THE UPTURNED FACE
“What will we do now?” said the adjutant, troubled and excited.
“Bury him,” said Timothy Lean.
The two officers looked down close to their toes where lay the body of their comrade. The face was chalk-blue; gleaming eyes stared at the sky. Over the two upright figures was a windy sound of bullets, and on the top of the hill Lean’s prostrate company of Spitzbergen infantry was firing measured volleys.
“Don’t you think it would be better—” began the adjutant. “We might leave him until tomorrow.”
“No,” said Lean. “I can’t hold that post an hour longer. I’ve got to fall back, and we’ve got to bury old Bill.”
“Of course,” said the adjutant, at once. “Your men got intrenching tools?”
Lean shouted back to his little line, and two men came slowly, one with a pick, one with
