Then why not ride away on him? It was true that a
horse was larger and made more noise than a fugitive man slipping
through the grass, but there were times when strength and speed,
especially speed, counted for a lot.
The last hours of the afternoon waned, trailing their slow length,
minute by minute, and throughout that time the roar of the battle was as
steady as the fall of Niagara. It even came to the point that John paid
little attention to it, but the sport of kings, in which thousands of
men were ground up, they knew not why, went merrily on. None of the
shells struck near John, and with infinite joy he saw the coming of the
long shadows betokening the twilight. The horse, still grazing near by,
raised his head more than once and looked at him, as if it were time to
go. As the sun sank and the dusk grew John stood up. He saw that the
night was going to be dark and he was thankful. The Marne was merely a
silver streak in the shadow, and in the wood near by the trees were
fusing into a single clump of darkness.
He stood erect, stretching his muscles and feeling that it was glorious
to be a man with his head in the air, instead of a creature that
grovelled on the ground. Then he walked over to the horse and patted him
on the shoulder.
"Marne, old boy," he said, "I think it's about time for you and me to
go."
The horse rubbed his great head against John's arm, signifying that he
was ready to obey any command his new master might give him.
Pages:
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179