Chester did so, and what he saw was this:
Twenty-five yards away, and advancing rapidly, were the four Germans who so recently had occupied the neighboring shell hole. They were firing as they advanced and a bullet sped close to Chester.
“Quick with your rifle, Hal!” the boy cried, and bringing his own weapon to his shoulder regardless of his exposed position, he pulled the trigger.
One of the approaching foes staggered slightly, but he did not fall. The advancing Germans pumped rifle bullets the faster.
“We’ll have to stop them or we are done for,” muttered Hal, as he stood erect in the shell hole.
Despite the hail of bullets that flew about him, Hal was untouched as he took careful aim and fired at the nearest German.
The man stumbled, threw up his arms and flung his rifle a dozen yards away; then, with a cry, he pitched forward on his face.
“One,” said Hal quietly.
A bullet brushed the boy’s cheek, leaving a stream of red in its wake, but Hal did not quail.
Again his rifle spoke and a second German went to the ground.