hes, a white star-shell falls slowly, making the
trees and the guns among their tangle of hiding branches cast long
green-black shadows, drowning the wood in a strange glare of desolation.

"Where the devil's the abri?"

Everything drowned in the detonations of three guns, one after the
other, so near as to puff hot air in their faces in the midst of the
blinding concussion.

"Look, Tom, this is foolish; the abri's right here."

"I haven't got it in my pocket, Howe. Damn those guns."

Again everything is crushed in the concussion of the guns.

They throw themselves on the ground as a shell shrieks and explodes.
There is a moment's pause, and gravel and bits of bark tumble about
their heads.

"We've got to find that abri. I wish I hadn't lost my flashlight."

"Here it is! No, that stinks too much. Must be the latrine."

"Say, Tom."

"Here."

"Damn, I ran into a tree. I found it."

"All right. Coming."

Martin held out his hand until Randolph bumped into it; then they
stumbled together down the rough wooden steps, pulled aside the blanket
that served to keep the light in, and found themselves blinking in the
low tunnel of the abri.

Brancardiers were asleep in the two tiers of bunks that filled up the
sides, and at the table at the end a lieutenant of the medical corps was
writing by the light of a smoky lamp.

"They are landing some round here to-night," he said, pointing out two
unoccupied bunks. "I'll call you when we need a car."

As he spoke, in succession the three big guns went off. The concussion
put the lamp out.

"Damn," said Tom Randolph.

The lieutenant swore and struck a match.

"The red light of the poste de secours is out, too," said Martin.

"No use lighting it again with those unholy mortars.... It's idiotic to
put a poste de secours in the middle of a battery like this."

The Americans lay down to try to sleep. Shell after shell exploded round
the dugout, but regularly every few minutes came the hammer blows of the
mortars, half the time putting the light out.

A shell explosion seemed to split the dugout and a piece of eclat
whizzed through the blanket that curtained off the door. Someone tried
to pick it up as it lay half-buried in the board floor, and pulled his
fingers away quickly, blowing on them. The men turned over in the bunks
and laughed, and a smile came over the drawn green face of a wounded man
who sat very quiet behind the lieutenant, staring at the smoky flame o