The horse, emboldened by the friendly voice, came nearer and nuzzled at the human friend whom he had found so opportunely, and who, although so much smaller than himself, was, as he knew, so much more powerful.  This human comrade would show him what to do and protect him from all harm.  But John took alarm.  He too found pleasure in having a comrade, even if it were only a horse, but the animal would probably attract the attention of scouts or skirmishers.  He tried to shoo him away, but for a long time the horse would not move.  At last he pulled a heavy bunch of grass, wadded it together and threw it in his face.

The horse, staring at him reproachfully, turned and walked away.  John’s lively fancy saw a tear in the huge, luminous eye, and his conscience smote him hard.

“I had to do it, Marne, old fellow,” he called.  “You’re so big and you stick up so high that you arouse attention, and that’s just what I don’t want.”

He had decided to call the horse Marne, after the river near by, and he noticed that he did not go far.  The animal, reassured by John’s friendly after-word, began to crop the grass about twenty feet away.  He had a human friend after all, one on whom he could rely.  Man did not want to be bothered by him just then, but that was the way of man, and he did not mind, since the grass was so plentiful and good.  He would be there, close at hand, when he was needed.

John was really moved by the interlude.  The loneliness, and then the friendliness of the horse appealed to him.  He too needed a comrade, and here he was.  He forgot, for a time, the moaning of the shells over his head, and began to think again about his escape.  So thinking, the horse came once more into his mind.  He showed every sign of grazing there until dark came.  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.