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"Them's my overseer and his man, I guess," said Rawbon, with composure, and he smiled again as he observed how effectually he had checked the gleam of joy that had lightened Oriana's face. "'Twas he, you see, that set the dog on Jim's track, and now he's following after, that's all."
Up to then Rawbon had heeded nothing above the level of the trench and the hollow but now he could hear the steady roar of rifle and maxim fire, and the constant whistle of bullets streaming overhead. "I must rally another crowd and try'n' rush it," said Courtenay. "Stand ready with that maxim there. I won't be long." "I've got a box of bombs here, sir," said a man behind him.
Their rude companions, too, with the exception of Rawbon, who walked moodily apart, seemed solicitous to assist her with their rough attentions. To add to the disagreeable nature of their situation, the rain began to fall in torrents before they had accomplished one half of the distance.
They floundered along the twisting trench till it turned sharply to the right and ran out into the shallow hollow of the Frying Pan. It was swimming in greasy mud, and across the far side from where they stood Rawbon could see a breastwork of sandbags. "We call this entrance trench the Handle, and the trench that runs out from behind that barricade the Leak.
They started up with astonishment and consternation. She did not seem to heed them, but leaning upon the table, she stretched her hand to the brandy flask and applied it to her lips. "Who's this?" demanded Rawbon, with his hand upon the hilt of his large bowie knife. "Curse her! my evil genius," answered Philip, grating his teeth with anger. It was Moll.
"There's another bunch o' humor arriving," said Rawbon. "But I don't feel yet like encoring the turn any;" They moved on to a steady accompaniment of shell bursts and Courtenay looked round uneasily. "I don't half like this," he said. "They don't usually shell us so at this time of day. Hope there's no attack coming." "I agree with all you say, Loo-tenant, and then some.
Three days later Sergeant Rawbon, mounted on the motor-cycle which he had repaired and which had been sent over to him, found all his obstacles to the trenches melt and vanish before a couple of passes with which he was provided one readily granted by his captain on hearing the reason for its request, and one signed by Second Lieutenant Courtenay to pass the bearer, Sergeant Rawbon, on his way to the headquarters of the 1st Footsloggers with motor-cycle belonging to that battalion.
It stopped firing after a minute, and Rawbon, flattened back against a corner of the trench wall, heard an explanation given by a gasping private to Courtenay and another mud-bedaubed officer who appeared mysteriously from somewhere. "Flung a shower o' bombs an' rushed us, sir," said the private.
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