A cheer rose from the men as they watched the feathered messenger, but this quickly changed to a groan when the bird was seen to falter and then plunge downward. An enemy shot had winged or killed it.

Two more were sent and met with the same fate. The need was growing fearfully urgent, for the enemy had been reinforced and the attacks were growing in intensity. Unless help came very soon the position would be overwhelmed.

Frank and his comrades were fighting like tigers, their faces covered with grime and sweat. The last time the enemy came on they had reached the breastworks and had been beaten back with savage bayonet fighting and clubbed rifles. But they still kept coming as though their numbers were endless.

"The boys had better hurry up if they want to find any of us alive," muttered Billy.

"They'll probably find us dead," grunted Bart, "but they'll find, too, that we've taken a lot of the Huns with us."

"There goes the fourth bird," said Frank. "Perhaps he'll have better luck."

Through the tempest of shot and shell the bird winged its way unhurt, and with new hope the desperate defenders buckled down to their work. They knew their comrades would not leave them in the lurch.

Two more attacks came on, but the gray-clad waves broke down before the gallant defense. And then, above the roar of battle, came a rousing American cheer, and into the woods came plunging rank after rank of fresh troops to relieve their hard-pressed comrades.

They rapidly fell into position, and the next time the Germans came for what they believed would be their crowning success they had the surprise of their lives. A withering rifle fire ploughed their ranks, and then the American boys leaped over the barricade and chased the enemy back to his own lines. The position was saved, and the hardy fighters who had held it so gallantly looked at each other and wondered that they were alive.

"The narrowest shave we ever had!" gasped Billy as, utterly exhausted, he threw himself at full length on the ground.

"It was nip and tuck," panted Bart. "I know now how the besieged British at Lucknow felt when they heard the bagpipes playing: 'The Campbells are coming.'"

"We pulled through all right," said Frank, "and don't forget, boys, that we owe it to the birds."

Two days later the position of the divisions was shifted and the Army Boys found themselves on the banks of a small river that forms the dividing line between the hostile armies.

The squad to which Frank and his comrades were assigned under the command of Corporal Wilson, who had now fully recovered from his wounds, was stationed at a point where the river was about a hundred and fifty yards wide. Desultory firing was carried on, but the sector at the time was comparatively quiet, as both armies were engrossed in their preparations for the great battle that was impending. It was the lull before the storm, and the boys improved it to the utmost. Their duties were light compared to what they had been, and they rapidly recuperated from the great strain under which they had been for some weeks past.

"If only Tom were here now," remarked Frank for perhaps the hundredth time, for their missing comrade was always in the thoughts of the other Army Boys.

"Poor old scout!" mourned Bart. "I wonder where he is now?"

"Working his heart out in some German camp, I suppose," said Billy savagely.

"You see, Frank, your hunch hasn't worked out as you thought it would," said Bart. "You felt sure that Tom would be with us again before this."

"I know," admitted Frank. "My time-table has gone wrong, but I haven't given up hope. Tom is only human and he can't work miracles. He may have been so placed that it simply wasn't possible to make a break. But one thing you can gamble on, and that is that he hasn't given up trying. And when a man has that spirit his chance is sure to come."

"I wish I had your optimism," said Bart gloomily.

"Look at those skunks on the other side of the river," interrupted Billy.

He pointed to a group of German soldiers who were making insulting gestures and holding up huge placards with coarse inscriptions on them.

"Cheap skates," replied Frank. "You notice they're not quite so gay when we get to close quarters with them."

"They get my goat," said Billy with irritation. "I'd like to cram those placards down their throats."

"Pretty big mouthful," laughed Frank.

"We'll get them yet," said Billy vengefully.

"What's the use of saying 'yet,'" suggested Frank. "Why not say 'now'?"

They looked at him curiously.

"What do you mean?" queried Bart.

"Got anything up your sleeve?" asked Billy.

"An idea just came to me," replied Frank. "I don't know whether it's any good, but perhaps it's worth chewing over."

"Let's have it," demanded Billy eagerly.

"Well," said Frank slowly, "I figure that there must be about twenty Germans in that detachment just opposite us. What would be the matter with a few of us going over there some dark night and cleaning up the bunch?"

A delighted shout met the suggestion.

"Bully!" exclaimed Bart.

But though the approval was enthusiastic, practical difficulties soon presented themselves.

"How are we to get across?" asked Bart dubiously.

"We haven't any boat on this side that's big enough," said Billy. "In fact, I don't think we have any at all."

