The men obeyed sullenly enough. By gestures Franz indicated that they were to march ahead of him back toward the American lines. His heart was jubilant at the capture. Not only had he prisoners, but he had, alone, cleaned up a machine-gun nest.
But alas for poor Schnitz! He had hardly marched his trio of Huns more than a few hundred feet when, as they turned around a clump of bushes, they came face to face with a large party of Germans led by a pompous captain.
Instantly the three prisoners set up a yell, explaining the situation, and with answering yells their comrades rushed toward them.
"I guess the game's up!" thought Franz grimly. "This was too good to last!"
He fired into the midst of the Germans, seeing two go down. Then some one either crept up behind him and struck him or he was hit by a missile thrown or by a glancing bullet, for he suddenly fell and lost consciousness, and when he revived, under a rain of kicks bestowed on his prostrate body by a brutal soldier, it was to find himself in the midst of a circle of Huns.
"Get up, pig-dog of an American!" spluttered the German captain. "You will capture our men, will you? Now you are a prisoner. The tables are turned!"
He spoke in German, and, of course, Franz understood. Before he realized what he was doing he snapped back an answer in the same tongue, not thinking what the consequences would be.
"I won't be a prisoner long!" said Franz. Hearing his own language from an enemy prisoner, he reached the conclusion that the speaker was of German parentage. This seemed to enrage the Boche captain. With crimson face he yelled:
"Ho! So you are a renegade German, are you? You fight against your own countrymen! Well, we know the right punishment for that. Get up, you traitor!" and he kicked poor Schnitz brutally. "Drag him along if he won't walk!" cried the captain to his men, and some of them, with ready bayonets, drew nearer to Franz.