"Here I iss!" exclaimed Iggy. "Part of me is alife, anyhow!"
There was a laugh at this—a laugh that told of overstrained nerves being mercifully relieved.
"Is he badly hurt?" asked Lieutenant Morrison, as he looked at the Polish lad, his friendly guard moving away from in front of him.
"Something fell on one foot when the dugout gave way under pressure from the Hun shell," explained Roger. "I hope it isn't bad."
"Well, we'll get him to a dressing station as soon as possible," went on the young officer. "There's been a merry ruction up above, as I suppose you boys have guessed. As soon as I got things a bit straightened out, some one told me about a party being on leave down in the old German dugout, and I at once organized a rescue squad. How did you manage to escape?"
Jimmy and his chums related their experience, and, in turn, Jimmy asked:
"Have the Huns put one over on us?"
"They tried to," was the grim answer. "But I think we gave them back a little better than they sent. We've got the upper hand now, but how long we can keep it is another question. There's going to be a big fight soon."
"Good!" cried Franz, his eyes brightening. "The more the fights, and the bigger they are, the sooner the Boches will quit."
"Let us hope so!" ejaculated the lieutenant fervently. Then, as he caught sight of the revolvers in the hands of the four non-commissioned officers, he asked, with a show of surprise: "What's the game? Did you have to shoot any Huns to get out of the dugout after it collapsed?"