The cook's thrift again came
to the front. "Grant, I'll tell ye what I'll do, if ye'll help me take
the carcasses to an abattoir we'll sell them for forty francs, and then
we can dig a grave and let on we've buried them, and I'll go half wi'
ye. What do you say?" The scheme looked plausible enough to me and I
consented, and I was the richer by 20 francs.
Owing to his misfortune with the mules the O.C. ordered him to report
for duty on my gun and Scotty came into the lines with us the following
week. I was in charge of a trench mortar and our duty was to send over 8
or 10 shells, instantly take the gun to pieces and remove it to another
position for the purpose of getting away from the return fire that Fritz
was sure to send. When the first 10 messages were sent across, I ordered
all hands to take their respective parts and carry them to the point
designated, I superintending the dismemberment of the gun. When the last
man, who happened to be Scotty, had taken away his respective part of
the gun, I picked up the range-finder and started for the spot about a
hundred yards off down the trench.
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