"I wonder if the colonel has forgotten that his carriage is waiting," thought Billy, trying a bit of mental cheer to relieve the strain of his trying position.
The colonel, however, had not lost his memory along with his hat, for even then a foam-flecked horse was bringing him back to the driver of his aërial chariot. Mud-bespattered from head to foot, he sent a hearty hail ahead of the pounding hoofs of his weary mount.
"Ahoy, my stranded mariner: is supper ready?"
That reminded Billy of a decided vacancy under his belt, but the glad sight of the colonel was the best tonic for a drooping spirit.
"We will wheel this airship out of the way for a spell and have a bite to eat in the trenches."
Concealing the biplane behind a clump of bushes the colonel gave Billy a hand-up, and the horse cantered away with its double burden in the direction of the slopes.
It was about 7:30 when the colonel and Billy climbed over the slippery slopes to the line of reserve trenches, lowered themselves into one of these holes in the ground, and it was evident that the occupants knew how to convert a ditch into a home.
This trench had a head cover formed of cross-beams, overlaid with branches and earth—a sure protection against shrapnel. There was a long bench of telegraph poles, little cupboards for cartridges and kit, and ramps for reclining chairs or couches, and drains to carry off the rain.
"Come into our parlor, colonel," invited one of the soldiers, leading the way into a subterranean chamber, which was warmed by a fire in an old perforated petroleum tin.
"It is wonderful what ingenuity and labor can accomplish out of the most unpromising material," observed the colonel.