Fighting in France

by Ross Kay

Leon whirled swiftly in time to see a big-helmeted German with the butt end of his rifle upraised preparing to strike.

He had his bayonet in his hands but somehow it did not occur to him to use it. Like most Americans he preferred to fight with his fists, and unconsciously he had discarded his rifle. With one hand he seized the German by the throat and with the other he rained blow after blow upon his great broad face.

The German however was a powerful man. He outweighed the young American by at least thirty pounds and far outmatched him in strength. With an oath he turned upon the plucky boy and a moment later held him by the throat with both hands. Earl's breath was shut off short and everything began to turn black before his eyes. He felt himself being shaken as a terrier shakes a rat and consciousness began to slip away from him. He decided that it was all over.

Suddenly the terrible strangle hold on his throat relaxed and with a supreme effort he wrenched himself free and rose to his feet. There stood Leon gazing down at the German lying on the floor of the little subterranean apartment. One glance was enough to show Earl what had taken place.

"You saved my life, Leon," he muttered weakly.

"Huh," snorted Leon. "I hated to stab him like that but it was the only thing to do."

"He wouldn't have hesitated to fix us I guess," exclaimed Earl. "Where's Jacques?"

"On the floor there."

"Is he dead?"

"I don't know. I haven't had a chance to look at him."

As they advanced towards their companion he moved slightly and tried to get up.

"How do you feel, Jacques? Where did he hit you?" demanded Leon.

"He just grazed my head," murmured the young Frenchman weakly.

"Lucky for you," muttered Earl. "If he'd ever caught you squarely you'd be dead now, sure enough."

"Let me see where you're hurt," exclaimed Leon bending over his friend.

"It's not much of a wound," said Jacques. "He just stunned me; I'll be all right in a minute."

"Bring some water and a towel from that washstand over there, Earl," Leon directed his brother.

This was quickly done and the wound was bathed. The skin had been broken and the blood flowed freely, but it was nothing serious. The cold compress soon revived Jacques and a few moments later he was apparently as well as ever.

"Feel all right, Jacques?" asked Earl.

"Never better."

"You'd better lie down here on this bed for a little while."

"I should say not," exclaimed Jacques warmly. "We were sent in here to rout out the enemy and that's what we must do. There are surely more of them than we have seen."

"Next time we must be more careful going into rooms like this," advised Leon. "It doesn't pay just to go ahead blindly."

"Come," urged Jacques, and he led the way out of the little room down the narrow passageway leading they knew not where.

Cautiously they slunk along, their eyes strained to see through the dim light of the underground passage. The noise of the great cannonade above came to their ears but faintly here. A hoarse rumbling and a trembling of the earth was the sole evidence that over their heads the opposing armies were hurling tons of metal at each other.

"There's a turn just ahead," whispered Jacques cautiously. "Be ready."

Every sense alert the three young soldiers proceeded slowly. Soon they came to the spot where the passage led off to the left. Jacques peered cautiously around the corner and quickly drew back his head.

"Come," he whispered, beckoning to his two companions. "Have your grenades ready."

All three boys took hand grenades in their right hands and prepared for instant action.

"Lean your rifles against the wall here," Jacques directed.

This done, they crept stealthily forward, the grenades in their right hands and their automatic revolvers in their left. Making almost no sounds, they walked gingerly around the corner of the passage and there before their eyes they saw what had caused Jacques to draw back so speedily a few moments before. Standing in the center of a little room similar to the one they had just left were six Germans.

Their plan had been to steal upon their foes, taking them by surprise and forcing them to surrender. This plan was unexpectedly thrown awry however. One of the rifles leaned against the wall of the passage slipped; it fell to the ground carrying the others with it and a loud clatter was the result.

"Hein!" exclaimed one of the Germans wheeling quickly in the direction whence the noise came. Seeing three French soldiers stealing towards him he instantly whipped out his revolver and fired.

Leon, Jacques and Earl ducked quickly and instinctively.

"Let 'em have it!" shouted Leon and he let fly his hand grenade.

Straight down the passageway it sped and a tremendous explosion instantly occurred. The little room was filled with smoke and the three young soldiers could not see what was taking place in front of them. Earl too hurled his deadly handbomb into the chamber and a second explosion instantly took place.

"That's the way!" shouted Jacques. "That'll fix them I guess!"

All of the Germans had not been disposed of however. A moment later the sharp crack of a revolver sounded from behind the wall of smoke and a bullet winging its way through the half-light tore Jacque's hat from his head. Another and still another shot followed the first.

"That's enough of that," muttered the young Frenchman grimly and his hand-grenade took the same course that the two others had followed. A deafening concussion ensued and then all was still.

"Keep back against the wall," warned Leon. "Have your pistols ready."

Crouching low and keeping as far away from the center of the passage as possible the three boys awaited developments. Every boy grasped his revolver firmly in his right hand and peered eagerly in the direction of their enemies. Not a sound came from the room where the Germans had been assembled.

"They're all dead I guess," whispered Earl at length.

"Don't be so sure," cautioned Leon. "Wait a minute longer."

With muscles tense and every nerve alert the three young soldiers waited. It seemed as if the smoke from the three explosions would never lift and the three boys felt as if hours had elapsed before they could catch a glimpse of the room. Finally however the atmosphere cleared away and they saw the results of their work.

"Let's go in there," exclaimed Jacques.

"Go slow," warned Leon. "It may be a trap."

"We'll be ready for them," said Jacques. "Come along."

Prepared for instant action, the three boys cautiously approached the tiny room. They were fearful of a surprise attack but their fears proved to be groundless. On the floor lay the bodies of six dead Germans. The hand-grenades had done their work well.

"A man doesn't stand much chance against these grenades, does he?" exclaimed Leon. "They're certainly deadly."

"Lucky for us they are," said Jacques shortly. "Now for a souvenir."

He drew his knife and bending low he quickly cut the buttons from the jacket of one of the dead soldiers at his feet.

"What are you going to do with them?" demanded Earl curiously.

"Make rings," said Jacques calmly slipping the buttons into his pocket. "These men belonged to the Imperial Guard."

"How do you know?"

"Look at the eagle on the buttons here; that proves it," and, as he spoke, Jacques drew forth one of his trophies to show his comrades.

"We'd better move on," exclaimed Leon a moment later. "Go pick up your hat, Jacques, and we'll get the rifles."

"My poor hat," laughed Jacques. "It will have a window in it now."

"You'd better be glad it isn't your head that has the window," said Leon grimly. "I don't see that you have anything to complain about."

"I'm not complaining," smiled Jacques. "I agree that I am fortunate."

"Come along," urged Leon. "We may run into some more of the Boches any minute."

"Boches" was what the French soldiers always called the Germans.

"I'm ready," exclaimed Jacques, and they returned to the spot where their guns had been left. The young Frenchman rescued his hat which had a hole cut cleanly through the crown. "It will give good ventilation," he remarked laughingly.

They picked up their guns and were preparing to move on when Earl suddenly held up his hand. "Listen," he whispered tensely. "I hear someone coming."

CHAPTER V

HAND TO HAND

Instantly the three boys were all attention. They shrank back into the shadow of the passage and with guns raised to their shoulders and their fingers on the triggers they waited. Undoubtedly some one was approaching. There was more than one, for low-voiced words could be heard. Were they friends or foes?

Immovable the young soldiers waited. Closer and closer came the sound of those who were coming in their direction. All at once they appeared.

"Halt," cried Leon sharply.

"Ah, is it you, my friend Leon?"

"Who's that?" demanded Leon greatly surprised to hear his name spoken.

"It is I; Pierre Garemont," replied a pleasant voice.

The three young soldiers immediately lowered their rifles. Pierre was an old friend of theirs, one of their company, and with him there was Jean Luqueur, another one of their comrades.

"Where have you been, Pierre?" demanded Leon eagerly.

"Searching for the Boches," he answered. "But alas I have had but poor luck; I have found nothing but dead ones."

"Where are you going now?" asked Jacques.

"Back to the battlefield to rejoin our men."

"Is the work all done down here?"

"I see no more to be done. Let us go."

"You two were making a lot of noise coming through that passage," remarked Jacques severely. "It would have been easy for anyone to ambush you."

"Ha, ha," laughed Pierre loudly. "The Boches, they are too stunned by our bombardment to do anything."

"Don't you believe it!" cried Leon seriously. "If we go with you you'll have to be quiet, that's sure."

"Very well," Pierre agreed glibly. He was in excellent spirits however for he felt that his country was on the threshold of a great victory over its hated enemy and he was happy.

"Do you know the way out?" inquired Earl.

"We are not sure," said Jean. "We were looking for it when you so rudely pointed your guns at our heads."

"We won't do it again," promised Jacques. "You lead the way, Pierre, and we'll follow."

They proceeded in silence now. The story the three boys told of their two encounters with the Germans had a quieting effect upon Pierre and Jean. They realized that perhaps all the enemy had not been cleared from this great labyrinth after all.

Twisting and turning in their course they tramped along. Numberless passages led off in all directions but the five soldiers kept to the one in which they had started. It seemed larger than the others and they decided it must be the principal one. Consequently they thought it would eventually lead them out of the bewildering underground maze.

Suddenly a patch of light appeared far ahead of them. It was sunlight and they quickened their pace, eager to join in the battle once more. That they were approaching an exit was proved by the fact that the roar of the guns increased as they proceeded. The artillery had not ceased its activity in the slightest.

A shadow crossed the patch of sunlight ahead and Pierre held up his hand. Immediately the little company halted.

A moment later a tall Prussian stepped into the trench and peered cautiously all about him. The five French soldiers shrank back into the shadow and watched. Evidently the German saw nothing, for a moment later he turned and beckoned and straightway four more helmeted Germans appeared. They stood together in the little spot of light, evidently debating what to do next.

They did not stand that way long however. Pierre quickly raised his rifle and fired at the little group. His shot went wild however. Like a flash the Germans turned and after one hasty glance in the direction of the shot, they darted down some adjoining passage and disappeared.

"After them!" cried Pierre. He dashed off in mad pursuit, closely followed by the four other members of the squad. At top speed they rushed along the passageway. Soon they came to the spot where the patch of sunlight showed.

"This way," shouted Pierre, and he turned sharply to the left and sped along after the fleeing Germans.

"Don't run into a trap," shouted Jacques, but Pierre gave no heed to him. His one idea was to come up with his foes and he forgot everything else. He led the others by at least five yards, followed by Jacques, Earl, Jean, and Leon in the order named.

Thus far they had seen no fresh signs of the Germans but there had been no branches to this passage as yet, and consequently they were convinced that they were upon the right track.

