Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1937-11-14

himself blinded by bullet, saw himself dis
embowelled by shell.
The court-martial was merciful. Had not
his father been a fine General, and was not
his mother a splendid sportswoman. carrying
on bravely during the war? Besides, he hadn't
run away, of course, only run round like a
decapitated hen. If he hadn't screamed and
stuck his fingers in his ears, you might almost
call it foolhardy courage, getting out of the
trench and running about while the Hun was
putting over a hate, and machine guns and
snipers were busy.
So Lieutenant Eustace Dangerfeld was
merely dismissed with ignominy instead of
being shot for cowardice.
And they found him out, again, in the
French Foreign Legion. At least Sergeant
Franz Zimmerman did. Found him out for
poor spirited, herring Quilted scAaceinha0sd of
an Englishman.
And how Sergeant Franz Zimmerman, that
magnificent MOO. and fighting man. hated
the English, those cunning devils who had
always stood between the Fatherland and the
sun: and who in 1914 had led the Germans on
to think that they would not interfere, and
then, when the Germans hands were full, had
jumped on their backs.
And here, delivered into his Prussian hands,
was an Englishnan; and what was more, an
English officer if Sergeant Franz Zimmerman
knew anything at all; and what was most -
a coward. He was undeniably a coward. With
l. bo tI>n kav1
back. lying flat on his face behind rock,
pretending to be too breathless to get up when
the battalion was advancing under fire.
Gruss GotI The dog was shirker, Stacker
- and an Englishman.
Well, he had done his best to make the
swines life hell for him, and now that
they were on active service he would make
his death hell for him, too. Hed run him
in for refusing to advance under fire, for
hanging behind, almost deserving in the face
of the enemy because bullets were flying and
the Riffians looked as though they were about
to charge. Yes, if the Chleuhs did not get the
dog, Sergeant Franz Zimmerman would
Colonel Bethune, commanding the second
battalion of the Legion, looked up from his
map. But Good God! What was this?
Look!
The ammunition mules were off, stamped
ing hell for leather, eight of them, laden with
the precious ammunition on which their
masters lives depended: on which the success
of this vitality important movement depended;
on which. therefore, the success of the whole
far-flung battle. and perhaps the entire cam
paign, depended. And moreover, the brutes
were galloping straight for the enemy's lines.
not merely robbing their masters of thex in
dispensable ammunition but immeasurably
enriching their-enemies.
Colonel Bethune struck his forehead and
swofe. The oath that he uttered was the last
word he spoke, for bullet took him clean
through the forehead that he himself had
dramatically smitten second before. He fell
to the ground, his horse reared, and in the
same moment Lkgionnaire Eustaoe Danger
field went mad again.
He could bear this being shot at, this
waiting to be slashed with swords and knives,
no longer. He had reached the end of his
tether once again. and he must do something,
go, fee, escape, get away from these bowling
Riffian devils and from Sergeant Zimmerman.
worse devil.
Speinging to his feet, Eustaoe Dangerfield
dropped his rife, snatched the rein of the
plunging charger. swung himself into the sad
die, kicked the excited horse, so that instantly
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