On one such occasion they were hugging the fence, with their machine standing between them and the road. A lorry came thundering by, but just as it was nearly opposite, it swerved and struck the machine. It was torn from Frank's hand and hurled in front of the lorry which ran over and completely wrecked it.
The lorry tore on, leaving the two chums looking at each other in consternation.
"That's worse by long odds than the German bullets," exclaimed Frank. "I guess we'll have to do the hands and knees stunt you were talking about a little while ago."
"We must be pretty near to the English general's headquarters now anyway, aren't we?" asked Bart.
Frank consulted his route by the aid of a flashlight that he carried with him.
"About two miles," he announced. "Put on some speed now, Bart. We'll run most of the way and jog-trot the rest."
They let no grass grow under their feet, and fifteen minutes later they had reached the general's headquarters and were ushered into his presence. He seemed to be greatly agitated and was talking with great emphasis to a group of officers who surrounded him.
He took the papers that the boys had brought and read them over hurriedly.
"Very good," he announced briefly. "There is no answer. Were your orders to go back to your regiment to-night?"
"No, sir," replied Frank.