The Black Mask — page 89: what you’re looking at

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

| % The Valley Where Dead Men Live 87 to the death between the two groups. Both seemed to exhaust their ammuni- tion at the same time. By what ap- peared to be mutual consent they left their guns and charged at each other, meeting in the middle of that once peaceful little dell. “There were not over twenty men on either side. Grappling, they fought hand to hand, using knives, clubs, stones, their revolvers—their bare hands. They were like cave-dwellers, giving no quarter and asking none. At the end, there was no one left on either side. Only a heap of dead and dying. When it was all over the dead arose and again went through the monoto- nous performance. IV “T was hypnotized, held by a spell I could not break. Try as I would, I seemed unable to drag myself away from the ghastly sights. I don’t know how long I remained in the valley of horrors. You say it was four days. Look at my hair—snow white! When I left Sourdough’s cabin my locks were dark. I am just past thirty years of age. Yet, from my appearance, one would swear that I had passed the three score years and ten allotted to man. “T have not slept. For the hellish panorama continued on and on and on. Only, at night, a different group of actors filled the stage. The darkness was hideous with the roar of the big guns, the screech of shells. Signal rockets filled the air. As if by magic, trenches appeared here and there—lit- tle sectors each with its own melan- choly drama of life and death. Here was a stretch of no man’s land with its grisly tenants. Men hung on barbed- wire entanglements, their clothes in tat- ters, swaying to and fro in the breeze like scarecrows in a farmer’s field. “Often I lost consciousness—fainted, I suppose. Much of the time I wan- dered about in a daze. I knew not which way to turn. Dead men—living dead men—everywhere! “I dragged myself into a tiny house that seemed to stand in the center of the valley. It was empty. I threw myself on the floor, thinking to gain a minute’s respite from the horrors around me. I dropped into a deep sleep. “I was awakened by the sound of voices. I crouched farther back in the darkness of the corner, frightened, not daring to make a move. What was I afraid of? I do not know. One need not fear spectres, need he? There was a sound of a match being scratched. And then a candle flared up. By its uncertain light I made out the figures of two men wearing the German uni- form. “They groped about until they found a trap door cut in the floor. Raising it, they lowered themselves through the opening. Seized by some impulse which, even now, I am unable to explain, I de- termined to follow them. The events that transpired are inexplicable to me, The only solution that I have for the puzzle is that, for the time being, I was someone else—some poor devil who lost his life in the attempt to avert a German surprise on Verdun. For I swear that I was propelled by some force stronger than my own will. “Cautiously I waited until I heard their voices trailing off in the distance. Then I sprang to the trap and, a sec- ond later, dropped through into the darkness of the cellar. “T stumbled about until I found the wall. Following it with my hands, I came to an opening. Far ahead in the darkness, I saw a tiny speck of light bobbing up and down. It was the candle carried by the men I was follow- ing. Without thought of the future, I followed in their wake.