Suddenly a man stepped out of a niche in the wall directly in front of Pierre. He held his rifle out in front of him and before the racing Frenchman could check himself he had run full upon the long keen bayonet. Clear through him it went and down went Pierre.

Close behind him, however, was Jacques, and before the German could do any more execution he gave him the same treatment that Pierre had received. Without a sound he sank to the ground and lay limply stretched out upon the prostrate body of Pierre.

"Is Pierre dead?" gasped Earl.

"He is," said Jacques simply.

"Too bad," murmured Earl.

"That's part of the game," said Jacques in a matter-of-fact tone. "We can do no more for him. Let's move on."

France had lost a brave soldier in this simple peasant. He had given his life for his country and no man, peasant or king, can do more than that. He loved France and he died for her gladly. He did not like war and he had had no quarrel with anyone. When his country was in peril, however, he had but one thought and that was to do all he could for her. He had done his best and served her well. There were thousands more just like him and it was impossible to mourn over any one of them long. Consequently his four comrades soon left him to attend to the business in hand.

"The fellow that killed him won't do any damage again anyway," remarked Earl. "You fixed him all right, Jacques."

"Come," urged Jacques shortly.

"Go slowly from now on," urged Leon. This advice was followed and the little squad moved forward again. They had no desire that Pierre's fate should overtake them.

A few moments later they came to a spot where several passages all seemed to meet. It was like the hub of a wheel, only there were not so many passages as there are spokes in most wheels.

"Now what?" exclaimed Earl when they had reached this spot.

"Where did they go?" demanded Leon. "We'd better not stand here any longer though. Some one will take a shot at us if we're not careful."

"Right you are," agreed Jacques heartily. "Let's follow this passage and see where it leads us." He plunged into one of the dimly lighted aisles and proceeded cautiously along it, closely followed by his three companions.

They had gone but a short distance when the passage suddenly opened up into the main trench and the four soldiers found themselves in the daylight again. Over their heads the bullets whistled and the projectiles screamed but none of them fell in that particular trench. The French charge had carried far beyond this spot and the Germans were interested in that, while the French guns were still busy hammering the opposing trenches to pieces.

"Look," cried Earl. "There are the Germans we were chasing."

A squad of French soldiers passed with five German prisoners, one of them easily recognizable as the tall Prussian they had seen only a short time before. The man in charge of the squad halted the little band and a most interesting event took place.

All the buttons were cut off the prisoners' trousers; suspenders and belts were cut in two and the laces were slashed from their shoes. A moment later the five Germans slopped away, their hands in their pockets to keep their trousers from falling off and shuffling their feet to keep their shoes on. One Frenchman accompanied them to direct rather than guard them. They were harmless enough now.

"That's certainly a funny sight," laughed Leon. "Those Germans couldn't run away or do any damage now to save their lives."

"A great way to send prisoners back to the lines," said Jacques.

The three boys and Jean now joined the other men in the squad and together the eleven soldiers started across the battlefield. All of them were of the same regiment but from different companies. Far ahead they could see the curtain of fire and behind it the advancing line of French troops.

"That's where we belong," cried Jacques eagerly.

"Here come reinforcements!" shouted Earl, and from their own lines they could see a fresh battalion of infantry pouring out of the trenches and starting across that field of death.

Corpses lay on every side, French and German together. The ground was covered with the dead and wounded, some of the latter desperately in need of attention. They had to be left for the Red Cross, however. The soldiers had their orders and they were to advance.

"Shall we wait and go forward with the reinforcements?" asked one of the men in the squad which the four soldiers had encountered.

"I should say not," cried Jacques. "Our regiment is ahead there and that's where we ought to be."

With a shout he dashed forward and close at his heels followed his ten comrades all eager to be in the fray once more.

CHAPTER VI

UNDER FIRE

Ahead of them was a small wooded ridge and towards this they made their way. The field was littered with corpses and it was necessary to exercise great care to prevent stepping on the dead bodies.

A few moments later the eleven soldiers reached the ridge and there came up with their battalion; at least what was left of it, for it had suffered heavily during the charge. The three boys were very glad indeed to rejoin their company and were soon in their accustomed places.

"We're pretty well protected here," remarked Earl when they were in the abandoned German trench under the shelter of the ridge.

"Yes," agreed Jacques. "Those scrubby little pine trees hide us from the sight of the German observation posts. Their artillery won't bother us much here."

"We don't want it to," said Leon grimly. "It has done enough of that already."

"And it will do a whole lot more," added Jacques.

As he finished speaking the order to advance came and once more the troops moved on. They followed the zig-zag course of the German trench they occupied. It was filled with dead soldiers for it was through this trench that the Germans had tried to rush reinforcements when the attack started. The French guns, however, had had the range and inflicted cruel losses on their opponents.

"This trench leads right over the top of the ridge," remarked Jacques. "Wait until we get there and we'll catch it."

"Not if we stay in the trench," objected Leon.

"But I don't think we will."

"Do you know for sure?"

"No, I don't, but I imagine we'll have a chance in the open again."

His guess proved to be correct. Arriving at the summit of the hill the battalion halted. The men were formed in sections about fifty yards apart.

"What's the idea?" asked Earl.

"When we leave the trench each section will charge in Indian file," answered Jacques. "Instead of being abreast we'll be one behind another. In that way we'll offer a much smaller target."

"True enough," exclaimed Earl. "That's a great scheme."

A moment later the order came. The soldiers debouched from the trench and in long lines advanced down the hill. From the German positions the French formation gave more or less the impression of one man every fifty yards charging at them.

Almost immediately, however, their appearance was greeted by a storm of shot and shell. Guns of all caliber belched their deadly missiles at the charging French. The attackers quickened their pace and breaking into a run, raced down the hill.

At the bottom of the incline were numberless great pits blasted out of the ground by the prodigious explosions. Into these the attackers dove pell-mell and a halt was called for a few moments' rest.

Leon, Jacques and Earl found themselves in one of these, along with five other men of their company.

"Look at those two big howitzers," exclaimed Leon pointing to two big German guns lying half-imbedded in the earth.

"Where are the men to attend to them?" queried Earl.

"Ask our gunners," advised Jacques grimly. "Perhaps they can tell you."

"What do you mean?" demanded Earl somewhat puzzled by this remark.

"Simply this," said the young Frenchman. "One or two of our big shells made direct hits on this battery and the gunners are not in existence anymore."

"I see," said Earl simply.

As these eight soldiers sat in the pit and waited, their spirits began to rise and they seemed to forget the horrors they had been through and their present danger. They even began to make jokes and laugh over certain incidents of the fight. The thing that amused them most was the recollection of the German prisoners shuffling off with their hands in their pockets to keep up their trousers. One of the men had even had time to pick one German's pocket of a package of cigarettes.

He passed them around with great glee and soon every one was smoking except Earl, Leon and Jacques. They had never acquired the habit and knowing that they were better off without it had no desire to start. Their main desire was to keep themselves in perfect physical trim.

As they sat there talking the shells flew over their heads in a steady stream. In the great crater, however, they were comparatively safe unless some stray shell should chance to land directly in the hollow where they were seated.

"And if one ever does," exclaimed Jacques, "it's good-by to us."

"Why so?" demanded Earl. "In a hole as large as this we might get nothing worse than a spattering of dirt."

"Yes," said Jacques, "but don't you know that there are probably several thousand rounds of ammunition buried under here? If there should happen to be an explosion, what do you think would happen to us?"

"Well there wouldn't be enough to make much of a fuss over, I guess," remarked Leon with a grim smile.

A man suddenly appeared on the rim of the pit and slid over the edge.

"Ho, Coudert," one of the soldiers greeted him.

"Got orders?" asked another.

"Yes," said Coudert who acted as order-bearer in the battalion.

The men crowded about him, eager to learn what their next move was to be. Coudert spoke rapidly in French and Jacques translated his message to Earl and Leon. The two young Americans spoke that language fairly well but when it came to a question of orders they always had Jacques interpret them if possible, so that there should be no mistake.

"We are to leave here," said Jacques, "and go on down to the bottom of the hill where we are to dig shelters for ourselves. We cannot go forward until our artillery has had a chance to do a little more execution."

"Then we'll probably have to stay out all night," remarked Leon.

"I should not be surprised," said Jacques simply.

"That'll be nice," exclaimed Leon with a wry smile.

"Coudert says," continued Jacques, "that that trench we just left back there on the hill is half full of reinforcements for us."

"We can use them," said Earl shortly.

"Ready," came the order, and with a final adjustment of his equipment every man prepared himself for the dash that was to come.

The men scrambled up the sides of the giant crater. From the pits on both sides of them the other sections were doing the same thing.

"Spread out," was the order. "Advance in open formation."

With several feet between them the French dashed down the hill. The German machine-guns barked at them angrily and the spiteful crack of the rifles could be heard now and then above the din of the cannonade. Two hundred yards from the enemy's positions they flung themselves down upon the ground and began digging furiously. Every man had a shovel in his equipment and he made the dirt fly.

In an incredibly short time a parapet a little over a foot high was thrown up and every man's knapsack was placed to keep the dirt in position so that they were fairly safe against infantry and machine-gun fire. This done, every soldier then began to dig a little individual ditch for himself. Three feet deep and two feet wide and long enough to lie down in they furnished excellent protection against anything but a direct hit by one of the enemy's shells.

"Hello, Jacques," called Leon. "How do you feel?"

"Fine. Do you know our section didn't lose a man on the way down the hill?"

"That so? Good for us."

"Where's Earl?"

"The other side of you, I think. Yell at him."

"Hey, Earl," called Jacques.

"Hello," came the answer. "What do you want?"

"I just wanted to know if you were all right."

"Surely. I don't see the point in these piles of dirt in between the ditches though. It seems to me that the dirt would do more good in front."

"We've got enough in front," said Jacques. "You'll see the use in that dirt in between us if a shell should ever land squarely in one of the ditches."

Scarcely had he spoken when a 105-millimeter shell dropped directly into the ditch next to Earl's. It was occupied by a man named Dumont and he, poor fellow, was blown to atoms. Earl, however, thanks to the "dirt" he despised so much was untouched.

"Their fire is slackening," remarked Jacques.

"Yes," agreed Leon. "There seems to be only one battery firing at us now."

"That shows how good our artillery is," said Jacques proudly. "That one battery that's left would have been silenced long ago too if it hadn't been hidden pretty well."

"How do you know it's hidden?"

"Because they'd have located it before this time if it wasn't."

