"Better wait, boys," called Barry; "they are dropping quite a few shells
at the crossroads."
"We are runners, sir," said one of them. "I guess we'll just take a
chance, thank you, sir."
"All right, boys, if you think best," replied Barry. "Good luck!"
"Thank you, sir," they said, and set off at a smart pace.
While Barry sat listening to the sound of their footsteps upon the
pavement, there came that terrific whine, followed by an appalling
crash, as a H. E. shell landed full upon the road. Barry sprang to his
feet. Three other shells followed in quick succession, then there came
the sound of hurrying feet and a man appeared, bleeding horribly and
gasping.
"Oh, my God! My God! They are gone! They are gone!"
"Sit down," said Barry. "Now, where's your wound?"
"My arm, sir," said the man.
Barry cut off the blood-soaked sleeve, ripped open his first aid
dressing, and bound the wound up tightly. Then he put a tourniquet upon
the arm above the wound.
"The other boys killed, you say?" he inquired.
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