There was borne to his ears the distant sounds of war-the rattle of rifles and machine guns, and the boom of artillery. But it was so distant that he decided the tide of battle had passed beyond him, wherever he was.
"And that's the thing to find out—where I am," murmured Bob. "I can get up, I guess."
He was about to do this when he heard voices talking, and it needed but a hearing of the first few words to tell Bob that the talk was in German.
Bob lay still and listened. He wanted to make sure of his position before he arose. The next few words apprised him of the plight into which he had fallen, or rather, been blown. Bob understood enough German to enable him to know what was being said. And the first expression was, when translated:
"There is another dead American pig over there."
"You're right," came in rejoinder. "The mine hidden in the house worked to perfection. If they killed our machine gunners, we killed twice as many of them."
"It was a beautiful explosion," went on the first speaker. "How the swine-hounds did sail up."
"Blown to bits!" laughed the other.
"All but this one. He doesn't seem to have been hurt at all."
"Maybe he was too far outside. But he is dead, there is no need to bayonet him."