Adventure Magazine Cover — page 184: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

182 sniffing the night air, and then stepped out closing it softly behind him. Hartley had a passing regret that it had not been left open. Then he lay down again to sleep, but sleep would not come. Five minutes passed, and ten and fifteen. But the stretcher-bearer did not return. Hartley became uneasy. Obviously the man was not going on duty anywhere at this time of night. He had not put on his blouse and his great-coat still lay across the foot of his stretcher. Fantastic notions filled the mind of the American. Perhaps this man was a spy, creeping away through the darkness with secret information. But that was unlikely. No movements of im- portance had taken place here for months, and there was no information. Perhaps on the other hand the man was deranged—weary of this never-ending war, and had stolen out to throw himself into the black waters of Lac Noir. Hartley had a moment of panic as he visualized the body floating in those dark currents. Possibly it would drift across to the German side of the lake, mute evidence of what they were doing tomen. A cold sweat sprang out on his face and neck. In even so short a time this place had ripped his nerves to ribbons. There was no fighting here—only the wind which sighed forever through the trees— “Joe!” he whispered. “Joe! You awake?” “‘What’s up?” came the answer, slowly as if Oleson were reluctant to speak. “That stretcher-bearer. Did you see him? He went out twenty minutes ago by my watch and he hasn’t come back yet. Hadn’t we better do something about it?” “What do you want us to do?” Oleson demanded, wide awake now. ‘TI ain’t a wet nurse to a stretcher-bearer.” “We ought to tell some one,” Hartley in- sisted. “I’ve got a hunch that something’s wrong. Suppose he’s gone coo-coo and thrown himself in the lake?” “Well, suppose he has,” Oleson answered comfortably. “This war is lousy with stretcher-bearers except when you need 7em.”’ “But Joe!” “Good night! You’re scared, Jim, that’s all. Who’s yeller now?” “You are, you big bum, letting a poor guy—” “Sacred name of a pig!” cried a French- man sitting up. ‘What is all this chatter about?” Larry Barretto “Now you’ve done it,’’ Oleson sighed. He explained rapidly in French: ‘My com- rade has an attack of nerves. He is not well. Because a stretcher-bearer went outside twenty minutes ago and has not returned he thinks—” ““How long agor” “About twenty minutes.” “Mon Dieu! Why did you not tell us? Gaston, André, Pierre, Louis! Awake. Ray- mond has gone—into the night!” Instantly the room was thrown into con- fusion. Men scrambled from their blankets, searching for their shoes and thrusting their arms into overcoats. They hurried toward the door to gather there, an incoherent, un- certain mass, lacking leadership. Some had caught up trenching tools, one had armed himself with the butcher knife, a few had had the forethought to light lanterns. They gesticulated and muttered. “T knew something was up,” Hartley cried in bitter triumph. ‘But what is it?” “Tt’s that phantom major,” Ole- son told him, sobered now. “They think that he has got the man named Raymond.” “Well, why don’t they do something about it?’ Hartley cried. He might have tremors in the dark; wind in the trees could make him shudder, but when there was action he forgot himself. Oleson stared at him. “They don’t want to go out there not knowing what they’re facing. Do you?” he asked slowly. “Ves, I do!” Hartley cried, thrusting himself among the men and flinging open the door. ‘“‘Who’s yeller now?” As if at a signal all the men pushed out after him. The clouds had blown away and a pale moon cast a sick light down on them. It etched streaks of pallid silver on the black lake and touched the tree-tops on the Vosges Mountains which reared above them, impenetrable and aloof. The houses of the village were black masses, quiet and undisturbed. There was a great silence everywhere, save only for the forests, mur- - muring hush, hush. For a moment the little group stood awed and then they began to search, keeping close together, fearful of the shadows which pressed about them. There was no sign of any struggle near the door. The road lead- ing through the village was empty. But in the direction of the latrines the damp grass was pressed down as if a body had been GOMIGIOO S (©