Pine Bluff daily graphic., 1914-09-22

striking the hour. From eight to nine and nine to ten Fracasse's men wait. ed; waited until the machine was ready and Westerling should throw in the clutch; waited until the troops were in place for the first move before he hurled his battalions forward. They did not know how the captain at their back received his orders; they only heard the note of the whistle, with a command familiar to a trained instinct on the edge of anticipation. It released spring in their nerve-cen- ters. They responded as the wheels respond when the throttle is opened. Jumping to their feet they broke into a run, bodies bent, heads down, like the peppered silhouette that faced Westerling's desk. What they had done repeatedly in drills and maneu- vers they were now doing in war, me chapically as marionettes.
 Come on! The bullet is not made that can get me! Come on!" cried the giant Eugene Aronson.
 Nearly all felt the collaboration of movement in company. Then came the sound that generations had drilled for without hearing; the sound that summons the imagination of man in the thought of how he will feel and act when he hears it; the sound that is everywhere like the song snatches of bees driven whizzing through the air.
 That's it! We're under fire! We're under fire!" flashed a crooked light ming recognition of the sound through every brain.
 There was no sign of the enemy; no telling where the bullets came from.
 Whish-whish! Th-ipp-whing! The refrain gripped Peterkin's imagination with an unseen hand. He seemed to be suffocating. He wanted to throw himself down and hold his hands in front of his head. While Pilzer and Aronson were not thinking, only run ming, Peterkin was thinking with the rapidity of man falling from high building He was certain only that he was bound to strike ground
 An inch is as good as mile!" He recollected the captains teaching. Only one of a thousand bullets fired In war ever kills man'-but he was certain that he had heard million already. He looked around to find that he was still keeping up with Eu- gene and felt the thrill of the bravery of fellowship at sight of the giants flushed, confident face reveling in the spirit of a charge. And then, just then, Eugene convulsively threw up his arms, dropped his rifle, and whirled on his heel. As he went down his hand clutched at his left breast and came away red and dripping. After one wild backward glance, Pe- terkin plunged ahead.
 "Eugene!" Hugo Mallin had stopped |. and bent over Eugene in the supreme instinct of that terrible second, sup porting his comrades head.
 "The bullet is not-made-' Eugene whispered, the ruling passion strong to the last. A flicker of the eyelids, a gurgle in the throat, and he was dead.
 Here, you are not going to get out this way!" Fracasse shouted, in the irritation of haste, skipping Hugo with his sword. "Go on! That's hospital corps work"
 Hugo had glimpse of the captains rigid features and last one of Flu gene's, white and still and yet as if he were about to speak his favorite boast; then he hurried on, his side glance showing other proserate forms. One form few yards away half rose to call Hospital" and fell back, struck mortally by a second bullet.
 That's what you get if you forget instructions" said Fracasse with no sense of brutality, only professional evaporation. Keep down, you wound ed men!" he shouted at the top of his voice.
 The colonel of the 128th had not looked for immediate resistance. He had told Fracasse's men to occupy the knoll expeditiously. But by the com mon impulse of military training, no less than in answer to the whistles call, in face of the whitening fire they dropped to earth at the base of knoll, where Hugo threw himself down at full length in his place in line next to Peterkin.
 Fire pointblank at the crest in front of you! I saw couple of men standing up there!" called Fracasse. Fire fast! That's the way to keep down their fire-pointblank, tell you! You're firing into the sky! want to see more dust kicked up. Fire fast! We'll have them out of there soon! They're only an outpost"
 Hugo was firing vaguely, like a man in dream. Pilzer was shooting to kill. His eye had the steely gleam of his rife sight and the liver patch on his cheek was a deeper hue as he sought to avenge Eugene's death. Drowned by the racket of their own fire, not even Peterkin was hearing the whish-whish of the bullets from Dellarme's company now. He did not know that the blacksmith's son, who was the fourth man from him. lay with his chin on his rifle stock and tiny