"On to Paris!"
"Isn't it wonderful to think, Dunstan, that we are really on the firing line!" said Don. "My, wouldn't I give a lot to look through one of these periscopes!"
Although the words were spoken almost in a whisper a soldier using one of the instruments overheard him.
"You may, mon garçon," he said, in an equally cautious tone.
"Merci, merci!—thank you!—thank you!" said Don.
Eagerly he placed his eye to the periscope.
What a thrill shot through the boy as the secrets of "No Man's Land" were revealed to him! Right in front of the trench stretched a maze of barbed wire entanglements, but every growing thing had been blasted, withered and shot to pieces. The trees that remained standing were gaunt, bare poles, and the ground all about looked as if some terrible convulsion of nature had upheaved and overturned it. Scarcely any of the forms bore a semblance to their original shape. Only a few yards away he could see the rim of a huge shell-crater, into the yawning depths of which a portion of the barbed wire had disappeared. Less than a hundred feet beyond stretched a yellow, muddy line of sand-bags, and right in front of these, extending out for some distance, were stakes driven into the ground and strung with innumerable wires.
"And not a sign of life!" murmured Don. "It just looks as if nothing ever did exist or could exist along this awful stretch of 'No Man's Land.'"
Dunstan now took his turn at the periscope, and presently having satisfied their curiosity the two thanked the obliging soldier and moved on.
During all this time the sharp cracking of rifles was continuous. Sometimes single bullets snapped over the top of the trench—sometimes a regular fusillade; then, at longer intervals, came the rapid-fire, vicious reports of a machine gun in action. Now and again a poilu sent a shot across the barren stretch of ground and a thin wisp of bluish smoke from the muzzle of his rifle floated lazily upward.