The French aeroplanes which had been soaring overhead for a long time now began to swoop lower. Evidently the aviators were searching for the battery in question. A swift biplane swept past, barely two hundred and fifty yards above the trenches. Amid a perfect storm of shot it returned safely to its lines.

"Dig the trenches deeper," came the order.

"Hear that?" demanded Jacques. "That means we stay out here all night, I guess."

CHAPTER VII

IN THE DITCH

The time passed slowly. The cannonade slackened in intensity and at times almost ceased entirely. The men spent their time in improving their positions and enlarging the ditches in which they were lying.

"What are you doing, Jacques?" demanded Leon suddenly.

"Watch me," was the young Frenchman's only reply.

He placed his steel helmet on the end of his bayonet and raised it cautiously above the edge of the parapet. Almost immediately a storm of German bullets struck all around the spot.

"You're crazy, Jacques," exclaimed Leon. "Stop that."

"Not at all," chuckled Jacques. "I love to fool them."

"You'll get fooled yourself if you're not careful."

"No, I won't either."

He repeated the move and again the bullets rained all about him. He soon tired of the game, however, and for a time lapsed into silence.

"How big is your ditch, Leon?" called Jacques.

"I don't know; it's pretty good size."

"Large enough for two?"

"It might hold two I guess."

"All right then," exclaimed Jacques. "I'm coming over to see you."

With two quick jumps he was out of his ditch and alongside Leon. Little spurts of earth flew up from the parapet in front as he took his place.

"You were too slow that time, my friends," chuckled Jacques addressing his remarks to the Germans.

"That was a risky thing to do," exclaimed Leon reprovingly.

"I know it," admitted Jacques. "All war is risky."

"Just for that reason there is no use in taking unnecessary chances."

"That was not unnecessary," grinned Jacques. "I understand that you have some bread and cheese still left and I am hungry."

"That's true," admitted Leon and from his knapsack he produced both articles in question. Lying side by side in that shallow ditch the two young soldiers ate their luncheon.

"I wonder what some of my friends would say if they could see me now," mused Leon. "I guess they'd be surprised."

"Because you are fighting here?" asked Jacques.

"Yes. They probably couldn't understand why I should want to enlist in some other country's army and go to war for strangers."

"But you are fighting for liberty," exclaimed Jacques. "America stands for liberty, does it not?"

"It certainly does," cried Leon. "Still some people would probably wonder why I should want to fight for another country's liberty."

"But," protested Jacques, "did not France aid your country in your struggle for independence in the war of the Revolution? Why then is it strange that Americans should help France when she is fighting for her very existence and life?"

"I don't think it's strange," said Leon. "I think it's only right. What I said was, that some of my friends might not understand it."

"America and France both stand for liberty," said Jacques. "They both had to fight hard to get it and now they should help each other keep what they have won so dearly."

"The two nations have always been good friends," said Leon.

"Yes," agreed Jacques simply, "and I hope they always will be."

The young Frenchman rolled over on his side and suddenly jumped almost to his feet. He clasped both hands to his face and tried to rise but could not. His head seemed to weigh tons and he simply could not get up.

"Jacques! Jacques!" cried Leon in alarm, kneeling beside his companion. "What is the matter?"

Blood was oozing between the fingers of the young Frenchman.

"Let me see," begged Leon. "Take your hands away from your face."

Jacques made no answer but continued his vain efforts to rise.

With difficulty Leon forced his hands from his face. Jacques was now bespattered with blood which spurted from a long gash running from his left eye to the corner of his mouth.

"Lie down, Jacques," begged Leon anxiously.

Without a word the wounded boy stretched himself out upon his back in the ditch. Leon reached for his emergency dressing and began to do what he could for the young Frenchman.

"A steel splinter hit me, I guess," murmured Jacques.

"I should say it did," agreed Leon soberly. "It's a lucky thing it didn't hit your eye. How do you feel?"

"All right. Pretty weak though."

"A doctor ought to dress that wound," said Leon. "You can't leave this place before dark though; it would be sure death to try."

"Oh, I'm all right enough," said Jacques. "This is only a scratch."

"A pretty deep scratch I should say," replied Leon grimly. "It'll leave a scar as long as you live."

"What of it?"

"It won't help your looks any."

"What do I care? That scar will always remind me that I did something for France. I shall be proud of it."

"Do you feel any better?" asked Leon.

"A little. I'd like my canteen though."

Leon reached for the article in question which was lying on the edge of the little ditch. As he turned he felt a blow in the shoulder.

"What's the matter?" demanded Jacques as he saw his companion sink back.

"I'm hit," said Leon simply.

"Where is it?"

"In the shoulder."

"Unbutton your coat and shirt and look at it."

Leon quickly complied and a moment later picked a rifle-ball out of his shoulder. It had barely broken the skin and the wound bled but little.

"That's funny," mused Leon. "How do you suppose its force became spent so soon?"

"It must have struck something else first."

Leon looked about him. "I should say it did," he exclaimed. "Look here."

He picked up Jacques' gun which was lying on the parapet. The bullet had struck the magazine of the rifle, knocked out one cartridge and torn a hole through the wooden stock.

"Pretty lucky for you," said Jacques. "If it hadn't been for that gun you'd have been done for now."

The afternoon dragged slowly along and the bombardment began to increase in severity once more. Evidently the way was being prepared for a further advance of the infantry that night.

"I'd better leave you now I guess," remarked Leon as dusk began to creep over the battlefield. "You stay here and I'll go back to your ditch."

"Be careful," warned Jacques. "Keep low."

With a quick jump Leon sprang out of the ditch and over into the one Jacques had formerly occupied. His appearance was greeted by a volley of bullets from one of the German machine-guns but the aim was too high and he reached his goal in safety.

As night fell half the section remained on the alert while the other half slept. The cannonade was now furious but the men managed to get some rest. At midnight Leon was relieved from his watch and prepared himself for sleep. One of the men furnished him with two overcoats stripped from dead Germans and with these he made a fairly comfortable bed.

In spite of the terrific din made by the guns he at last dozed off to sleep. How long he slept he did not know, but suddenly he awoke to find himself in complete darkness. He felt suffocated. He tried to rise but was unable to move. Something seemed to be holding him down and choking him at the same time. There was no air to breathe.

He set himself for a strong muscular effort. He drew in his breath and his mouth filled with dirt. Suddenly the awful truth flashed through his mind. He was buried alive.

CHAPTER VIII

A MIDNIGHT SALLY

"To die like this!" thought Leon. "What a terrible end."

He had always planned that if he should be stricken in this war it would be with his gun in his hand and his face set toward the enemy. To perish, buried under a heap of earth, was not a soldier's death.

He worked the dirt out of his mouth with the tip of his tongue and set himself for a supreme effort. A quick breath and more dirt filled his mouth. He could not move a muscle in his body. He tried to shout and more earth entered his mouth. It gritted its way down his throat.

So this was the end. The young soldier grew calm and waited for it to come. After all it was not so bad. He had done his best and now it was all over. That was the chance a soldier was compelled to take. The pain left him and the whole world turned black.

"Ouch," cried somebody suddenly. "He bit my finger."

"Never mind that," said another voice. "Get the dirt out of his mouth."

Leon felt a finger enter his throat and he coughed. Some one was working his arms up and down and his wounded shoulder pained him. He struggled up but sank back to his knees and began coughing up dirt.

"Spit that dirt out on your parapet," said a voice which Leon recognized as belonging to Dubois, one of his mates. "You'll need it all there."

Dubois was the joker of the regiment and everybody laughed. Even Leon smiled. He was feeling much better now and all the men except Earl returned to their holes. Jacques had been taken to the rear by the Red Cross to have his wound dressed.

"What hit me, Earl?" asked Leon.

"Dirt hit you," said Earl. "A shell exploded just the other side of you."

"It must have been a big one."

"It was; 250-millimeter."

"That's a ten-inch, isn't it? Did it do much damage?"

"Well we've got two men less in our company than we had a few minutes ago."

"I guess I was lucky," exclaimed Leon soberly.

"You certainly were," agreed Earl. "That shell tore a hole in the ground about six feet deep and spilled about ten cubic yards of dirt on top of you."

At this moment two stretcher-bearers arrived on the spot to take Leon back to the rear, but he refused to go.

"I'm all right," he exclaimed. "I only had a lot of dirt piled on me and that didn't do me any harm. Besides there is too much going on and I don't want to miss any of it."

The bearers withdrew and Leon went back to his ditch. He was rapidly recovering his strength and began to dig his two German overcoats out from under the pile of dirt. He bedded them down in the crater made by the shell and made himself quite comfortable.

"Come over here, Earl," he shouted a moment later. "This crater is much larger and safer than your ditch and lightning never strikes twice in the same place you know."

Earl soon joined his brother and with him came Dubois the man who had helped to dig out Leon. There was plenty of room for all three and for a time they felt quite secure. Soon however the shells began to fall thicker and faster all about them.

"What did you say about lightning?" demanded Dubois at length.

"The shells are getting pretty close, aren't they?" said Leon anxiously.

"Yes," said Dubois, "and to my mind it's only a question of time before one lands on us. This isn't old-fashioned lightning you know."

"They certainly seem to be getting the range all right," exclaimed Earl. "I don't see what we can do though. We can't leave our post."

"No," agreed Leon. "We certainly can't go back."

"We can go ahead though," said Dubois.

"What do you mean?" demanded Leon puzzled by his comrade's remark.

"Do you remember that little German trench about forty yards ahead of us out here?"

"Yes."

"Well why can't we go out and take possession of that?"

"Just the three of us?" demanded Earl.

"Why, yes," replied Dubois. "You will remember that there has been no firing from that spot all day. It is probably empty."

"Do you think we can reach it?" exclaimed Leon eagerly.

"Why not? It is very close and yet we'll not be fired upon by the Boches. If we remain here it is but a question of time before we are entirely wiped out. What do you say?"

"I say to go," replied Leon at once.

"And I too," echoed Earl.

"Come then," urged Dubois and without waiting another moment he crawled up out of the crater and started across the space intervening between them and the German trench. One on each side, Leon and Earl accompanied him.

These two boys were typical twins in every respect. Strangers could hardly ever tell them apart and even their intimate friends became confused at times. They looked alike, their voices were alike, and they even seemed to think alike. The only distinguishing mark was a small mole under Earl's right eye.

"Don't let any German clip that mole off, Earl," warned Dubois. "If that should happen I don't know how we could ever tell which was which."

"It's impossible to see anything to-night anyway," said Leon. "I have never seen such blackness."

Crawling three abreast they proceeded across the shell-swept battlefield. The cannonade made an infernal noise now and it seemed as if bedlam had been let loose. Closer and closer they came to their goal. Indistinctly outlined against the night they could see the pile of earth thrown up in front of the German trench.

