“Why! You dirty—” He stopped short. After dropping back into the tank, he put up a hand. His cap was gone and with it Isabelle’s rose.
“He can’t do that to me!” he stormed. “That’s a big field gun. I saw where that shell came from. Let me at him.”
No one held him back. He squinted once, then fired three shells in quick succession.
There came no reply from the enemy. “Got him!” he exclaimed. “Now maybe I can enjoy a little fresh air.” He climbed back to the tank’s shattered top.
In the meantime three other U. S. tanks had cornered the remaining giant enemy and proceeded to beat him into submission.
And so as the grand parade proceeded to spread itself out over the landscape, the battle went on.
And far away in the wilds the native drums told their story over and over while Gale and Jan moved ever closer to their goal.
At last, an hour before sunset, a weird sound began drifting through the trees.
“What is it?” Gale asked, pausing to rest her tired body.
“It’s the native marching chant,” said the doctor. “They are coming. Soon they will be with us. We may wait here.”