Fate Knocks at the Door - A Novel by Will Levington Comfort
page 18 of 413 (04%)
page 18 of 413 (04%)
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gallons at least. The watered mules had to do just so much kicking, so
much braying at the young moon; had to be assured just so often, through their queer communications, that the bell-mare was still in the land of picket-line--before nose-bags were fastened. Then, with all the pack rigging in neat piles before the picket-line, and the untouched stores covered and piled, the packers came in with their mess-tins and coffee-cups. Bedient had seen the hunger in the eyes of David Cairns, the empty haversack, and noted that he was neither officer nor enlisted man. Bedient had plenty of water, but with a smile he offered the other a pail and pointed to the stream. This was a pleasantry for the eyes of Boss Healy. Cairns appeared presently through the infantry, and around the end of the picket-line--a correspondent serving mule-riders with all the enthusiasm of a pitifully-tightened belt.... The packers were at their pipes and cigarettes and were spreading blanket-rolls, and groups of "chucked" infantry had warmed into singing--when the two boys sat down to supper. The cook said: "I'm Andrew Bedient--and are you a correspondent?" "A cub--and pretty nearly a starved cub.... There's been nothing to buy, you know, and this outfit was hung up here grubless. The trails aren't open enough to travel alone. Some of the officers might have taken me in----" "We have plenty. The packers hadn't had their coffee when I gave you the pail," Bedient whispered. "They hate the doughboys. I wanted them to see you weren't enlisted.... I should say the trails _weren't_ open for travelling alone. The niggers peppered at us all day. Healy rides |
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