In the midst of the work by the engineers, some of the infantry advanced once more. This embraced the company to which Nat Poole belonged, and a little later came another bombardment by the Germans which sent the trees and brushwood flying in all directions, so that that section of the forest became little less than an inferno.
“Gee, but this is getting hot!” ejaculated Phil, after a bomb had exploded close in front of them, sending sticks of wood, rocks, and a shower of dirt flying in all directions.
The engineers were ordered to move to the right, making their way as best they could through a tangle of brushwood. Roger and Phil were side by side when they heard a sudden yell for help.
“That sounds like Nat Poole’s voice!” exclaimed Roger, and started on a run for the spot whence the cry proceeded.
Phil followed his chum, and Ben came close behind the pair. Soon all three reached a point where a shell had cut off two trees about five feet up from the ground. The trunks of the trees had come down with a tremendous crash one on top of the other, and both were lying in a tangle of brushwood.
“Help, help!” was the cry, and now the chums felt certain it came from the money lender’s son.
Soon they reached the vicinity of the fallen trees. Here the jumble of tree limbs and brushwood was so thick they could scarcely see into it. From the midst continued to come the cry for help.
“Is that you, Nat?” called out Roger.
“Yes, yes! Save me! Save me!” screamed the money lender’s son. “These trees are choking the life out of me!”
Fortunately, Roger and Ben were armed with axes, while Phil carried a crowbar. Worming their way in among the tangle of brushwood and branches, they presently came to the place where Nat lay. He was flat on his back with the weight of one of the trees resting heavily upon his stomach.