The Tomahawk., 1925-12-24


He shiveIed as he listened to the ghost
ly buzz of the Mauser pellets, and he
pondered deeply upon the peculiar an
tics Of his imagination, which persist
ed In picturing those flying bullets as
red atoms tingeing the atmosphere
through which they ripped track.
This distorted visual image puzzled
Crosby. He knew that a bullet was
not red, yet, every time he heard the
Z ping Of the leaden messengers, his
Imagination made an attempt to over
whelm the impressions recorded by his
eyes. 1t was a very peculiar manifes-
tation, and, try as he would, he could
not prevent his fancy from building
up the impression again and again. He
took the cartridges from his bandolier,
examined the brass shells with their
half-exposed bullets with his own eyes,
and then became disguised when imagi-
nation pictured a rose-pink trail d.
rectly above his head where q slug
had gone whistling out over the gray
veldt.
All through the long forenoon he had
crouched in the little crater on the
summit of the sand dune, peering out
across the hurrying waters Of the river
which the rays Of a yellow sun stabbed
relentlessly. He was perfectly safe,
but his teeth chartered as he rolled
about in the shallow basin or looked
cautiously over the edge of the bank
xxyhn ict
PERKS veil hung above the spot where
the enemy lay concealed.
Why had he stopped there? Again
and again he asked himself the ques-
ton. At daybreak his company had
marched up from the river bank, the
great, gray veldt, cool and solemn,
stretching invitingly before them. Then
came the first scattered fusillade from
the opposite bank, tombstone, Cros-
bys mate, pitched forward on his face
and lay still. The big Welsh corporal
muttered a curse as he swung round
toward the river, flung his arms into
the air and dropped on his knees. 1t
was terrible. The company had their
backs turned to the unseen foe, and
Crosby, a raw recruit only five days
off the transport that brought him
from Plymouth to Table bay, remem-
bered at that moment a trick played
upon him twenty years before when a
schoolmate dropped an icicle inside
his shirt collar.
Then the sun-tanned officer, keenly
alive to the danger, ordered the men
to double, and they doubled eagerly.
1t was. their first baptism Of fire, and,
as there was not particle of cover
: available, their safety lay in speed. 1t
was at that moment that Crosby stum-
bled into the little crater in the sand
dune where the MONDAY sun poured a
vertical fire upon him six hours after
wards. He had made an effort to fol-
low his comrades, but. as he struggled
out of the pit, three more men fell un-
der the fire Of the Boer. sharpshooters.
Crosby's imagination Immediately point
ed out the danger to which he, a soil
tary figure, would be exposed If he at
tempted to join the rank, and that
Imagination, which issthe parent Of
cowardice, dragged him back into the
little hole over which the enemy's bull
lets whstled. Five minutes afterwards
the company was half a mile away,
while on the river bank there were
ten dead men and one live one who
was virtually a. prisoner in pit four
feet deep.
Then Crosby committed blunder
that was further proof Of towards
soul. Finding that he was safe from
the enemy's fire, he threw his rifle over
the ridge Of his shelter and blazed
wildly at the bank opposite. How he
regretted that blunder as the morning
rolled slowly by! IF he had remained
quiet, the hidden enemy would not
have known that the little pit con-
cealed a foe, but the fusillade that
followed informed him that he would
be a prisoner while the light lasted.
Occasionally he tested the watchful-
ness of the foe, and now he shuddered
as he contemplated the three holes In
the pith helmet which had been dis
:, played when his head was not inside
ID.
He looked up at the blue dome above
him, and pictured the bare veldt be-
meath till he compared his own posi-
tion with that Of the stuffed kingfsher
beneath the big glass globe on his
aunt's table in Truro. The kingfisher
was really better off. He had passed
the last stage of suffering. while Cros-
by still had horrible fear of the rifle
men on the other side of the swiftly
flowing river AS the day rolled slowly
by he became nervous and peevish. He
asked himself why they stayed. What
right had thsy, twenty bloodthirsty
Beers, to sit down and wait patiently
till his head appeared above the edge
Of the pit? 1t wasn't war-it was MUIR
der. He, Algernon Crosby, head teller
Of the County bank, whose patriotic
soul had been stirred by the words of
"The Boys Of the Bulldog Breed" and
'The Absent-minded Beggar," had