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  What’s left of your battalion has withdrawn to the support trench.”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.