were hungry. Jimmy made for a group of men who were standing around a bucket of water, waiting their turn to wash. “Hello, Sammy; how’s the boy?” asked McGee of a short, stocky lad in the waiting line of toilet-makers. “_Bon_, Jimmy,” responded Sampson. “What do you think of this guerre being _fineed_?” “Gosh! I can hardly believe it.” “I keep thinking that it’s liable to start up any old time,” admitted Sammy. “Are you goin’ down to the _échelon_, Sammy?” “_Oui, toot sweet_. Wait till I get a ton of this dirt off and I’ll hike along with you.” “All right, I’m goin’ to look ’round just a bit. Will see you at the kitchen.” “_Trey-beans_.” Jimmy toured the position and inspected his Betsy. “Well, old girl, you’re _finee_ now,” he said, patting the barrel of his faithful piece affectionately.