A few moments later they came to it. Dubois did not try to enter here however but, still followed by Earl and Leon, he crawled around the end of it. Then he continued until he came to the center of the trench so that it was between them and the French lines.

Suddenly a wild yell split the darkness.

"Die Franzosen! Die Franzosen!" (The French! The French!)

It was impossible to distinguish one object from another. There might have been a regiment of Germans in the trench for all that Dubois and his two comrades could tell. For that matter the Germans might easily have imagined they were beset by a regiment of French. The night was inky black.

It was a great surprise to the three adventurers to hear this yell of fear coming out of a trench they had supposed to be vacant, but they were undaunted. Dubois immediately jumped down into the trench, closely followed by Leon and Earl.

"Hände hoch!" (Hands up) shrieked Dubois, calling upon the small amount of German with which he was familiar.

"Hände hoch!" he shouted again and Leon and Earl added their voices.

It was a tense moment. Probably they were far outnumbered by the Germans and should this fact be discovered it would go hard with them. It was a strange sensation for two American boys to experience. There they were standing in a deep trench somewhere in France, in the middle of the night, with they did not know how many Germans who would have liked nothing better than to kill them then and there.

"Hände hoch!" repeated Dubois threateningly and the three comrades held their breath in suspense.

"Kameraden! Kameraden!" came the familiar reply and Dubois chuckled audibly. He and two companions had forced the occupants of a German trench to surrender, solely through bluff.

In his broken German the intrepid Frenchman ordered their prisoners to leave the trench and with their hands held high above their heads to march towards the French lines. One by one they stepped out and as the three friends saw them outlined indistinctly against the sky they counted six Germans. Three of them had taken double their number of the enemy prisoners.

"You and Earl take them back," said Dubois to Leon. "I'll stay here in this trench and you'd better tell the rest of the fellows in our section to move up here. It's much safer."

"All right," said Leon readily, and with his revolver in his hand to guard against any attempts to escape he and Earl set out to conduct their captives back to the French lines.

CHAPTER IX

A CAPTURED TRENCH

A short time later the two young Americans entered the French trenches and turned their prisoners over to the guard. Congratulations and praise for their exploit were heaped upon them and it was in vain that they protested that Dubois should receive all the credit. Leon, especially, for he had been in the regiment longer than Earl, had performed too many daring feats to be able to shift the praise to some one else. All his comrades were aware of his worth.

"Too bad Jacques could not be with you," said one of the men. "He will be furious when he hears what he missed."

"He doesn't miss many things in that line," laughed Leon. "It's a good thing for him to get some rest."

"Was he wounded badly?" inquired another soldier.

"No," said Leon. "A cut across his face merely."

"He will be back here to-morrow then," laughed the man. "You cannot keep that dare-devil away from the front for long."

At this moment Captain Le Blanc approached and stepping up to the two brothers shook each heartily by the hand. The informality and comradeship among the French troops is one thing that makes the army of France so wonderful. They are all working together for one common cause, and officers and men both have the same object. The men never take advantage of their superiors however and discipline is not interfered with.

"Fine work, boys," said Captain Le Blanc cordially. "That was a splendid and nervy thing you did."

The two boys muttered their thanks, too much embarrassed to say anything.

"I shall see to it that you are mentioned in the dispatches," continued the captain.

"And Dubois," exclaimed Leon quickly.

"Yes," laughed the captain. "And Dubois."

Captain Le Blanc passed on, leaving two very happy boys behind him. It was a great honor to be mentioned in the official dispatches and naturally the two brothers were proud.

"Jacques will be jealous of you," remarked the soldier who had been talking about the young Frenchman a few moments before.

"Jacques is jealous of nobody," exclaimed Leon warmly. "He never has been and he never will be. He is too fine a fellow and has too much sense."

"That's right," agreed another soldier nearby. "He is not the sort ever to begrudge another man an honor."

"Dubois is still out in that trench, Leon," Earl reminded his brother. "I think we'd better go out to him, don't you?"

"I certainly do," exclaimed Leon readily. "All you men are coming too, aren't you?"

The little gathering thus addressed were very eager to go, and soon the process of shifting their position was under way. One by one the men crept forward to the captured trench and before many moments had elapsed Leon, Earl and Dubois were esconsed in their position with nine more of their companions.

"This is the safest place I've struck yet," exclaimed Dubois. "All the German shells go over our heads here. We're just as safe here as we would be ten miles behind the firing line."

"Yon wouldn't be absolutely safe that far away," said Earl.

"Well pretty nearly so anyway," said Dubois.

"How about Dunkirk?" demanded Earl. "See what they did there."

"What did they do?" asked one of the men.

"They dropped a shell in the town from a distance of twenty-two miles. What good would ten miles do you against a gun like that?"

"The Germans certainly have some wonderful guns all right," said Dubois. "They won't touch us here though I guess."

"We're sort of between the fires, aren't we?" remarked Leon.

"Yes," said one of the men, "and I'm afraid it is going to be tiresome here after awhile."

"Tiresome!" exclaimed Earl. "It seems to me there is enough going on around here to suit anybody."

"Not for me," said the man, Armande by name. "I think I'll go out and take a look around."

"You're crazy," exclaimed Dubois. "What's the use in doing a thing like that? You'll only get killed and what good will it do?"

"I won't be killed," laughed Armande. "Those Boches, they cannot shoot."

"Don't you fool yourself," said Dubois seriously. "Of course they can shoot and shoot well too. You are foolish, Armande."

"Perhaps," Armande admitted with a shrug. "At any rate I shall now crawl over and have a look at the German trenches while it is yet dark. I shall be back before long."

"I hope so," muttered Dubois soberly.

Armande crept out of the trench and disappeared into the night. It is one of the remarkable things about war that men soon seem to lose all fear of death. The noise of the big guns and the shell fire terrifies them at first, but they rapidly become accustomed to it and it makes but small impression on them. Life in the trenches becomes very dull and the men do all kinds of foolhardy things just to experience a thrill. They laugh at death and even play with it.

Such a man was Armande and though Dubois had tried to prevent his leaving the trench, the fact that he insisted upon going did not make much impression upon him. Many others had done things equally foolish.

"He may get back," remarked Leon.

"Oh, yes," said Dubois lightly. "The night is dark and he may not be seen."

"How far is it to the German trenches from here?" asked Earl.

"A hundred yards I guess," said Dubois. "I'm not quite sure though."

"About that," said Leon. "What's he going to do?"

"He said he was going to go over and take a look at the German trenches," said Earl. "I suppose that's where he's gone."

Many moments passed and Armande did not return. The roar of the cannonade seemed to be slackening as time went on but it was still violent. No orders had come to the men as to what they were expected to do and consequently they surmised that they were not to attack again that morning. Before a charge the soldiers were usually notified so that they could have full opportunity for preparation.

"What's that?" demanded Earl suddenly, during a slight lull in the artillery duel. Armande had been gone about an hour.

"What's what?" asked Leon.

"I thought I heard a bell ring."

"A bell! What kind of a bell?"

"It sounded like a cow-bell to me."

"How could that be? What would a cow-bell be doing out here on the battlefield? I suppose the Germans are grazing their cattle out there."

"Don't be silly, Leon," exclaimed Earl.

Suddenly the bell sounded again; there was no mistaking it this time and all the men heard it. It was immediately followed by a burst of violent machine-gun fire from the German trenches.

"What do you suppose it is?" demanded Leon excitedly.

"It's a bell," said Earl. "I told you that before."

"It's very strange," muttered Dubois. "I cannot understand it."

The men were all alert now, however, and on the watch for any trick that the Germans might try to play on them. Every one was mystified and at a complete loss to understand the strange occurrence. A half-hour passed and the performance was not repeated.

"Where can Armande be I wonder," said Earl.

"It certainly seems as if he ought to be back by this time, doesn't it?" exclaimed Leon anxiously.

"He's dead," said Dubois shortly.

"What makes you think so?" asked Earl.

"Well he hasn't come back yet, has he?"

"No."

"Then he must be dead and I believe that bell ringing had something to do with it too."

"In what way?" asked Leon.

"I don't know," said Dubois. "That's what I think though."

Armande was not dead however. A moment later Dubois heard his name called and the missing soldier slid over the parapet and into the trench once more. "Slid," expresses what he did exactly, for he shot forward head-first and fell in a heap on the bottom of the trench. He lay there moaning.

"Armande," cried Dubois bending over him. "What happened?"

"They got me," said the wounded soldier simply.

"Where? How?"

"In the leg. A machine-gun bullet."

"Where have you been?"

"Over to the German trenches. They shot me about half an hour ago and it has taken me all this time to get back here."

"Send word to the Red Cross," said Dubois to one of the men. "I wish I could do something for you," he added to his wounded comrade. "It is so dark here I cannot see a thing. Are you badly hurt?"

"No; just above the knee. It is painful and it was hard to walk but I doubt if it is serious."

"I hope not," exclaimed Leon heartily. "How did they happen to see you?"

"Did you hear a bell?" asked Armande.

"We certainly did," exclaimed Leon. "What was it?"

"It was my finish," said Armande. "It was a clever ruse on the part of the Boches however and I must give them credit for it."

"What was it?" asked Earl eagerly. "Can you tell us about it?"

"It was like this," said Armande. "I crawled out of the trench here and began to creep over towards the German positions. It was so very dark that I could see practically nothing, but I knew the general direction and so kept on. I traveled very slowly and no incident of importance took place for some time.

"Finally I could see the German barbed wire flickering faintly just ahead of me. I crept closer. I did not make a sound, and unnoticed I came directly up to the wire entanglements. I was so near I could hear the Boches talking to one another in their trenches."

He paused and uttered a low groan.

"What is it?" cried Dubois anxiously. "Can't I help you, Armande?"

"Will you tie something around my leg? It throbs badly."

"Perhaps you'd better not try to talk," suggested Leon.

"It is not that," exclaimed Armande. "It is just my leg. Ah, that is better," he sighed as Dubois wrapped the wound tightly with a long bandage produced by one of the men.

"Well, as I was saying or was about to say," he continued after a moment, "I could hear them talking. I crouched there and listened for a few moments trying to make out what they were saying. I know but little German however and I could only catch a word here and there and as they made no sense I quickly became tired of listening.

"It struck me as a fine chance to give the Boches a good scare however. I determined to wake them up with a hand-grenade. I took one in my hand and prepared to hurl it. I raised myself slightly from the ground and took hold of a strand of the barked wire to steady my aim. No sooner had I touched the wire than a bell rang."

