Action Front | Page 6

way, so he took the one that gave him most. Fortune
favored him, and the roar of the explosion followed his flying heels
over the parapet.
The officer, dazed, shaken, and not yet realizing what had happened,
had gathered neither his wits nor his limbs to rise when Macalister
leaped down almost on top of him. The officer's hand still clung to the
pistol he had held, but Macalister's grasp swooped and clutched and
wrenched the weapon away.
"Get up, my man," he said grimly. "Get up, or I'll blow a hole in ye as
ye lie."
He added emphasis with the point of the pistol in the other's ribs, and
the officer staggered to his feet.

"Now," said Macalister, "you'll quick mairch--that way." He waved the
pistol towards the British trench.
The officer hesitated.
"It is no good," he said sullenly. "I should be killed a dozen times
before I got across."
"That's as may be," said Macalister coolly.
"But if you don't go you'll get your first killing here, and say naething
o' the rest o' the dizen."
A shell cracked overhead, and the shrapnel ripped down along the
trench behind them with a storm of bullets thudding into the ground
about their feet.
"I will make you an offer," said the officer hurriedly. "You can go your
way and leave me to go mine."
"You'll mak' an offer!" said Macalister contemptuously. "Here"--and he
waved the pistol across the open again. "Get along there."
"I will give you--" the officer began, when Macalister broke in
abruptly.
"This is no a debatin' society," he said. "But ye'll no walk ye maun just
drive."
Without further words he thrust the pistol in his pocket, grabbed and
took one handful of coat at the back of the officer's neck and another at
the skirt, and commenced to thrust him before him across the open
ground. But the officer refused to walk, and would have thrown himself
down if Macalister's grasp had not prevented it.
"Ye would, would ye?" growled the Scot, and seized his captive by the
shoulders and shook him till his teeth rattled. "Now," he said angrily,
"ye'll come wi' me or--" he broke off to fling a gigantic arm about the
officer's neck--"or I'll pull the heid aff ye."

So it was that the occupants of the British trench viewed presently the
figure of a huge Highlander appearing through the drifting haze and
smoke at a trot, a head clutched close to his side by a circling arm, a
struggling German half-running, half-dragging behind his captor.
Arrived at the parapet, "Here," shouted Macalister. "Catch, some o' ye."
He jerked his prisoner forward and thrust him over and into the trench,
and leaped in after him.
It was purely on impulse that Private Macalister flung his prisoner out
of the German trench, but it was a set and reasoned purpose that made
him drag his struggling captive back over the open to the British trench.
He knew that the British line would not shoot at an obvious kilted
Highlander, and he supposed that the Germans would hesitate to fire on
one dragging an equally obvious German officer behind him. Either his
reasoning or his blind luck held true, and both he and his captive
tumbled over into the British trench unhurt. An officer appeared, and
Macalister explained briefly to him what had happened.
"You'd better take him back with you," said the officer when he had
finished, and glanced at the German. "He's not likely to make trouble, I
suppose, but there are plenty of spare rifles, and you had better take one.
What's left of your battalion has withdrawn to the support trench."
"I am an officer," said the German suddenly to the British subaltern? "I
surrender myself to you, and demand to be treated as an honorable
prisoner of war. I do not wish to be left in this man's hands."
"Wish this and wish that," said Macalister, "and much good may your
wishing do. Ye've heard what this officer said, so rise and mairch,
unless ye wad raither I took ye further like I brocht ye here." And he
moved as if to scoop the German's head under his arm again.
"I will not," said the German furiously, and turned again to the
subaltern. "I tell you I surrender----"
"There's no need for you to surrender," said the subaltern quietly. "I
might remind you that you are already a prisoner; and I am not here to

look after prisoners."
The German yielded with a very bad grace, and moved ahead of
Macalister and his threatening bayonet, along the line and down the
communication trench to the support trench. Here the Scot found his
fellows, and introduced his prisoner, made his report to an officer, and
asked and received permission