But the shelling ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and the youngsters breathed freely again.
"Cleaning out their guns, I suppose," said Flanagan. "Lucky they didn't clean us out of existence.... I'm tired of waiting here."
"I'm tired an' 'ungry an' 'ot," said Bubb. "But we can't get out of this damned place till night ... they won't 'arf 'ave the laugh on us when we go back."
"Not half," said Flanagan absently.
"And I bet Captain Thorley a bob I'd lay the sniper by the 'eels," said Bubb. "But it's no go."
"Well, where can the fellow be?" asked Flanagan, removing a speck of dust from the backsight of his rifle with a cautious hand. "No man can fire at us from the German trench. It's behind a rise, and even if one of the Boches looks over the parapet he can't see our trench. But still the fact remains that no sooner does one of our boys look over than a bullet zipps past his ear. Where does the bullet come from? The sniper must be between the lines. He must, but where?"
Spudhole shrugged his shoulders helplessly and muttered: "We was fools comin' out 'ere. But 'e 'as done for four of our fellers an' 'e must die. If 'e doesn't...."
He shook a cautious little head and became silent. The sun sank down the sky, and its sight slid along the barrels of the rifles from hand-guard to muzzle whenever the weapons were moved. Flanagan crunched a biscuit with zealous teeth; Bubb traced furrows in the ground with his trigger finger, but all the time kept his eyes fixed on the front.
"Our boys are makin' tea now," he said. "It's about four o'clock, I suppose ... that damned sun's in no 'urry neither. There!" he ejaculated suddenly. "One of our boys 'as put 'is 'ead over the trench! Wait."
Both men heard it, a smothered shriek like the sound of a drowning puppy.