"I heard it," cried Earl eagerly.

"I had touched the wire but lightly," continued Armande, "and the bell did not ring loudly. It startled me however and I drew back quickly. I also noticed that the Germans immediately ceased talking. It did not occur to me that my touching the wire had made the bell ring however. I thought it a mere coincidence.

"For some moments I lay there quietly and presently the Boches began to talk again. I waited what seemed to me a long time. Then once more I took the hand-grenade in my right hand and raised myself on one elbow. I determined to act quickly this time. Again I seized the wire with my left hand and hurled the grenade.

"Squarely into the trench it landed and I have the satisfaction of knowing that it did good work. I had not caught them napping however. I had seized the wire much more firmly the second time and at the same instant when I threw my missile the bell rang violently; much more so than formerly.

"It was probably hanging on the wire," exclaimed Earl.

"Exactly," agreed Armande. "As soon as anyone touched the wire the bell would ring. It warned the Germans and I must admit it was a clever trick."

"It surely was," agreed Leon. "What happened then?"

"I jumped to my feet and started to run," exclaimed Armande. "I had gone but a few steps however when they cut loose with their rapid-firers. A second later I was down, shot through the leg. I guess the Boches thought a whole regiment was making a surprise attack on them. They certainly used enough ammunition to wipe out two regiments."

"Funny no more bullets struck you, Armande," said Dubois. "How do you account for that? Was their aim poor?"

"When I fell I rolled into a shell-hole," said the wounded man. "That afforded me good protection from their bullets. After awhile, when they discovered that they were not being attacked, they ceased firing and I crawled back here. It was hard going I can tell you."

"I should think it might be," exclaimed Leon grimly. "I hope your wound won't prove to be serious, Armande."

At this moment two of the Red Cross men arrived with a stretcher and carried the wounded soldier away.

"Well," said Earl when they had gone, "I should say that Armande ought to be pretty glad that he got nothing worse than a bullet in his leg. I think he's lucky to be alive."

"I think so too," agreed Leon. "That was a great stunt for the Germans to hang that bell on the wire like that, wasn't it?"

"It was indeed," said Dubois. "I know what we can do to them though."

CHAPTER X

A BALL OF TWINE

"What can we do to the Germans, Dubois?" asked Leon curiously.

"We can play a trick on them. What's the use in allowing them to have all the fun?"

"But what do you intend to do?"

"I will show you presently. First of all I want a long piece of stout twine. I shall need a whole ball of it I guess."

"What are you going to do with it?" demanded Leon.

"You will see very soon," said Dubois evasively. "I must get the twine before we do anything else."

He made his way along the trench to the spot where the field telephone had been installed and had a message sent back for the next courier who came out to their position to bring with him a ball of strong string.

"I wish you'd tell us what your plans are," said Earl when Dubois had rejoined him and his twin brother.

"You will know in good time," said Dubois. "If I were to tell you now you would try to restrain me. You would say I was foolish."

"Are you going over to the German trenches?" demanded Leon.

"Wait and see," smiled Dubois.

"Well all I can say is that if you try a thing like that you are crazy," exclaimed Leon warmly. "You saw how much good Armande's expedition did and what happened to him."

"I knew you'd object to my plan," said Dubois.

"Then you admit that you are going over to their trenches?"

"I didn't say so. Let's not talk about it any more."

Although both boys tried hard they were unable to draw Dubois into further conversation concerning his project. The talk finally drifted into other channels and the Frenchman's plans, whatever they were, were finally forgotten.

"Who was looking for a ball of twine?" asked a voice about a half-hour later. "Who was it that wanted the string?"

The voice seemed strangely familiar to the ears of both Leon and Earl. They peered eagerly through the darkness to see if they could discover the identity of the speaker. All they could see was the faint outline of some soldier's figure. The man, whoever it was, had a bandage tied around his face.

"Did anyone here want twine?" he asked again.

"Jacques!" cried Leon eagerly. "What are you doing here?"

"Leon, is it you?" demanded Jacques, for it was the daring young Frenchman who had returned. "Where is Earl?"

"Right here," exclaimed that individual briskly. "But what are you doing back here so soon?"

"Why shouldn't I come back?"

"But you were wounded."

"Merely a scratch. The silly old doctors wanted me to remain in the base hospital for a day or two but that is ridiculous."

"You are reckless, Jacques," said Leon reprovingly. "Still I am awfully glad to see you again."

"Who wants this twine?" asked Jacques. "When I started back they gave it to me to bring out to some one in this trench who had telephoned in for it."

"I want it."

"Who are you?"

"Dubois."

"Ah, Dubois. What use can you have for string?"

"Let me have it and I'll soon show you."

Jacques handed the twine over to Dubois, who immediately unwound a small section of it and tested its strength.

"That is fine," he murmured approvingly. "Now for the fun."

Without waiting a moment longer he placed the ball of string in his pocket and climbed out of the trench. He did not even take his gun with him. His companions were too surprised by his strange actions to offer any objection and he had disappeared into the darkness almost before they were aware of it.

"Well," exclaimed Leon. "What do you think of that crazy man?"

"Where's he going?" asked Jacques, puzzled by the actions of his friend.

"Over to the German trenches I think."

"What for?"

"To get killed I guess," said Leon. "I don't see what else it can be."

"He must have some object I should think," said Jacques. "Wouldn't he tell you what it was?"

"No, he wouldn't," answered Earl. "It has something to do with a bell though I'm sure," and he related the story of Armande's adventure.

"Perhaps he's going to try to fix it so it won't ring any more," suggested Jacques. "He's not afraid of anything you know."

"It's not a question of being afraid," said Leon warmly. "It's a question of using good common sense."

The three boys waited anxiously for the return of their comrade but the moments passed and he did not reappear. The firing had been fitful all through the night; the steady booming of the big cannon being broken by an occasional burst of machine-gun fire.

"He'll never come back I'm afraid," said Earl slowly after the lapse of half an hour.

"Don't give up yet," exclaimed Jacques. "He may return."

"I'd like to know why he went," said Lean. "Why was he so mysterious?"

At this moment, however, Dubois suddenly reappeared and clambered back into the trench.

"Dubois!" cried Leon eagerly. "Where have you been?"

"Over to see Fritzie," chuckled Dubois gayly. "Fritzie" was the name by which the French and English sometimes referred to the Germans.

"Are you hurt?" demanded Leon.

"Hurt?" echoed Dubois. "I never felt better."

"What have you been doing?"

"I'll show you in just a moment," and Dubois busied himself with something he held in his hands. It was too dark for his companions to make out just what he was doing.

After a few moments the reckless Frenchman turned to his friends. His preparations, whatever they were, evidently were complete.

"Now for the fun," he exclaimed. "Listen!"

He made a quick motion with his right arm as though he were jerking something. From across the battlefield came the faint sound of a bell. Almost instantly followed the sharp rattle of many machine-guns being fired at once.

"Hear that?" demanded Dubois enthusiastically. "Isn't that great?"

"What are you doing?" asked Leon curiously. "You don't mean to say that you made that bell ring."

"Oh, is that so?" exclaimed Dubois gleefully. "I'll show you again as soon as they stop that noise over there."

Gradually the fire from the German trenches died down and the front regained its former state of comparative quiet. Once again Dubois jerked his arm and again came the sound of the bell, followed by the sudden burst of machine-gun and rifle fire.

"Dubois! What have you got there?" demanded Earl.

"A string," said Dubois almost beside himself with laughter.

"That ball of twine I brought out?" asked Earl.

"Yes," said Dubois. "That's the one."

"And you sneaked out and tied it to that bell?" demanded Leon.

"Well not exactly to the bell," replied Dubois. "I tied it to the wire right along side the bell though; it serves the same purpose."

Again he pulled the string and the previous performance instantly was repeated. The bell rang and the Germans fired violently. Dubois was delighted beyond all comprehension with his exploit, and the evident nervousness of the enemy every time the bell sounded amused him immensely.

"You're a dare-devil," exclaimed Leon. "You took an awful chance just to have a little fun with the Germans."

"It's not a little fun," Dubois corrected him. "It's a lot of fun."

Many of their comrades gathered around him to see the performance and at intervals all through the remainder of the night the men amused themselves by ringing the bell and startling the Germans. Along towards morning Leon gave the string a vicious tug but no bell sounded and the twine seemed not to be attached to anything.

"One of their bullets has cut the string," said Dubois ruefully. "Our fun is over for the present I'm afraid."

CHAPTER XI

RELIEVED

The following day the French did not try to push their advantage any farther nor did the Germans launch an attack to recover their lost positions. Both sides seemed worn out by their great exertions and were apparently content to allow matters to remain as they were, for the present at least.

The big gun duel still continued but it had lost its intensity and the infantry fighting came almost to a standstill. The men complained of the inaction, for the life in the trenches was monotonous with but little to vary it. They were constantly on the alert and always prepared to meet any surprise attack of the enemy but there was but little for the men to do.

"I don't like it," said Dubois peevishly one day. "It is getting on my nerves."

"This quiet life I suppose you mean?" laughed Leon sarcastically.

"Exactly."

"I don't call that very quiet," exclaimed Leon as one of the German's huge shells sped over their heads with the roar and rattle of an express train. They could hear it explode several miles away with a sound as if some one had dropped a large plank upon a pile of lumber.

"But we're not doing anything," objected Dubois.

"We're alive anyway," said Earl. "That's something."

"But why don't they launch a great big offensive and drive these Germans out of our country?" demanded Dubois. "Just sitting here in the trenches is not going to free France."

"Remember this, Dubois," Jacques reminded his impulsive countryman. "It takes thousands of guns and millions of shells to make the kind of an attack you are talking about."

"Haven't we got them?"

"Not yet, I'm afraid. General Joffre won't send his men out until he has sufficient backing for them either."

"Well if we haven't got enough guns and ammunition," persisted Dubois, "why don't we hurry up and get them?"

"It takes time," smiled Leon. "You can't build factories and teach people how to manufacture powder and shells over night, you know."

"Germany seems to have enough," said Dubois.

"Yes," agreed Leon, "but they have been preparing for this war for a long time. Russia, France and England were caught napping."

"What would they have done if it had not been for the United States?" demanded Earl breaking into the conversation. "We've sent millions of dollars' worth of stuff to the Allies."

"Tell me about that," exclaimed Dubois. "Is America sending supplies to Germany too?"

"Practically none, I guess," said Earl.

"But why not? Is it neutral for a country to sell to one side and not to the other?"

"America would sell to Germany just the same as to Russia, France, and England," said Earl. "The trouble is that Germany can't get the stuff into her country."

