Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 84: what you’re looking at

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

554 Fritz left it like ’e left the Cloth ’All, I fancy, to make an aiming-point for ’is guns. That’s it.” Tremanner took the periscope and sight- ed it along the line. “There,” he said, handing it back to Har- mon, ‘“‘ midway between the Cloth Hall and the church tower. See that mound of rub- bish and the remains of a tree?” Harmon nodded. ‘‘ What’s that?” “The Lorollais place. Where Denise was born. That’s her estate—or what they left. of it.” For a long while Harmon’s eyes were riv- eted on the mirrors of the periscope. Even the thrills of his first day in the line, the silent filing into the trench under cover of darkness, the ‘‘ standing to,” at dawn, with fixed bayonets, the tense hours of sentry duty, watching the flashes of guns in the distance and the drifting night lights over- head—these things were unimportant com- pared to the sight of those deserted ruins, the violated shell of the home where Denise had lived, and grown to womanhood. “And the man that was responsible for killing her people—this Henri Lorollais,” Harmon muttered, ‘I wonder what hap- pened to him?” “Took care of himself,’ ‘Tremanner frowned. ‘‘ You can depend on that. Prob- ably took what he could lay his hands on and let the guns finish the place. I doubt if he stayed in German territory however friendly he might have been with them. Once the iron ring closed around him he would be cut off from the rest of the world for the duration of the war.” “Just imagine,’ Harmon mused, “ this is the last frontier right here! Out beyond where the sandbags start is outer darkness —like the ancient wall that the Romans built to keep out the barbarians. J wonder how they feel over there.” “About the same as we do, I fancy,” Bowles said, walking up to them to regain the periscope. ‘‘ Workin’ as we are to do their job an’ disgusted with it, too, like as not. It was a blurry poor job the day I took on to do it for a dirty shillin’ a day, an’ short rations most of the time.” “ But we’re right,” Tremanner protested. “Tt’s a just cause—” - ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. ‘“ Aye,” Bowles spat into the bottom of the trench, “but I’ve been out ’ere two bleedin’ mortal years come next August an’ I’m fair ready for the preachers an’ the pol- iticians to do a bit now. I do my work best I knows ’ow, but I ain’t blowin’ no ‘orns abaht it. Now we'll arrange a bit of a guard, an hour each, an’ the rest of us can get down to it until the Fritz wakes us up along of noontime with ’is big uns.” Bowles was right about the “ big uns.” The booming of the daily “ strafe” awak- ened Harmon at mid-day from an uncom- fortable sleep in a muddy rabbit-hole dug- out in the side of the trench, and for the rest of the day he smoked, speculated, and drowsed with the rest. Nightfall brought renewed activities in the Ypres Salient. In accordance with custom, just before dusk—the quiet moment of eve- ning when the artillery had quieted down and the machine guns had not yet started their all-night rattling—the word was passed down to ‘‘ Stand to,’ and the men of the Third Company, bayonets fixed, mounted the firing-step and watched for an hour, peering through the shadowy barb-wire for a possible attack. ‘* Queer, isn’t it?” Tremanner whispered. “All along the line, from Switzerland to the Channel, they’re standing to, mile after mile—” ‘Stop that talking!” came sharply from Sergeant Bowles. Narley, and the platoon commander, Lieutenant Steele, appeared around a cor- ner of the trench. ‘Everything all right, sir,” Bowles re- ported. Steele, a keen and energetic subaltern, stopped as he passed Harmon. . ‘“ One of the new draft?” Harmon sprang to attention and saluted. “ Yes, sir. Private Harmon—” “ Put that damned ’and down!” Narley rasped. “ Shall I take ‘is name, Mr. Steele, for disobeying regulations in—” “Never mind. Remember, there’s no saluting here, and you must keep your eyes on the wire all the time. That’s where we’re in danger of attack at dusk. Don’t let anything distract you from that. The four days’ tour here means four days of GEomichbooks Harmon, com