“Slid off through those bushes on the left.”
“Help me! Somebody pull me out, or I’ll drown!” called the hapless engineer.
Working their way through the bushes, the others saw Buster floundering around in a shell crater which was about ten feet in diameter and of unknown depth. It was almost filled with dirty water, and in this the young engineer was struggling, the load on his back dragging him downward.
Standing on the edge of the shell-hole, Dave extended the stock of his gun, and Phil did likewise, and, grasping both of these, Buster was dragged to the edge of the hole, and then willing hands assisted him once more to his feet.
“What’s the matter, Buster? Didn’t you see the hole?” questioned Dave.
“I did, when it was too late,” was the answer. “The ground on that side is all wet and slippery, and I went down on it like on a toboggan-slide. Say! I’m some wet and muddy, eh?” and he looked at himself dolefully.
“Never mind. You’ll not mind the storm that is coming up,” remarked Dave. “Unless I miss my guess, we’ll all be soaked to the skin in a few minutes.”
To the rumble of the distant guns was now added the rumble of thunder. Then came several sharp flashes of lightning, and the wind came rushing through the wood.
“It’s coming, all right enough!” cried Phil.
“Come! Hike up and follow me!” cried Dave. “I think I know where we can get a little shelter if it becomes too bad.”