Suddenly their captors halted. They had reached a wider part of the trench, and in the dim light from a small electric bulb, which indicated this place to be one of the more permanent German positions, the three Brothers saw a concrete dugout.
The door of this was kicked open, and after the three Khaki Boys had been hurriedly searched, and all their personal belongings taken from them, they were thrust inside in the darkness and the door was closed.
And then, clinging together in their pain and woeful state, they told each other what had happened—Roger and Bob relating how they had been cut off and captured, and Jimmy telling of his leading the rescue party, only to be betrayed into going in the wrong direction, deceived by the call of some Hun whose English was good enough to do the trick.
"And now we're here," sighed Bob. "What's to become of us?"
"I think they'll take us before some officer and question us," said Jimmy. "They'll wait until morning, though, to give us a longer taste of misery."
"Morning!" gasped Roger. "Will morning ever come to a hole like this?" and his eyes tried to pierce the blackness.
"There may be a window to it, or some way of letting light in, unless it's away down underground," Jimmy went on. "I couldn't tell what it was from the outside."
"Me, either," admitted Bob. "Well, this sure is tough luck!"
"Don't be downhearted!" advised Roger. "Our boys may attack in a few hours and rescue us."
"Yes, they may," assented Jimmy, and this cheered them up for a time.