And when she opened them she found herself looking up at two men.
Before she could move one of the men kicked her pistol out of her nerveless hand, caught her by the shoulder and dragged the trench-knife from her convulsive grasp. Then he said in English: "Get up." And the other, the signalman, struck her across her back with the furled flags so that she lost her balance and fell forward on her face. They got her to her feet and pushed her out among the bowlders, through the storming spray, and across the floor of the ravine into the sunlight of a mossy place all set with trees. And she saw butterflies flitting there through green branches flecked with sunshine.
The officer seated himself on a fallen tree and crossed his heavy feet on a carpet of wild flowers. She stood erect, the signaller holding her right arm above the elbow.
After the officer had leisurely lighted a cigarette he asked her who she was. She made no answer.
"You are the Erith woman, are you not?" he demanded.
She was silent.
"You Yankee slut," he added, nodding to himself and staring up into her bloodless face.
Her eyes wandered; she looked at, but scarcely saw the lovely wildflowers under foot, the butterflies flashing their burnished wings among the sunbeams.
"Drop her arm." The signaller let go and stood at attention.
"Take her knife and pistol and your flags and go across the stream to the hut."
The signaller saluted, gathered the articles mentioned, and went away in that clumping, rocking gait of the land peasant of Hundom.
"Now," said the officer, "strip off your coat!"
She turned scarlet, but he sprang to his feet and tore her coat from her. She fought off every touch; several times he struck her--once so sharply that the blood gushed from her mouth and nose; but still she fought him; and when he had completed his search of her person, he was furious, streaked with sweat and all smeared with her blood.
"Damned cat of a Yankee!" he panted, "stand there where you are or I'll blow your face off!"
But as he emptied the pockets of her coat she seized it and put it on, sobbing out her wrath and contempt of him and his threats as she covered her nearly naked body with the belted jacket and buttoned it to her throat.
He glanced at the papers she had carried, at the few poor articles that had fallen from her pockets, tossed them on the ground beside the log and resumed his seat and cigarette.
"Where's McKay?"
No answer.