“Give my best regards to Tom Nixon, and tell him we’ll follow the hounds again after this little unpleasantness is over. Good-by, and good luck to you!”
CHAPTER XXV.
THE DESPERATE GAME OF TAG.
Riding on that motor truck over some of the very roads in that section of France where hot battles had only recently been fought, that was another new experience for the Boy Aviators. In many places the driver of the van pointed out to them interesting features of the landscape, relating to M. Le Grande the fierce struggle that had perhaps taken place where that barbed wire entanglement was seen, and then showing where innumerable little mounds of earth marked the last resting place of those brave men who had laid down their lives for their country.
They overtook several vans containing wounded soldiers, who seemed very cheerful, and were actually singing in chorus, as British Tommies have a habit of doing. An ambulance squad was also encountered going to the front for a fresh load, taking nurses and doctors wearing the Red Cross on their sleeves to where they would find plenty of work.
Pudge took a great interest in the hospital corps.
“They’re the real heroes and heroines of this war, as sure as anything,” he remarked, sagely, as he waved his hand toward the party, and received an answering signal from one of the buxom looking English lassies.
There were times when for a short distance they had the road apparently to themselves. Then again it would be crowded with all manner of vehicles, and marching troops heading toward the front, returning wounded, and artillery being dragged laboriously along, either with sturdy horses or powerful traction engines.
The boys were feeling fairly decent, for the sun had a little warmth in it, and there was even a hint of coming Spring in the breath of the lowlands.
Without the slightest warning there came a terrible crash that seemed to make the earth tremble. Pudge came within an ace of tumbling off the crowded van, and was only saved by Billy clutching hold of him.