Then followed days of sorrow, for when morning dawned, bringing with it the work of constructing new trenches, Franz had not appeared, and when the roll was called he was listed as "missing in action."
"He's either dead or a prisoner," decided Jimmy, on the third day, when it was certain that Schnitz was not among the wounded.
"If he were dead wouldn't we find his body?" asked Bob.
"Not necessarily," answered Jimmy. "If a shell landed near him he——"
But he could not finish. It was not necessary. His comrades understood what he meant.
As for Franz, he was beaten and kicked to his feet and made to stagger on in the midst of his captors. The blow on his head had only stunned him. It was not serious, though very painful, and he felt in a daze as he was stripped of his weapons and most of his possessions and made to march in a round-about way toward the German lines. At this point the two forces were close together, and, as Franz had surmised, the Americans had fairly rushed over the machine-gun nest, or rather, they had passed on either side of it. And the Huns were preparing to use the weapon in a sort of rear action when Franz captured them, only, himself, to fall a like victim a little later.
"Traitor! Dog! Pig!" were some of the mildest epithets cast at Franz, as he was half-dragged along. Nor was it all mere words. He was kicked and cuffed, for the Germans seemed to like to vent their spite on him.
But Schnitz was game. Not a complaint did he utter. But he wondered what would be his fate and whither he was being taken.
"Another prison camp, I suppose," he reflected bitterly.