"Because of the English fleet?"

"Exactly. The English fleet has swept the German navy off the ocean. The only place left for them is the Baltic."

"That's wonderful, isn't it?" exclaimed Dubois.

"Yes, it is, and most people don't give England half the credit she deserves for that. Just because her fleet doesn't fight a battle every day and do a lot of grandstand work people think it isn't doing anything important. In my opinion it has won the biggest victory of the whole war so far."

"By keeping the German fleet bottled up you mean?" asked Jacques.

"That's it," said Earl decidedly. "Take the English fleet away and let the German warships come out of their hole and see what would happen to the Allies!"

"What would happen?" inquired Dubois.

"Well first of all they'd stop the shipment of all supplies for us from America. Think what that would mean. Then again they'd soon starve out England and she wouldn't be able to send any more soldiers over here to France."

"They haven't sent so many anyway," muttered Dubois.

"Yes," agreed Earl, "but they're sending them now all right. England only had a small army at the beginning of the war and it takes time to make a good soldier just as it takes time to make a good anything else. They'll send plenty of men, don't you worry, and I feel sure there are a good many more here right now than you have any idea of."

"Probably," agreed Dubois. "At any rate they helped us a lot at the beginning of the war when the Boches were driving us on the run back towards Paris."

"Then you think it's all right for the United States to sell supplies to the Allies and not to Germany?" asked Jacques. "I must say that I am glad that is what they are doing anyway."

"Certainly it is all right," exclaimed Earl. "It is permitted by international law and every nation in the world has done the same thing at some time or another. Just because this happens to be the biggest war in the history of the world and because as a result the United States is selling more supplies, doesn't change the facts, does it? As I said, we'd sell to Germany just as quickly as to the Allies. Because they can't get the stuff isn't our fault."

"Yea, Earl, you're quite a speechmaker," cried his brother gleefully.

"Isn't what I said true?" demanded Earl.

"Of course it is. Why if we refused to sell to the Allies now that would mean that we were actively on the side of Germany and nothing we could do would be of greater help to her just now."

The order was passed along the trench that the regiment was to retire and their places were to be taken by fresh troops. The prospect of reaching a place where the enemy's shells would not be roaring around their ears was a pleasant one to many of the men; the strain of the first line trenches is a heavy one for any man. Others however were displeased, for they had no wish to be absent during any possible fighting.

"The idea of being able to take a bath appeals to me," exclaimed Leon eagerly when he heard of the order. "I am certainly dirty."

"We all are that," laughed Jacques, "but what do you expect? A man can't roll around in the smoke and dirt the way we have the last few days and not get dirty."

"We haven't had our clothes off either," said Earl.

"Just suppose the people at home could see what we look like," chuckled Leon. "They'd disown us, I'm afraid."

Many of the soldiers in the trench with these three young soldiers—for Dubois was considerably older than they—had grown beards. These were caked with mud and the long unkempt hair and soiled uniforms of the men gave them a very ferocious appearance. Many of us have thought of most Frenchmen as little fellows but these men were great strapping, brawny giants. As to size and strength they compared equally if not favorably with the Germans.

A short time later the relief regiment arrived and the men who had won and held the new French front gave way to the newcomers. They filed out of the first-line trench and entering the communicating trench made their way back. Several miles they walked, and many a man had long thoughts as he recalled their last march through these trenches when they were headed the other way.

Finally they emerged from the trenches into the open road. It seemed good to feel the solid earth under their feet once more and to be able to walk along across the fields. What a relief after being shut in by the steep sides of the trenches for so long.

The roads were crowded with troops and vehicles of all descriptions. Great motor-trucks rolled by in an endless procession. Both sides of the road were crowded with them. On one side they went towards the trenches, loaded to their utmost capacity with shot and shell with which to feed the hungry cannon. Across the road they were returning empty.

A regiment of hussars passed, looking very smart in their uniforms and plumed hats. Their mounts were newly groomed and sleek. A great cloud of dust arose from the horses' hoofs and the infantry drew aside to let them pass. Close behind the cavalry came a swift motor-car. Everything on the highway drew back to furnish a lane for the speeding automobile which fairly seemed to fly along the ground.

As it passed, Jacques suddenly grasped Leon by the arm.

"Did you see who was in that car?" he demanded.

"No. Who was it?"

"That was President Poincaré, president of France."

CHAPTER XII

IN REVIEW

The speeding car was lost in a cloud of dust and soon disappeared.

"Are you sure that was President Poincaré?" asked Leon.

"I am sure of it," replied Jacques. "I have seen him several times before."

"What do you suppose he is doing here?"

"On a tour of inspection probably. He visits the front frequently."

The tired soldiers swung along the road, their ranks thinner than they had been a few days before. Many a brave son of France had marched to his death when the douzième had filed down into the trenches to lead the offensive a short time previous. That the regiment was held in high esteem, however, was proved by the fact that many a cheer went up as soon as its battle-scarred standard was recognized.

At length they reached the village where their headquarters had been established and every man was assigned a place in which he was to live. Leon, Jacques, Earl, and Dubois found themselves together in the loft of a barn. Five rude cots, with mattresses far from soft, were placed there for them to sleep on.

"Five bunks and only four of us," remarked Earl. "I wonder who is going to use the extra bed."

"Don't call that thing a bed," laughed Leon. "I wouldn't insult a bed."

"That's all right," exclaimed Earl. "It looks pretty good to me after the trenches. At any rate I can sleep on anything."

"So can I," agreed Leon quickly. "Don't think I'm complaining. I'd like to know who is going to use the other bunk though."

"Turn around and you'll see," said Dubois.

His three companions followed his bidding and a shout of welcome went up to the newcomer. He limped slightly but there was a grin on his face and he appeared to be very happy.

"Armande!" cried Dubois joyfully. "I am glad to see you."

He rushed up to his comrade and following the French custom, kissed him on both cheeks.

Jacques did the same but Leon and Earl, though they were not less glad to see their friend, contented themselves with welcoming him with a hearty handshake.

"How is your leg?" inquired Jacques solicitously.

"As sound as ever," exclaimed Armande quickly. He tried to execute a few dance steps to show his friends how well his wound had healed, but his leg sank under him and a shadow of pain crossed his face.

"Be careful," said Leon anxiously. "Don't try anything like that yet."

"I guess it is not as well as I thought," admitted Armande with a wry smile. "It will be sound soon though."

The five soldiers soon made themselves perfectly at home in their rude quarters and enjoyed themselves thoroughly. A few days of rest worked wonders with them and with all the others in their regiment. At the end of a week the men were clamoring to be sent back into the trenches.

Daily drills were held to keep the troops in good physical condition and the men indulged in all kinds of sports during their leisure hours. Thousands and thousands of soldiers were concentrated in and around this town and so wonderful was the French organization that they could be shifted to any part of the long battle line almost at a moment's notice. There seemed to be an endless supply of equipment as well as of men and no longer could France say that she was unprepared. The whole question now was whether she was prepared enough to undertake the great offensive the soldiers knew was coming some time.

One day, at noontime, came the word that that afternoon there was to be a review of all the troops stationed thereabouts.

"Who is going to review us, do you suppose?" asked Earl of Armande who now had recovered entirely from his bullet wound.

"I don't know," replied Armande. "I don't like these reviews anyway. For my part I'd much rather do some actual fighting."

"I guess you'd rather fight than anything else, wouldn't you?" said Earl laughingly.

"I certainly would," exclaimed Armande. "At least I would as long as these Boches are in France. When they are driven out I want to go back to my little farm and never hear the sound of another gun as long as I live."

"I hope you may be able to do that soon," said Earl fervently.

"If I am still alive."

"We'll hope for the best," said Earl simply.

"Suppose I am killed," exclaimed Armande. "What difference will it make? I shall die for my country and what happier death is there than to die for France?"

"If everyone else feels the same way I don't see how France can be beaten," remarked Earl, much impressed by the fervor of the impulsive Frenchman.

"Of course she can't be beaten," cried Armande, "and of course everyone feels as I do. Just as surely as the sun will rise to-morrow France is going to come out victorious in this war. They can hold some of our land for a time but they can't kill our spirit. The spirit of France will live forever and it is spirit that wins; it is unconquerable and it will never give in until justice and right rule once more in Europe."

"Vive la France!" cried Jacques lustily. He had been sitting on the edge of one of the bunks attentively listening to the foregoing conversation.

"Vive la France!" echoed Earl and the rafters of the ramshackle old barn shook with the violence of the cheer.

"Inspection is at two and the review at three," Dubois reminded his comrades when they had settled down to a normal state again.

"Then we haven't much time, have we?" exclaimed Leon. "Let's get ready."

At two o'clock, to the second, the douzième infantry was lined up for inspection. Every man's uniform had been cleaned, his shoes polished and his rifle oiled and rubbed. They all wore the steel helmets adopted by the army since the outbreak of the war; these light metal head coverings had saved many a life and prevented many a wound. In the trench warfare the majority of the wounds are apt to be in the head, for that is all that shows to the enemy; consequently the steel helmets had proved themselves most useful.

A short time later the regiment marched off down the road towards the large open plain where the review was to be held. From all directions came other troops all heading towards the same spot. Bands played and the scene was indeed a gala one. Few dress uniforms were to be seen however. Occasionally some high officer, resplendent in gold lace, whirred past in his motor-car, but as a rule the troops all wore their service uniforms.

On one edge of the plain the douzième halted. Regiments filed by, some on foot and some on horseback; batteries of field artillery rattled past. A murmur of approval swept along the line as the men recognized the famous 75-millimeter guns, the best field artillery in the world. These guns were the pride of the French army.

At length the douzième swung into place and preceded by thousands and followed by thousands it swept along. As far as the eye could see in front and behind appeared a forest of rifles, the keen-edged bayonets gleaming in the sun. It was a most impressive sight and one to inspire confidence. The grim-visaged men were not soldiers in name only but warriors in every sense of the word.

Far across the field marched the douzième and passed along in front of those who were there to review it. The troops all held their guns at attention as they passed and were unable to catch a very clear glimpse of the little group of men who stood there. Five men stood out in front of the others however and from the corner of his eye Leon did his best to see who they were.

"That little man in the khaki suit was King George of England," he said to Jacques after the review was over and they had returned to their quarters. "I also recognized General Joffre, but who was the man with the brown mustache who stood next to King George?"

"Why that was Lord Kitchener," exclaimed Jacques.

"Who was the big man next to him? He was certainly fine looking."

"King Albert of Belgium," said Jacques in a surprised tone. "I should think you'd recognize him."

