Blake had gone a little way down the slope, Joe and Charlie following as closely as was safe, when the leader came to a halt. Watching his dim form, his chums did the same.
"What is it?" whispered Joe, in the softest of voices.
"A figure," answered Blake likewise. "I'm not sure whether it's a dead man or some one like us—trying to discover something. Do you see it?"
Joe looked. He saw a huddled heap which might, some day, have been a man. Now it was but a—heap. As the boys strained their eyes through the darkness they became aware that it was the body of a man—a French soldier who had fallen in the engagement of a few days before, and who had not yet been buried. There were many such—too many on both sides for the health and comfort of the living.
"Pass to one side," advised Joe. "We can't do him any good."
"Poor fellow!" murmured Charlie. "Ouch!" he suddenly exclaimed, in louder tones than any they had heretofore used.
"Quiet!" hissed Blake. "What's the matter?"
"A big rat ran right over my legs," answered Macaroni.
"Well, if he didn't bite you what are you yelling about?" demanded Joe. The trenches were full of rats—great, gray fellows—for there was much carrion food for them.
Once more, making a little détour, Blake started forward, but hardly had he again taken up his progress when there came the sound of a slight explosion over toward the German lines, and almost instantly the dreary stretch of No Man's Land was brightly illuminated.