"
The wind and the fall of snow alike were increasing in violence. The
great flakes poured in a feathery storm into the trench, and, before
them, all things were hidden. John knew, too, that it was covering the
many dead in their front with a blanket of white and that the wounded
who were unable to crawl back would probably lie frozen beneath it in
the morning. Once more that shiver of horror and utter repulsion seized
him. Despite himself, he could not control it, and he merely remained
quiet until his nerves became steady again.
But a low moaning just beyond the trench held his attention. It did not
seem to him that it was more than a dozen feet away, and he felt a great
sympathy and pity. He did not doubt that some German boy hurt terribly
lay almost within reach of his arm. He moved once in order that he might
not hear the dreadful sound, but an irresistible attraction drew him
back. Then he heard it more plainly, but the thick pouring snow covered
all things.
"Carstairs," he said, "I'm going to get a wounded man out there. I just
can't stand it any longer."
"Don't be foolish. They may send a volley at any time through the snow,
and one of their bullets is likely to get you."
"I'll chance it."
"It's against orders."
"I'm going anyhow. Maybe I've suddenly grown squeamish, but I mean to
save that wounded German from freezing to death.
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