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Updated: May 3, 2025
It even cheered him a trifle. "In case of a mix-up," thought he, "there couldn't be a better place for ambushing these infernal cannibals for mowing them down, wholesale for sending them skyhooting to Tophet, in bunches!" And with a grim smile, he worked his way cautiously toward Madison Forest and the pine-tree gate. As he drew near, his care redoubled. His grip on the revolver-butt tightened.
She yielded, waking as it were from the horrid fascination that had held her spell-bound. Down she sat on her bed of furs, covered her eyes with her hands, and for a while remained quite motionless. Stern watched her. And again his hand sought the revolver-butt. "I ought to have waded into that bunch, long ago," thought he. "We both ought to have. What it's all about, who could tell?
"No man would save you at that expense," said the Nurse disdainfully. "I know men." "Do you? I don't in that way. There was once an officer a noncombatant. I could have loved him.... Once there was a Confederate cavalryman. I struck him senseless with my revolver-butt and I might have cared for him. He was very young.... I never can forget him.
Was this something the reason why he had not yet kissed her? "It's got to do with the Dutchy wot landed me this slip over the cokernut" he indicated some plaster strappings that decorated the seat of intelligence "with a revolver-butt, when they rushed the Fort. After 'e'd plugged at me wiv' 'is last cartridge an' missed."
His hand tightened on the revolver-butt till the knuckles whitened. And thus, face to face with the Horde, they stood for a long minute. Neither of them realized exactly the details of that first impression. The narrow slit of view which they had already got through the crack in the wall had only very imperfectly prepared them for any understanding of what these Things really were, en masse.
The young man's hand inadvertently moved toward his revolver-butt. This drew a sharp imperative order from one of the men in front. "Throw up your hands, and damn quick!" "You seem to have the call, gentlemen," he smiled. "Would you mind telling me what it's all about?" "You know what it's all about as well as we do. Collect his gun, Tom."
He had only to thrust the pin into the mud and he was connected up with the Corporal at the outside switch, had only to shout one word, 'Fire! and it would all be over. Quickly but noiselessly he put his hand down to catch up the wire with the earth-pin. His hand touched the revolver-butt in his holster, checked at it, closed round it and slid it softly out.
Had been, one was tempted to say, in regard to his condition: "For," said one of the R.A.M.C. men to a sympathetic bystander, "the chap has had a tremendous wipe over the head with a revolver-butt or a gun-stock, and he has been shot in the face besides. There's the hole plain where the bullet went in under his near nostril, and came out at the left-hand corner of his off eye.
After a certain stage one becomes unconscious to even a revolver-butt prodding one in the ribs. It seemed only a few minutes before the sergeant thrust his head into my dug-out with a "Midnight, sir!" I groped around for my pocket lamp and looked at my watch some way you always hope the sergeant is wrong, but he never is and tumbled out to relieve poor Lyte, who had spent a miserable four hours.
What followed does not amount to much when it comes to action with which to adorn a tale. Nigger Jim walked up to the bad man, his hand on his revolver-butt. The luck which sometimes looks out for the righteous party in a quarrel was with him to the extent of seeing to it that the meeting took place out in the open where there was no chance for ambush. The break was even.
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