"I wouldn't go when you dared me to," said the tenderfoot, "but this is--different." And he added in his heart: "This is for _my country_."
"But he _is_ afraid," put in Roger. "Look at him!"
McKenzie took a long, straight look into Danny's white face and determined eyes, and then turned to Roger.
"All the gamer of him," he said, "to go in spite of being afraid--that's the stuff that Pershing is looking for. And Mr. Gordon says that a boy who 'isn't afraid of anything' hasn't sense enough to be trusted with a commission. "Kid," he continued, turning to Danny, "you find out all that there is to be known about the Death Head vicinity before you show up in camp again."
There was a gasp of surprise among them at the tenderfoot's final acceptance of the commission, but not one of them--not even Biddie--believed that he would be able to carry it through. And the sensitive, high-strung Danny went out from among them burdened with the feeling that they did not look for him to succeed.
McKenzie walked a little way with him--big-brother fashion, with an arm over his shoulder--and gave him careful directions as to how to proceed. There would be a moon if the clouds broke, his leader warned him, and he was to keep to the shadows.
"I'll be leaving camp myself," said McKenzie, "and will not show up again for a couple of hours. You will probably get back before the rest of us, so just roll up in your blanket and lie close under that ledge yonder--you will be perfectly safe there." A little farther up the mountain trail and McKenzie paused.
"Never mind about the dead man, scout," he admonished finally, "but keep your eye peeled for the live one, and--'the best of luck!'"
"'The best of luck!'" That was what the men at the front said to a fellow when he was going over the top of the shielding trench into the dangerous unknown.
At the familiar phrase in parting, Danny drew a quick, deep breath. Yes, he was going "over the top"--and he was going _alone_!
Then McKenzie slipped quietly back, and Danny started forward up the long, dark trail alone. The ghost of a moon showed dimly through the black cloud-rack, now and again, and fitfully relieved the enveloping darkness.
Only once did Danny look back. That was when he came to the first turn in the mountain trail which his leader had carefully explained to him. Beyond that turn, and it would be good-by to the last cheering, reassuring gleam of their camp-fire, to the last faint sound of comforting voices.