of little mounds!" he cried. "They will be the
graves of the fellows who fell here. Don't you remember what we read
in the papers? When the Germans retreated, a number of men were left
behind to dig little graves, and throw the dead into them."

"Come away, I tell you!" shouted Pringle.

"This is the beginning of war's aftermath, only the beginning--but,
great God, think of it! What is that?"

"What?"

"Surely that's some one alive over there! Don't you see? In the ditch
yonder."

As if by a magnet the two men were drawn to the spot to which Bob had
pointed.

"It's a man, anyhow," said Pringle.

"No, there are two."

"They are alive."

"No, they are dead."

A few seconds later they reached the spot, and saw what they will never
forget, if they live twice the years allotted to man.

In a dry ditch, locked in each other's embrace, were two dead soldiers,
one a Frenchman, the other a German. Both had evidently been wounded,
but they had engaged in a death struggle. They had fought to the
deaths without either conquering the other, and they had died in each
other's arms.

There was no look of fury or hatred in the face of either. The hand of
death had smoothed away all traces of this. Nevertheless, it had been
a duel to the death.

They were little more than boys, perhaps about twenty-four, and both
were privates. Their faces proclaimed their nationalities even more
plainly than their uniforms.

"I expect they had never seen each other before," said Bob, like one
thinking aloud; "they bore no enmity towards each other."

"Except that one was French and the other German," said Pringle. "That
was enough for them. Somehow they found themselves together, and
fought it out. I expect it was at night time. By God, it's ghastly,
isn't it? And this is war!"

"No, it's only the shadow of it, the aftermath. There are no groans
here, no suffering. It's peace, but it's the peace of horrible,
unnatural death. We shall see real war presently."

"Come, let's get away. It's sickening."

"The Prime Minister was right. It's hell let loose. All the same, I'm
aching to be at it. I never hated it as I hated it now. God helping
us, this shall be Europe's last war."

They slowly returned towards the railway siding when in the distance
they saw the train standing still.

"Look," said Pringle, "there's been a fire here. It looks as though
they had a meal. Here's an empty wine bottle, and a crust