Their digging detail finished, Jimmy and Bob again repaired to the dugout and slept until noon. Both awoke at dinner time greatly refreshed by their brief sleep. A palatable stew and more hot coffee put them in excellent trim for whatever duty might fall to them later on.
Dinner over, they promptly made a fresh effort to find their bunkies. Roger, Schnitzel, and Ignace, who were fairly near together some distance down the line, had also started out on a hunt for Bob and Jimmy. Both search parties met about halfway respectively from their own stations. Bob and Jimmy had the good fortune to bump into their bunkies just as the latter were entering a dugout.
"Come on in and let's talk," urged Roger. "Goodness knows we may never have another chance."
"Did either of those last two mortars get any of your men?" was Bob's first question of Roger, as the five sought a corner of the dugout and sat down on the floor in a compact circle.
"No; but Schnitz lost two good boys and Iggy one. My men were in the dugout asleep when it happened."
"It was horrible." Schnitzel's dark face wore an expression of deepest gloom. "Ryan and Harvey, corking fellows, both had their heads blown almost off their shoulders. I'm all broken up over Ryan. He was one of the straightest guys I ever met. Gritty, too. He was dying to get a whack at the Boches. Now he's gone West, and never had a chance to kill off even one of the dirty brutes. He was an only son, too. His folks just worshipped him. I'm going to write to his mother. I promised long ago that I would if it came to the scratch. He gave me her address."
Schnitzel spoke with intense bitterness. Ryan had been the best man in his squad.
"Tough luck!"
Jimmy voiced his most emphatic expression of sympathy.
"When come him that one shail, so have I the dugout jus' leave," burst forth Ignace. "Then hear I som' the loud thoonder an' fall down in trench. So think I mebbe I daid for minute."