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Updated: June 27, 2025
"For Heaven's sake, Pilot, get out," said Duff crossly. "You make me nervous. Besides, you have got to get that wounded man out, you know. Come along." He hustled Barry out and over to the neighbouring dugout, where they found McCuaig with his beloved machine gun still at his side. The wounded man was very pale, but extremely cheerful, smoking a cigarette.
"I'm glad to see you, sir," he said quietly, reaching out his hand. "Good old man," said Barry, gripping his hand hard, "but you are a blamed old fool, you know." McCuaig made no reply, but there was a happy light on his face. Under Duff's compelling urging they got the wounded man on a stretcher and started on their long and painful carry.
Well, he started out snipin' the day after McCuaig quit, and McCuaig gave him his rifle too, and took him up to the 'hide. Well, big Jim was always a careless cuss, you know. He gets his eye on the hole, sightin' his rifle, and McCuaig was watchin' through one of them new things " "Perry's scope." "Yes, that's it, Paris cope. Them French is mighty smart fellows, you bet. When along walks a Hun.
"It is the medical officer, McCuaig," said the doctor, opening the door slightly. Bang! Crash! came the scantling upon the door jamb, shattering it to pieces. The whole guard flung themselves against the door, shoved it shut, and shot the bolt. "I warned you, sir," said the panting corporal. "Better leave him until morning. He's a regular devil!"
"They don't hit because they each keep their own orbit," said Barry, "and they obey the laws of their existence." "Orbut," enquired McCuaig. "What's that?" "The trail that each star follows," said Barry. "I see," said McCuaig, "each one keeps its own trail, its own orbut, and so there's peace up there. And I guess there'd be peace down here if folks did the same thing.
"Then why didn't you come in at once?" inquired the M. O. indignantly. McCuaig looked at him in mild surprise. "Why, they was all blown up, and there wasn't anybody to run the gun." The M. O. examined the wound more closely and shook his head at Barry. "We won't touch that now. We'll just bandage it up. Are you feeling pretty comfortable?" "Fine," said McCuaig with cheerful satisfaction.
Knight himself had been killed soon after entering the line, and about his men conflicting tales were told: they were holding a strong point, they were blown up, they had shifted their position, they were wiped out, they were still "carrying on." McCuaig was the hero of every tale. He was having the time of his life. He had gone quite mad. He was for going "out and over" alone.
A silence fell upon the group of men. "What! Do you mean it, McCuaig?" said Duff at length. The man turned his thin, eagle face toward the speaker, a light in his eyes. "Why, ain't you goin'? Ain't every one goin' that can? If a fellow stood on one side while his country was fightin', where would he live when it's all over?
"A drink, if you ain't too busy, but I hate to take your time." "Oh, you go to thunder," said Barry. "Take my time! What am I for? Any pain, Mac?" "No, not much. I'm a little sleepy." Barry turned the flash-light on his face. He was startled to find it grey and drawn. He brought the M. O., who examined the wounded man's condition. "No pain, eh, Mac?" "No, sir," said McCuaig cheerfully.
"You can't have any more beer, McCuaig," said the corporal, from a safe distance. "Watch me, sonny!" replied McCuaig. With a single sweep of his hand, he snatched two bottles from the ledge behind the corporal's head.
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