Down the road came a few stragglers—men who had broken from the front line and from the reserve trenches. One or two were slightly gassed; one or two were wounded; several were neither.
“And what are you doing?” asked the same officer, planting himself in the middle of the road. “Wounded men in there! The remainder join that party and wait for orders!”
“But they’re through us,” muttered a man, pushing past the officer. “I’m off.”
“Did you hear my order?” said the officer sternly catching his arm. “Get in there—or I’ll shoot you.”
“Lemme go, curse you,” howled the man, shaking off his hand and lurching on—while the others paused in hesitation. There was a sharp crack, and with a grunt the man subsided in the road twitching. The Staff officer, turned round, and with his revolver still in his hand pointed to the party sitting down by Gerald. Without a word the men went there.
“I am going up to see what’s happening,” he told Gerald. “Get these men below in the cellars and keep them there. It’s the
