Immediately ahead of Don, dodging along through the trees, was another fellow, probably bent on a similar errand, but evidently in no great hurry; rather was he looking about him sharply as he advanced, as though fearing to run into the enemy. As the two clambered together over a pile of rocks and through a thicket of scrub trees the boy introduced himself, noting also that the other was a liaison officer, a sergeant. He was not inclined to talk; did not give his name, but seemed to want to turn aside.
There was sudden shooting just ahead of them; some yells and loud voices in unison. The sergeant stopped and Don, facing him by chance, looked him over, the former saying:
“They’re at it right ahead. I guess the Heinies are all through this wood and what one bunch of our men doesn’t find, another will.” Then the boy noted that his vis-à-vis was short, heavy-set, with features decidedly Italian, though with gray eyes, and in one of his eyes there was undoubtedly a cast. A small black mustache with a tendency to an upward curl at the outer ends completed Don’s recognition from the description the treacherous driver had given him. And yet he could not be sure this was the man. In what way could the boy bring about a positive identification?
A bunch of men came pushing through the woods, in front several German prisoners with arms held up from outward elbows, behind them two khaki-clad privates, with rifles ready, conducting the prisoners to the rear. It was a most interesting sight and Don was all attention; when he turned again the liaison sergeant was gone. The boy hastened forward, the sound of shooting was on all sides of him now, even almost behind him, though a good way off. He must be very close to where the most advanced American line was contesting with the Huns for the well defended forest.
The way seemed a little more open to the left; Don went that way. A long, level stretch more devoid of branches permitted him to see ahead and fifty yards away the liaison sergeant and an officer were talking. The short fellow was looking all about him; at the same time his right hand came slowly behind him and under his coat. Then he turned his head and saw Don. Instantly the man brought the hand out again, pointed as though asking directions and disappeared among the trees. Don, his automatic in hand, was running forward and in an instant he had come face to face with Lieutenant Herbert Whitcomb.
CHAPTER VIII
Much to Do and Many to Do It
“SAY, who is that fellow?” Don asked quickly.
“Don’t know; something funny about him. Don, I’m tickled to see you, old top! Where’d you come from?”