"That's an easy one," answered Frank. "Do you see that big lobster of a boat on the other side? That looks as though it would carry almost a dozen anyway. We won't need any more than that to nab the Huns, because we'll have the advantage of the surprise if our plans go through all right."

"But how are we going to get the boat?" asked Bart.

"Swim over for it," replied Frank. "I'll attend to that. Give me a dark night and it's all I ask."

"Let's see what the corporal has to say about it," suggested Bart.

The corporal listened with interest. It was a plan after his own heart.

"You young roosters are always looking for fight," he grinned. "I'll put it up to the captain and see what he says."

The assent of the captain was readily obtained as he knew the value of such exploits in keeping the spirits of the men up to high fighting pitch.

The night following there would be no moon until late, and it was fixed on for carrying out the raid. Frank was to swim across the river and get the boat. On the American side Wilson with eight men would be in waiting. They would embark and try to reach the other side without detection. Quick thinking and Yankee grit could be depended on to do the rest.

The night came, black as pitch. Frank slid into the water as noiselessly as a fish and struck out for the other side.



CHAPTER XI

GALLANT WORK

The water had a chill in it that struck to Frank's marrow, but the reaction soon came and he proceeded swiftly, making as little noise as possible, and keeping body and head low in the water. He was a powerful swimmer, and the distance was as nothing to him. But the greatest caution had to be exercised lest he be discovered by a sentry whose shot would alarm his comrades and put an end to the projected raid.

But fortune favored him and he soon reached the boat, which seemed to be large enough, with some crowding, to carry the American party. It swung with its stern toward the shore, to which it was held by a rope that was passed about a cleat.

Frank clung for a moment to the bow and listened intently. He could hear no breathing nor any other sound that indicated that any one was on board. The Germans had evidently not dreamed of any such exploit as that on which Frank was bent.

But that a watch was kept on the shore was evident, for Frank could hear the measured step of a sentinel some distance away. The steps receded as he listened, and he gathered that the patrol was an extended one. Now was his time, while the sentry was at the further limit of his beat.

Swiftly he climbed on board, slipped the rope from its cleat, and with a push of an oar against the bank sent the boat some distance out into the stream. He did not dare to row for he feared that the oars grating in the rowlocks might betray him. But he made a paddle of one of the oars, dipping it in alternately on opposite sides of the bow, paddle fashion, and before long reached his party, by whom he was received with intense though subdued jubilation.

In whispers Frank explained to Wilson what he had observed and action was agreed on accordingly. The party, ten in all, bestowed themselves as best as they might in their narrow quarters and the boat started on its perilous expedition.

A paddle was employed as before, and the journey was necessarily slow, for the boat sank in the water almost to the gunwales. But they reached the other side at last, and Frank, slipping into the water, waded to the bank, where he fastened the boat securely.

Whether they would ever step into that boat again was known to none of the party that slipped like shadows up the grassy bank. They were outnumbered two to one, or more, and their success depended mainly on surprise. The slightest slip in their plans would bring the expedition to grief.

They lay flat on the bank and listened. There was no sound except the tread of the sentry's feet coming nearer. It was unlikely that the absence of the boat had been discovered. Still, it might have been, and the dead silence might portend an ambush by the enemy.

This was a chance, however, that they had to take. But the first thing to do was to dispose of the sentry.

The path along which he seemed to be coming was bordered with a small and uncared-for hedge.

In a hurried whisper Wilson gave his commands.

"You, Sheldon and Raymond, creep ahead and lie on opposite sides of the ledge. When the sentry comes along, close on him at the same time. Keep him from making a noise if you can. The one thing is to be quick."

Frank and Bart glided along and took up positions opposite each other.

"You grab his gun, Bart, and I'll make for his throat," whispered Frank.

The sentry came on unsuspectingly. Lithe as panthers the boys leaped upon him, Bart grasping the gun, while Frank's sinewy hands fastened on his throat.

There was a muffled exclamation and a short sharp struggle. Then the sentry lay on the ground unconscious, while Frank and Bart hastily improvised a gag, and bound the man's hands and feet.

"Good work," commended the corporal, as Frank and Bart rejoined their comrades. "That was the most ticklish part. The rest ought to be easy."

But he was mistaken, for just then the door of a dugout in a small trench opened, and two men came out with lanterns. It was evidently the corporal of the guard who had come out with a private to relieve the sentry.

