"Water! Oh, boy!" came the cries of delight from the thirst-parched and wearied lads. And never did liquid taste sweeter. It refreshed them more than can easily be imagined.
Then came the order to go forward, and in a fierce bit of fighting that followed, Franz Schnitzel found himself out of contact not only with Bob and Roger, but also away from any others of his company.
"This won't do! Got to get back!" he decided. "They must be off to my left."
He turned in that direction. Then, as he passed around a small knoll, he saw three Germans gathered about a machine gun down in a little depression. Something seemed to be wrong with the mechanism, and the three heads were bent over the breech.
"The beasts!" cried Schnitz in a hoarse whisper. "They must have hidden here when our lines passed over, and now they're going to pepper them from the rear. But not if I can stop it!"
Making sure that his rifle magazine was filled and that he had some hand grenades and that his pistol was where he could get at it, Franz worked his way quietly along until he was within a few feet of the three Germans.
"Hands up!" he suddenly cried, leveling his rifle.
Whether or not the Huns understood these characteristic American words is a question. But they could not mistake the tone of voice Schnitzel used. Immediately six hands were elevated, and with one accord, as the Germans turned and faced the lone lad.
"Kamerad! Kamerad!" they cried.
"That sounds like it!" said Franz grimly. "Take off your pistols and toss 'em on the ground. Then form in line and march. You're my prisoners!"