A quarter of a mile down the line he could hear a machine gun rouse itself into sudden fury, though none of the missiles came his way.
"I've a chance yet," Dick thought grimly. Yet when blackness came down over the scene again he did not move. No matter what happened to himself he did not intend that harm should come to his French comrades through any act of his.
As Dick still lay there a pebble touched the dirt lightly just before his face. Raising his head a couple of inches he saw a hand, dimly outlined at the edge of the crater, beckoning.
"That means that I'm to go ahead," Dick told himself. "I'll follow instructions."
He took considerable time about it, moving an inch or two at a time. This, however, soon brought him to the edge of the basin-like depression. In going down the inside he moved a bit more rapidly, but did not rise until he found himself among the others. Then he rose to his knees in the middle of the group.
"You are wonderful!" whispered the French lieutenant, placing his lips at Prescott's ear. "You Americans must have learned your stealth from your own Indians. We are clumsy when we try to equal you in moving without noise."
One of the soldiers had taken station at the edge of the crater nearest the German line. Here, with helmet off, and showing not a fraction of an inch more of his head above ground than was necessary, this sentry watched in the dark.
Again De Verne's lips sought Dick's ear as he whispered:
"What we would like most to do is to find out what is going on in the Hun trenches. Next to that, the thing we like best is to ambush a German patrol, capture or kill the men, and get back with our prisoners."
"French patrols must often be captured, also," Dick whispered cautiously.