There was an exclamation of surprise and alarm, and as the light of the lanterns revealed the group of dark figures at the head of the trench, the men started to leap back into the dugout. But a rifle cracked and one of them fell. The other, however, got inside and slammed and barred the door.

"Rush them, men!" shouted the corporal, and charged, at their head, toward the dugout.

Two or three of them launched themselves against the door, but it held.

"Splinter it with your gun butts!" yelled the corporal, and a series of heavy blows thundered against the barrier.

Some of the planks started to give, but before the door had completely yielded, it was thrown open from within and the Germans rushed out, firing as they came.

They were met by a return volley, and two of them fell. But the others charged fiercely, and in an instant the two forces were engaged in a terrible hand-to-hand battle.

In the narrow confines of the trench there was no chance for shooting after the first volley. It was a matter of fists and knives and in this the Germans proved, as they had many times before, that they were no match for the sinewy young Americans who with a yell went at them like wild-cats.

Sullenly they retreated and their leader held up his hands and shouted "Kamerad!"

His followers did the same. The fight was over. None of the Americans had been killed though one was slightly and another severely wounded. Three of the Germans would never fight again and two others stood supported by their comrades.

Two of the Americans stood at the door of the dugout and searched the Germans for arms as they came through. Others stood at the head of the trench and herded the prisoners together for transportation to the other side.

The German corporal looked about him as he and his men stood guarded by Americans with loaded rifles, and his chagrin was evident as he realized that he had been captured by so small a force.

"Are these all the men you have?" he asked in passable English of Wilson.

"They were enough, weren't they?" answered Wilson with a grin that reflected itself on the faces of his comrades.

"Donnerwetter!" growled the German. "You would never have taken us if we had known!"

"We don't tell all we know," answered Wilson with a grin.

The prisoners were ferried across in groups of half a dozen at a time, but not before Billy had had the satisfaction of gathering up the insulting placards that had aroused his ire and tearing them up before the Germans' faces.

"Feel better now?" laughed Frank.

"Lots," replied Billy. "I couldn't exactly make them swallow them, but they must have felt almost as bad to see so much German Kultur going to waste."

The party was greeted with exuberant delight on their return, and received the special thanks of the captain.

"It was a big risk," he smiled, "but risks have a way of going through when they are carried out by the boys I'm lucky enough to command."

"You forget, Captain," smiled the lieutenant who stood nearby, "that there are no American soldiers in France."

"That's so," laughed the captain. "The U-boats stopped us from coming over, didn't they?"



CHAPTER XII

THE DRUGGED DETACHMENT

A scouting party was being made up a few days later, and the Army Boys were glad that they were included in it. In the region where they were stationed the woods were thick, and there was a sort of "twilight zone" that afforded excellent opportunities for individual fighting. The lines were rather loosely kept, and it was no uncommon occurrence to have raiding parties slip across, have a brush with their opponents, and retire with what forage or prisoners they might be lucky enough to take.

There had been a good deal of "sniping" that, while it only caused occasional losses, was a source of harassment and irritation, and Frank's squad had orders to "get" as many of these sharpshooters as possible.

A little way from the camp there was a deep gorge. Along its top were many huge trees whose branches reached far out over the precipice. They drew so close together that their branches in many cases were interwoven.

The squad was moving along without any attempt to keep formation in such rough country, when there was the crack of a rifle and a bullet zipped close by Frank's ear.

He started back.

"Did it get you, Frank?" called out Bart in alarm.

"No," replied Frank, "but it came closer than I care to think about."

At the corporal's command they took shelter behind trees, from which they scanned the locality in the direction from which the shot had come.

There was no trace of any concealed marksman, search the coverts as they would. But that he was there, and that he was an enemy to be dreaded, was shown a moment later when a bullet ridged the fingers of the hand that Billy had incautiously exposed.

With an exclamation, Billy put his bleeding fingers to his mouth. The injury was slight and Bart bound his hand up for him, using extreme care to keep behind the trees.

"We have to hand it to that fellow," remarked the corporal. "He certainly knows how to shoot."

"I'd hand him something if I only knew where he was," growled Billy.

"I know where he is," said Frank.

"Do you?" asked the corporal eagerly.

"Where?"

"In the tallest of that clump of trees on the edge of the gorge," replied Frank. "I caught a glimpse of his rifle barrel the last time he fired."

"We'll give him a volley," decided the corporal, and a moment later, at his command, the rifles rang out.

Several times this was repeated in the hope that one of the bullets would find its mark. But the tree trunk was enormously thick and bullets imbedded themselves in it without injury to the marksman, snugly sheltered on the further side.

