He
said he would take no chances. Dave had just obtained an Enfield rifle,
for which he had been very glad to exchange his Ross, as the Enfield is
better suited for trench purposes, and, not being thoroughly familiar
with its workings, he asked me to explain it to him, which I did. Then I
blew out the light, opened the door, whispered "good-night," and started
down the path. About a hundred feet away I heard Dave calling me back; I
turned; he was standing in the doorway, with the candle light gleaming
behind him. He called out, "Grant, I don't quite get this safety catch
and bolt; would you mind showing it to me again?"
"Blow out the light, you damn fool," I called.
"All right," and he did so and I started back. As he answered me I heard
simultaneously the report of a rifle and the whiz of a bullet passing
me. When I got to the door I stumbled over the body of my friend Dave;
he had received the summons through the head.
While standing guard at the open door, before Dave came, with the light
out, however, I suddenly got a start that frightened me more than
anything else that has happened me in France: In the gleam of a distant
flare, the white faces of two women peered around the corner of the
building, looking at me through the open door.
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