“Down whar? On de groun’ whar dem sojers is kilt? Say, Mist’ Donal’, yu done that-a-way t’other day en’ yu-all knows how dis amberlance looked when hit come out. En’ yu kin see now how she looked. En’ hit wa’n’t no foolishness of ours dat we didn’t get sent to Kingdom Come. En’ ’tain’t always dese yer po’ white Heinies is gwine miss us. Boun’ tu git it some time.”
“Oh, forget it, Wash! You always think we’re going to get hurt. You see we haven’t been hurt yet and that’s as good as just starting out.”
On the ambulance went, dodging shell-holes, running around natural obstacles, rapidly nearing the ground across which the marines had charged not five minutes before. The boys overtook a light, active fellow, on foot and trotting, though now with lagging steps, and Don knew him for a messenger. Don slowed down and asked the lad to hop in for a lift. But this was only for a fourth of a mile, for they then soon came well within the edge of the zone of flying bullets and shells. Here they met the first _brancardiers_ with a wounded man, so the ambulance came to a stop. Without a word the runner leaped out and dashed on. Don and Wash were filled with admiration for these nervy fellows, who seemed to have no thought of danger in carrying messages to officers in the field. Right here another runner came to Don.
“Captain Baston says tell you there are five men, all badly wounded, in a shell hole--over there, near those poplar trees--and they ought to be got out. It won’t do to carry them far, he said. Got the nerve to make it?”
Did he have the nerve? He saw that this first case was not a bad one and could stand a little jolting. He told the _brancardiers_ to load on their man and hop in. Then he turned his car across in line with the German fire.
“I kin wait heah twill yuh come back. Yu ain’t got no special use fo’ me,” Wash began, but this time only a look from Don ended the negro’s protest. In three minutes he had reached the shell-hole by the trees. Half a dozen direct or ricocheting machine-gun bullets had hit the ambulance, but had done no more damage than to add to the holes and dents already in its sturdy sides.
It was the work of but a few minutes for the two _brancardiers_ with their one stretcher, and Don and Wash with another, to get most of the wounded fellows into the ambulance, while shells and smaller calibre missiles flew and struck all round them. The last poor chap was suffering with a wound in the leg. Entirely out of his mind he fought against being moved, so Wash went back with the bearers to hold the soldier on the stretcher. As they started back, Don, who had been glancing at his carburetor, began to lower the hood over his motor.