If they could have surrounded the tree and shot from different sides there would have been no trouble in bagging their quarry. But the tree had been cunningly chosen for the reason that the further side hung over the precipice and could only be attacked from the side where the party now were.

Frank's keen eyes had been sizing up the situation and he now had a proposal to make.

"I think I see a way to dislodge him if you'll let me try it, Corporal," he said.

"What is it?" asked Wilson.

"You'll notice that the branches of those trees are mixed in with each other," replied Frank. "If you can keep him busy with your shooting, so that he won't be thinking of anything else, I think I can make a detour and climb up one of those other trees on the side away from him. I could carry my rifle strapped on my back. Then I might work my way along the branches and perhaps catch sight of him."

"It's worth trying," decided the corporal. "Go ahead, Sheldon, but be mighty careful."

Frank slipped away in the shelter of the trees, described a semi-circle, reached the third tree from the one where the German was stationed, and commenced to climb.

It was hard work, for the tree was thick and he could not get a good grip on it with his arms. But he persisted until he reached the first limb and drew himself up on it. Then he examined his rifle carefully and with the utmost caution began to work his way among the branches.

Some of these were so thick as to be themselves almost like tree trunks, and he had no apprehension on the score of his weight. He passed to the next tree, and then to the next. There he paused, parting the branches carefully.

He knew that his comrades were keeping their part of the bargain, for the thud of bullets against the tree that sheltered the enemy was almost continuous.

For several minutes Frank looked for his enemy. Then his search was rewarded, and through an open space he found himself looking squarely into the eyes of the man who, a few minutes before, had tried to send a bullet through his brain.

The man saw him at the same instant. Like a flash he leveled his rifle and fired.

For such a hurried aim the shot was good. Frank felt the whistle of the bullet as it almost grazed him. But it was not good enough.

The next instant Frank's rifle spoke. The man flung out his arms, toppled over and fell with a crash into the gorge that the tree overhung. The rifle clanged after him. There would be no more sniping by that particular marksman from that particular tree.

There was a shout from the squad who had witnessed the duel, and as Frank slid down the tree he was greeted with acclamations.

"A nervy thing, Sheldon," commended Wilson.

"He almost got me, though," returned Frank. "It was a case of touch and go."

"He was a brave man," was the tribute of the corporal, "though that particular kind of work has always seemed to me something like murder. He shot his victims without giving them a chance. His work on land was that of the U-boats on the sea—a species of assassination."

The squad went on with special caution and with a close watch on the trees. But noon came without further adventure and they got out their rations and prepared to enjoy them at the foot of a spreading maple.

They were perhaps half way through the meal, which they had seasoned with jokes and laughter, when there was a rustling in the bushes near at hand. Instantly they leaped to their feet and reached for their rifles.

"Who goes there?" demanded the corporal.

There was no answer.

"Answer or we shoot!" cried Wilson.

The bushes parted and a young peasant girl stepped forth.

She was a pretty girl of about eighteen. Her face bore the marks of tears, her hair was dishevelled, and she was in a state of extreme agitation. She began to talk feverishly and with many gestures.

"Here, Sheldon," said the corporal, "you speak French. See if you can understand what the girl is saying."

Frank stepped forward.

"Que voulez-vous, Mademoiselle?" he asked.

The relief of the girl when she heard her own language was evident.

"These are English soldiers, Monsieur?" she asked.

"No," said Frank, "they are Americans."

"Oh, les braves Americains!" she exclaimed. "How glad I am! I know you will help me."

"Be sure of that," replied Frank. "But tell me now just what has happened."

"The boches," she answered. "They are at our house."

"How many are there?" asked Frank with quickened interest.

"About thirty," she replied. Then as she saw Frank glance at the ten who made up his party, she went on: "But you can capture them, I am sure. They are drugged."

"Drugged?"

"Yes. They came to our house early this morning. They upset everything. They smashed the furniture. They tied my father and brother in chairs. They said they were going to burn the house when they got ready to go away."

"But how were they drugged?"

"They made me get them all the food and wine there was in the house. I did so. I put some laudanum in the wine. They ate and drank. Then they got sleepy. They dropped off one by one. Then I ran out to find help. I find you. Heaven is good."

Frank consulted the corporal as the others crowded around in great excitement.

The corporal meditated.

"It may be a trap," he said cautiously.

"I don't think so," replied Frank. "Look at the girl. She's no actress. I think she's telling the truth."

