ews of the progress of the fighting.
The boys were holding splendidly, indeed were gradually eating into
the enemy front. They brought weird stories of his comrades, incidents
pathetic, humorous, heroic, according to the temperament of the
narrator. But from more than one source came tales of Knight's machine
gun section to which McCuaig was attached. Knight himself had been
killed soon after entering the line, and about his men conflicting tales
were told: they were holding a strong point, they were blown up,
they had shifted their position, they were wiped out, they were still
"carrying on." McCuaig was the hero of every tale. He was having the
time of his life. He had gone quite mad. He was for going "out and over"
alone.

The first authentic account came with young Pickles, now a runner, who
made his way hobbling to Headquarters with a message from A Company, and
who reported that he had fallen in with McCuaig by the way, and by
him had been commandeered to carry ammunition, under threat of instant
death.

"Where did you see McCuaig first, Pickles?" Barry inquired, anxious to
learn the truth about his friend.

"Way up Lover's Walk," said young Pickles, who was in high spirits,
"under a pile of brush and trees. I though it was a wildcat, or
something moving and snarling--the light was kind of dim--and when I
went up there was McCuaig. He was alone. Two or three men were lying
near him, dead, I guess, and he was swearing, and talking to himself
something fierce. I was scart stiff when he called me to him. I went
over, and he says to me, 'Say, youngster,' just like that, 'you know
where this walk used to drop down into the trench? Well, there's a lot
of machine gun ammunition over there, all fixed up and ready. You go
and bring it up here.' I tried to get out of it, sayin' I was bringing
a 'hurry up' message down, but he turns his machine gun on me, and says,
'Young man, it's only a couple of hundred yards down there, and fairly
good cover. They can't see you. Go and bring that stuff here. If you
don't I'll blow you to hell just where you stand.' You bet I promised.
I got that ammunition so quick. Oh, of course, he's crazy, all right,"
said young Pickles, "but he is fighting like hell. I beg pardon, sir."

"Doctor, I'm going after him," said Barry. "He will stay there until he
bleeds to death. He is my oldest friend."

"All right, padre, if you say so," said the M. O., "but it's a nasty
job. I should not care for