ted our view. No hostile bombers could be seen; it was
evident that they had done their bit and handed on the conduct of
affairs to others. Behind the shelter of the cottages the infantry
were making a safe detour, and were bound, unless something unexpected
happened, to get round behind us.

"They'll be firing from our rear in a minute," said Kemp between his
teeth. "Lochgair, order your platoon to face about and be ready to
fire over the parados."

Young Lochgair's method of executing this command was
characteristically thorough. He climbed in leisurely fashion upon the
parados; and standing there, with all his six-foot-three in full view,
issued his orders.

"Face this way, boys! Keep your eyes on that group of buildings just
behind the empty trench, in below the Fosse. You'll get some
target practice presently. Don't go and forget that you are the
straightest-shooting platoon in the Company. There they are"--he
pointed with his stick--"lots of them--coming through that gap in the
wall! Now then, rapid fire, and let them have it! Oh, well done, boys!
Good shooting! Very good! Very good ind--"

He stopped suddenly, swayed, and toppled back into the trench. Major
Kemp caught him in his arms, and laid him gently upon the chalky
floor. There was nothing more to be done. Young Lochgair had given his
platoon their target, and the platoon were now firing steadily upon
the same. He closed his eyes and sighed, like a tired child.

"Carry on, Major!" he murmured faintly. "I'm all right."

So died the simple-hearted, valiant enthusiast whom we had christened
Othello.

The entire regiment--what was left of it--was now firing over the
back of the trench; for the wily Teuton had risked no frontal attack,
seeing that he could gain all his ends from the left flank.
Despite vigorous rifle fire and the continuous maledictions of the
machine-gun, the enemy were now pouring through the cottages behind
the trench. Many grey figures began to climb up the face of Fosse
Eight, where apparently there was none to say them nay.

"We shall have a cheery walk back, I _don't_ think!" murmured
Wagstaffe.

He was right. Presently a withering fire was opened from the summit
of the Fosse, which soon began to take effect in the exiguous and
ill-protected trench.

"The Colonel is wounded, sir," reported the Sergeant-Major to Major
Kemp.

"Badly?"

"Yes, sir."

Kemp looked round him. The regiment was now alone in the trench, for
the