"It was stupid of me not to," admitted Leon. "Who was the short man in the frock coat and silk hat? He didn't look like a soldier to me."

"He isn't," laughed Jacques. "That was President Poincaré; the man who passed us in the automobile the other day."

"Of course it was," exclaimed Leon. "Quite a distinguished gathering I should say."

At this moment Dubois entered the loft. He was evidently excited.

"Some of these fellows have been wanting excitement," he exclaimed, "and I guess they'll get it soon enough all right."

"What do you mean?" demanded Leon.

"Come with me and I'll soon show you," said Dubois.

CHAPTER XIII

A VOLUNTEER

The five soldiers hurried outdoors and cautioned by Dubois they stood together in a little group and listened intently.

"Guns," exclaimed Jacques.

"Guns?" echoed Dubois. "I should say there were; thousands of men. Just listen to that cannonade."

A steady roar came to the ears of the soldiers. Now and again it rose angrily only to sink down again to a low muttering. It did not cease for a moment however and the most inexperienced recruit could have told that a furious bombardment was taking place.

"That must be over ten miles away," said Dubois, "and yet just see how plainly we can hear it. We'll be in that soon."

"You think so?" asked Leon.

"I'm sure of it; they'll begin to move up reserves pretty quick."

"Who's doing all that firing, do you think?"

"The Germans. They are going to counter-attack and try to win back the positions we took away from them ten days ago."

"Do you know that for sure?"

"No, that's just my guess," said Dubois. "Of course I'm not sure."

"Well I don't believe that German guns are the only ones busy," exclaimed Earl with a grim smile.

"No, indeed," agreed Dubois quickly. "We wouldn't just sit still and let them pound us to pieces."

At this moment a bugle sounded. Everyone stopped talking and listened intently; then they turned and hurried into their lodgings. From all directions men could be seen running in answer to the call and the camp was immediately all bustle and excitement. There was no confusion however; every man knew what he was to do and he did it.

"I told you!" exclaimed Dubois triumphantly. "I knew they'd have us out before much time had passed."

"It must be a terrible fight," remarked Leon, who was busily engaged in packing his equipment and taking a last look at his rifle.

"We'll make it so," said Armande fiercely. "Just let them try to get those positions away from us; we'll show them."

A few moments later the regiment was formed in line and without any delay the march was begun. Night was just falling as they set out. The men laughed and joked and sang, seemingly regardless of the danger into which they were going and the thought of possible death was apparently far from their minds.

As they proceeded the noise of the bombardment grew steadily louder. The very earth shook with the fury of it and far ahead could be seen an occasional flash from one of the star shells used to search out the enemy's positions.

"Do you suppose the infantry have attacked yet?" asked Earl of Jacques.

"I don't know how long the bombardment has been going on."

"They'll try to smash our trenches with their big guns before they send their infantry out, won't they?"

"Oh, I suppose so," said Jacques. "That's the usual way."

"Probably we'll arrive just in time to bear the whole weight of the attack," remarked Earl grimly.

They entered the trenches and mile after mile they progressed. The noise of the artillery made it almost impossible to talk now and but few attempts at conversation were made. Nearer and nearer to the front they came until presently they could distinguish the sharp rattle of the machine-guns above the roar of the cannon. At length they reached one of the large communicating trenches and there they halted.

"We're to be held as reserves," shouted Jacques in Leon's ear.

"What's that?" demanded Leon.

"We're to be held as reserves."

Leon nodded his head. No one made much of an attempt to talk. The men huddled together in the trench and listened to the furious artillery duel going on around them. Now and again a big shell would burst near the spot where they were stationed and once the five friends were spattered with dirt thrown up by a nearby explosion. The earth rocked and it seemed as if no man could endure the awful tumult that was going on.

The Germans were deluging the French trenches with a deadly hail of high explosive shells. They tried to cover every inch of the allied first line and even behind the front trenches they dropped a steady stream of giant projectiles.

Suddenly the artillery fire slackened.

"Now the infantry will charge," exclaimed Jacques.

"Poor fellows," muttered Leon.

"Yes," agreed Jacques; "not many of them will ever get past our rifles and machine guns."

"Or the seventy-fives," added Earl.

As they stood talking an officer approached.

"I want a man to volunteer for a very dangerous mission," he announced as he drew near. "Who will go?"

Immediately he was besieged on all sides by an excited crowd of men, every one of them eager and anxious to be the one selected. Needless to say Leon, Earl, Jacques, Armande and Dubois were among the first to offer themselves. The officer smiled as he saw how the men responded.

"I want only one," he said. "I can't use you all."

"Take me; take me," begged every man eagerly.

"I will select you," he said, and as he spoke he laid his hand on Jacques' shoulder. The rest of the men shrank back disappointedly.

"Come with me," directed the officer and he and Jacques walked rapidly away. Jacques had no conception what his mission was to he, but he was not particularly curious; he knew that he was to do something for France and he was satisfied.

Through the winding trenches they preceded until they reached the first line. Here the effects of the German bombardment were especially noticeable. In many places the parapets had been blown in and dead and wounded men were lying all about. Jacques and his conductor paid no attention to these things, however. They hurried along until they finally came to a portion of the trench which projected beyond the remainder of it. Jacques recalled it as the section which he and his companions had occupied when Dubois had tied the string to the Germans' bell.

Here they halted; the guns were roaring now as never before and it was with great difficulty that one made his voice heard.

"The Germans came out of their trenches once but we drove them back with our fire curtain," explained the officer.

"They'll try again though," remarked Jacques.

"Of course they will and that is why I want you here. Do you see that little mound out ahead there?"

"Yes," replied Jacques peering intently through the darkness.

"That is a shelter," said the officer.

"And you want me to go out there."

"Yes. You will find inside of it an electric switchboard; there is only one switch so you cannot possibly go wrong. When that switch is pushed down it connects with wires attached to a mine field. You are to go out to that shelter and wait until the German infantry reaches a spot one hundred feet in front of you; then you are to throw the switch. The mines will all explode and there'll be several less of the enemy left to attack us."

Jacques saluted and immediately began to crawl forward. A long narrow tunnel had been dug from the trenches to this position and through it the young soldier made his way without mishap.

Arriving at his goal he produced the flashlight the officer had slipped into his hands and looked about him. Sure enough, there was the switchboard and he felt no doubts about being able to carry out a part at least of his task. In the front of the shelter was a narrow slit. He pulled himself along to this and peered out.

Far ahead appeared the German trenches. The French shells were bursting all around them and the whole battlefield was a seething cauldron of flame. All at once he spied the German infantry. They emerged from their positions in good order and made ready to advance. Evidently they had decided that their bombardment had sufficiently devastated the French trenches and that the time to advance had arrived.

"Huh," snorted Jacques to himself. "If they only knew that our men are digging new trenches every minute and that every shell-hole has a machine-gun in it they wouldn't be in such a hurry to show themselves."

Such was indeed the case, but the Germans could not see the hidden peril. On they came. Spell-bound Jacques watched them. He had his hand on the switch but he was so nervous he decided to withdraw it for fear he should set it off too soon. A hundred feet away from him the officer had said the mines were planted. The Germans were over two hundred yards distant now.

Still they advanced. The French allowed them to come forward with but slight opposition until they reached a spot some two hundred yards away; then the rifles and machine-guns opened fire. The Germans were taken by surprise; Jacques could see them crouch low to the ground. He chuckled softly to himself at the sight.

They did not hesitate long, however. The order was passed along for them to advance and on they came. They began to sing, "The Watch on the Rhine," and dashed forward. The French guns of every caliber began to pour a perfect deluge of lead and steel upon the solid masses of the attackers.

"Why do they still use that massed formation?" muttered Jacques. "You might think they had men to waste."

Great gaps appeared in the German lines. Always they were closed up immediately, however. Like waves the Germans came on, line after line. Should a man fall, there was someone ready to step into his place and continue the advance. The slaughter was horrible, but still onward they pushed. It seemed as if they must succeed by sheer weight of numbers. Could they possibly be stopped?

Nearer and nearer they came. Jacques' heart was beating like a trip hammer. It seemed to him it must be heard even above the roar of the cannonade. He flashed his light on the switchboard. "Not yet," he told himself.

They were a hundred yards away now, but the mine field was only a hundred feet distant. He must wait. It was hard work, however, and brave as he was, the young soldier had all he could do to restrain himself. The bullets whined and whistled past his shelter; the big shells exploded with a deafening noise and still the Germans came on.

They seemed to falter once. The punishment being meted out to them by the French guns was cruel. They rallied instantly, however, and once more pushed forward. They were almost over the spot where the mines were buried now and Jacques set himself.

CHAPTER XIV

IN THE CHATEAU

Jacques' hand shook violently as he took hold of the switch. He peered out through the narrow slit in his shelter and saw the Germans through the opening, almost as if he was looking behind the curtain of a theater. Was now the time to set off the mine field? Not quite yet, he decided. Behind him he knew his comrades were expecting him to do his work right and he must not disappoint them.

It was a great responsibility that had been placed upon the shoulders of this young soldier. Jacques realized that fact and was determined to be true to his trust. Perhaps the safety of all that portion of the French line depended upon him alone.

Nearer came the Germans. Losses, appalling though they were, did not seem to hold them in check. They were almost over the spot now. Jacques set his jaw firmly and steeled himself to do his duty. It was for France he told himself. He had selected with his eye a spot which he had determined to be one hundred feet distant; when the Germans reached it he would throw the switch.

A few paces more and they would be over the mine field. On they came. The first rank had now reached the spot, but still Jacques waited. They were so near to him now that he could hear the hoarse shouts of the officers urging their men forward. The second line stepped upon the ground underneath which the mines were laid. Jacques threw the switch.

An infernal fountain seemed to shoot up in the midst of the mass of men in gray. A deafening explosion shook the ground and the air was filled with a great whirl of smoke. Men and parts of men flew high into the air as if they had been shot from the crater of some huge volcano.

Spellbound Jacques gazed upon the scene of awful destruction. As the smoke cleared away he saw the ground littered with the dead and dying. Those that still remained standing seemed bewildered. In vain their officers tried to rally them; pleadings and threats alike were of no avail. Their nerves were shattered and they turned and fled.

The attack was stopped. Jacques forgot the slaughter and remembered only that the French positions had been saved. He turned and began to crawl back towards his own lines. He had gone only a short distance, however, when he heard a shout. Glancing up he spied the French infantry climbing out of their trenches. Evidently they were not content with merely having stopped the German charge; they were determined to follow up their advantage with a gain on their own account.

