And now Ned, aware of his own danger, began to run toward the trench. He came on, stooping over to offer less of a target to the Germans, and he zig-zagged as he leaped forward. But through it all, through the hail of lead, he did not drop the pieces of the demolished truck he had picked up.
The firing from the German lines became hotter, and a machine gun began to splutter.
“It’s all up with him now!” said the officer, with something like a groan. “I’ll order our guns to shell the Hun trench, but it will be too late!”
He jumped down off the firing step, where he and the others, including Jerry and Bob, were standing, and started for the nearest telephone that connected with a battery.
Just then Ned was seen to stagger.
“He’s hit!” some one cried.
But if he was the lad who had taken such a desperate chance did not stop. He dropped a piece of wood, but still he ran on, stooping over, and darting from side to side.
And at last he reached the trench where Bob, Jerry, and his other comrades awaited him. The 125 rain had made the top of the trench slippery, and Ned, striking this while going at full speed, fairly slid down into the ditch, the wood dropping from his arms all about.
“There you are!” he cried, as he recovered himself. “Enough wood for two fires! Now we can have something hot for breakfast! Bob, start the coffee boiling! I’m like you—hungry!”
For a moment the others stood staring at him, and then the officer came back.