With a wild yell they dashed forward. Rifles in hand and the long wicked-looking bayonets gleaming they rushed ahead. The Germans were demoralized and now was the time to strike. One glance told Jacques what was taking place and he did not hesitate an instant as to what course to pursue. With one bound he joined his comrades and a moment later was making for the opposing trenches as fast as any one of them.

Across the shell-swept field they raced. The ground was covered with the dead and dying, but no one hesitated. Great holes had been dug out of the earth by the giant shells; consequently the footing was dangerous and more than one man came to grief from this cause.

The German reserves and artillery were busy now. They had not been dispersed and in spite of the tremendous battering by the French guns a furious hail of bullets was poured into the advancing troops. The French charge was irresistible, however, and with a rush it swept up to and into the German first-line trench.

Here a furious hand-to-hand combat took place. Using bayonets or the butts of their rifles the men stabbed and clubbed at one another. Like demons the French fought; they were there to win and they meant to win. Their dash and spirit were simply invincible.

As Jacques sprang over the parapet a huge German advanced upon him with a cry of rage. The young Frenchman had partly fallen when he landed in the trench so that for the moment his balance was nearly destroyed. Consequently he was at a disadvantage and seeing his enemy making towards him he realized that before he could do anything he would be killed. Already the German had his rifle upraised preparatory to bringing it down upon the head of the young soldier.

It's all over, thought Jacques and he half closed his eyes. The expected blow never fell, however. Before the German could bring his gun down, a Frenchman standing just behind him suddenly pierced him through and through with his bayonet. The huge German sank to the ground without a sound.

"Armande!" cried Jacques, suddenly recognizing his rescuer. "You saved my life."

"It is part of the day's work," said Armande lightly, for it was indeed the daring Frenchman who had aided Jacques so opportunely.

Every German in the trench had by this time either been killed or captured and already the prisoners were being led back to the French lines.

"The next trench now," shouted someone. "Why stop here?"

A cheer greeted this remark and immediately the soldiers began to scramble out of the captured position. The second line of German trenches ran through a little wood on one border of which appeared the tower of a château which had so far escaped destruction in some miraculous way.

"Let's make for that," shouted Armande in Jacques' ear. "If we can reach that château we can defend ourselves indefinitely."

"Get some more men and we'll go," answered Jacques.

"This way! This way!" cried Armande, and immediately a dozen or fifteen men turned aside and followed his lead.

At top speed the little company dashed forward. The German rifles and machine-guns raked them with a galling fire, but still they kept on. Four of their number fell, but undaunted the others still continued the mad race. Closer and closer to the half-ruined château they came.

"They're firing from the tower," shouted Jacques. "The place is occupied."

"What of it?" demanded Armande. "So much the better."

An occasional flash from the narrow windows of the tower told that the Germans were using the place for defense. How many of them might be in there at present no one could tell. Not one of the attackers faltered on this account, however. Apparently they did not care whether four or forty men might be waiting for them.

Straight up to the front door Armande dashed. It was open and he rushed inside. Close at his heels followed the rest of the daring little company. A fusillade of bullets sang about their ears but no one was touched.

Up the winding stairs ahead of them three German soldiers could be seen fleeing. Their escape cut off below they had made for the only safe place left, the tower of the château. Armande was for following right after them, but Jacques restrained him.

"Wait," he cautioned. "They're above you and have us at a disadvantage."

"But they may escape us," protested Armande.

"How can they? They can't leave that tower by any other means than these stairs. They can't possibly escape."

"We must drive them out of there," insisted Armande.

"We will," exclaimed Jacques. "We want to plan the best way to do it though."

"You stand guard at the door," Armande directed one of the men. "Let us know if you see any sign of a German out there."

The soldier took his place and Armande advanced cautiously towards the foot of the stairway. The men were huddled together on the ground floor, irresolute as to what course they should now pursue.

Suddenly a hand-grenade came flying down the stairs, bumped along on the last two steps and then came to rest in the center of the little group gathered there. It was plain to be seen that it was about to explode and that if it did so, practically the entire hand would be killed.

Quick as a flash one of the men threw himself down upon the deadly bomb. Hardly had he done so when it exploded. There was an ear-splitting roar and the soldier, Fisché by name, was literally blown to pieces. No one else was harmed.

"He saved our lives," exclaimed Jacques feelingly. "Who was that?"

"Fisché," replied one of the men.

"Well, we'd all be dead now if it hadn't been for his nerve and quick action. What a brave man he was!"

"That mustn't happen again," exclaimed Armande. "We must clean those rats out of the tower before it will be safe for us here."

"How are you going to do it?" inquired Jacques.

"Go up after them of course. Who will go with me!"

"I will, I will," cried a half-dozen voices eagerly.

"Come along then," exclaimed Armande, and advancing to the stairway he placed one foot on the bottom step and glanced up.

CHAPTER XV

THE FIGHT FOR THE TOWER

As Armande's foot touched the stairs, a bullet from above struck his steel helmet a glancing blow. The helmet was knocked from his head and he staggered back against the wall. Jacques sprang to his side at once.

"I'm all right," exclaimed Armande quickly.

"Are you hurt?" demanded Jacques.

"Not at all; it merely stunned me for a second," and Armande rubbed his head dazedly. "I'll be all right directly."

"You musn't try to go up those stairs again," exclaimed Jacques, as he spoke handing Armande back his helmet, which he had picked up from the floor.

"But we must get them out of that tower," insisted Armande.

"I know," agreed Jacques, "but we'll have to find some other way to do it."

"But how?"

"I think I know how," said one of the men stepping forward.

"What is your scheme, Lippen?" asked Jacques eagerly.

"If we only had a machine-gun we could soon bring them down."

"But how could we carry a machine-gun up those stairs?" demanded Jacques. "They'd shoot us down at their leisure."

"We won't take it upstairs," said Lippen quietly.

"What is your plan?"

"Send two men for a machine-gun. When they have brought it back we will set it up here and point it at the ceiling. When we have sent a few thousand bullets through the floor the Boches will come down fast enough."

"Why will they?" demanded Jacques. "I don't see just what you mean."

"They'll come down because they won't be able to help it," said Lippen grimly. "We'll blow a hole through the floor and they'll fall down."

"I believe you're right," exclaimed Jacques suddenly. "Who will go after a machine-gun?"

Several men immediately offered their services and two were quickly dispatched on the quest. It was a dangerous mission, as the Germans from their position in the tower could shoot from the windows and have anyone below almost at their mercy. In order to divert their attention from the two messengers the men in the château started a lively demonstration. A half-dozen hand-grenades were hurled up the stairs by the daring soldiers and a fusillade of rifle and pistol shots was directed towards the same spot.

Under cover of this bombardment the messengers slipped out of the château and in safety gained the shelter of the woods. The French attack had now carried the second line of German trenches so that the château was in territory held by them. The Germans, trapped in the tower, were cut off from their troops.

"They got away safely," Jacques, who had been watching the two messengers, reported to Armande.

"Good," exclaimed Armande. "I hope the scheme will work."

"What else could we do?"

"I should like to rush the stairs," said Armande. "We can do it."

"You saw what happened to you a moment ago when you tried it," Jacques reminded him. "Probably we could do it but what's the use in getting a lot of men killed when we can accomplish the same result in some other way?"

"Probably you 're right," Armande agreed. "I hate to wait though."

The men had now withdrawn to an alcove off the main hall. This new position afforded them control of the stairway without exposing them to the fire of their enemies. The piano was dragged over to their place of refuge and a barricade built in front of it in case the Germans should try to rash them.

"How many of the Boches do you think are up there?" asked Armande.

"No matter," laughed Lippen. "They'll all be down pretty soon and then we can count them."

At this moment the guard who had been set to watch for the return of the two men with the machine-gun signalled that they were in sight.

"Good," exclaimed Jacques. "Now let's let them have a few more grenades upstairs there just to show them that we're still alive."

This plan was carried out and a series of violent explosions from the room above showed that the grenades were effective. At the same time the sentry signalled the two messengers to advance. One of them carried the tripod of the gun and the other the barrel. At top speed they set out from the shelter of the trees and started across the open space leading up to the entrance of the château.

They crouched low to the ground as they ran, endeavoring to present as small a mark as possible. Little spurts of dust all around them showed that the Germans were firing at them from above. The demonstration by the French inside the château was increased in intensity and one reckless man even ran halfway up the stairs to the landing before he threw his hand-grenade. Having hurled it, he sped down again, slipping, sliding and falling. However he was unhurt.

In spite of all these efforts the fire directed at the two messengers did not cease. So far, however, they were untouched and were only fifty or sixty feet distant from their goal. Suddenly the man carrying the barrel staggered. He reeled drunkenly for a moment and then sank to the ground. His companion, who was in the lead, was not aware of this and it was not until he had gained the protection of the château that he realized that his comrade was missing.

Of course the machine-gun was useless with one part gone. Someone would have to retrieve the other half and Armande instantly took it upon himself to be that one. Without waiting to see whether anyone else was going he dashed out of the doorway and raced towards the spot where the lost barrel lay. His appearance was greeted with a storm of bullets from the tower.

Untouched, however, he reached his goal. The barrel was lying on the ground beside the prostrate form of the soldier who had carried it that far; the soldier was dead, however, with a bullet through his heart.

Armande bent over and seizing the missing part of the gun he turned and ran for the château. All about him the bullets whined and sang; it seemed impossible that he should ever cover those few yards alive. The evening before, however, he had remarked to Jacques that having seen the new moon over his right shoulder he would be lucky. Whether or not that was the reason the fact remains that he gained the doorway and handed the barrel over to Jacques. His uniform had been torn on one shoulder and blood was oozing from the wound, which although deep, was not serious.

"Your life is charmed, Armande," exclaimed Lippen in admiration.

"I hope so," said Armande grimly. "Set up the gun."

No time was lost in this operation, and in less than two minutes the machine-gun was ready for action. The man who had carried the tripod had also brought the necessary ammunition.

"Train it on one spot," Lippen directed. "As soon as we get a hole through the floor we'll send a few hand-grenades through it."

Careful aim was taken and a moment later the gun was spitting an almost continuous stream of bullets into a space about a yard square on the ceiling. The plaster began to fly and some candelabra came to the floor with a crash. The noise of the machine-gun was almost ear-splitting inside the château but the men were all delighted at the promise of early results.

Jacques fed the long strips of bullets to the hungry gun, while all except his helper stood around in different parts of the room, their rifles held ready for instant use. All eyes were fixed upon the spot on the ceiling.

Suddenly a ray of light shone through from above. The air was filled with smoke and dust from the crumbling plaster.