"But even if they were drugged, they may have recovered from the effects by this time," pondered the corporal.

Then he made up his mind.

"We'll take a chance," he decided. "Ask the girl how far the house is from here."

"About a mile," the girl answered to Frank's query. "And there is one other thing," she added. "They have a prisoner with them. He is young and he has a uniform like yours, only it is torn and soiled. They threw him on the floor in a room upstairs. He was tied with ropes."

"What does he look like?" asked Frank. "Tell me as well as you can."

She described the prisoner amid the growing excitement of the Army Boys.

"Tom, for a thousand dollars!" cried Frank.

"It must be!" echoed Bart.

"Sure as guns!" chimed in Billy.

"Do you know him, then?" asked the girl, who had been looking at them wonderingly. "Oh, then hurry! For they are going to hang him. They put a rope over the tree near the well and said they would hang him when they got through eating and drinking."

Hang Tom! If there had been any hesitation before, there was none now. The chums would have run every step of the way if the corporal had not restrained them. As it was they covered the mile in double-quick time.

As they came to where the farm bordered on the woods and caught sight of the house, their eyes turned with dread toward the well. An exclamation of heartfelt relief broke from them. The rope was there as the girl had said, but no hideous burden dangled from it.

No one was in sight, and a death-like silence brooded over the place. They waited in the shelter of the trees. Perhaps the enemy had recovered and was waiting for them with a force three times their own.

Five minutes passed. Then the corporal gave an order.

"Fix bayonets! We're going to rush the house."

There was a sharp click.

"Charge!"

With a cheer they rushed across the brief space that separated them from the house and up to the open door.

The corporal looked in.

"Put up your guns, boys," he said quietly. "We've got them."

The others crowded after him into the long low-ceiled room. The enemy had been delivered into their hands. There, sprawled over the floor in all sorts of ungainly attitudes among the smashed furniture, were the invaders in various stages of stupor. Some of them opened their eyes at the sudden interruption and stared hard at the newcomers. The lieutenant himself sat at the table on which his head had fallen forward.

But the Army Boys did not tarry long. A word of permission from the corporal and they bounded up the narrow stairs and burst into the room where the girl had said Tom had been left.

The room was empty!

They searched and called frantically.

"Tom! Tom! Where are you? Come out! It's friends, Frank, Billy, Bart!"

They looked in every cranny and corner of the house upstairs and then down. Then they rushed out to the barn. Then with fear at their hearts they sounded the well.

All was to no purpose. Tom—if it had really been Tom—might have vanished into thin air for any trace they found of him.

Where had he gone? What had become of him? Or, worst of all, what had the enemy done to him?

There was no answer, and at last they rejoined their comrades in the hope that questioning of the German lieutenant or some of his men might tell them what they wanted to know.

The first precaution that the corporal had taken was to disarm and bind his prisoners. Then the farmer and his son were released. They were wild with rage at the treatment they had undergone and the wanton havoc wrought in their home. If the choice had been left to them they would have killed every prisoner on the spot.

At the corporal's command water was brought from the well and buckets of it were dashed over the Germans. There was sputtering and yelling, but the soldier boys enjoyed it hugely, and they worked with a hearty good will.

It was a drastic remedy for sleepiness but it worked, and before long the Germans, looking like so many drowned rats, had come out of their stupor and began to realize their situation. The privates were sheepish, but the lieutenant went almost crazy with anger when he realized how he had been trapped. His eyes looked venom at the girl, who laughed at him triumphantly. His rage was increased by his consciousness of the pitiable figure he presented. His smart uniform was dripping, his hair was matted over his face and even his ferocious mustache had lost its Kaiser-like curl. Even one of his own men ventured to snicker at him, and the look the officer turned on him was not good to see.

The corporal began to question him, but the lieutenant looked at him in disdain.

"A German officer does not answer the questions of a corporal," he sneered.

"Just as you like," retorted Wilson coolly. "Perhaps you'd like to have me leave you here with the owner of the house and his son. I think they'd like nothing better than to have five minutes alone with you. Perhaps even one minute would be enough."

The lieutenant took one glance at the glowering faces of the farmer and his son and wilted instantly.

"I will answer your questions," he said, shortly.



CHAPTER XIII

A DEEPENING MYSTERY

"He came off his perch mighty quick," remarked Bart to Frank in a whisper.

"I don't wonder," replied Frank. "He'd be a pretty poor insurance risk if these people could get a whack at him."

The corporal asked a few formal questions as to the lieutenant's regiment and division, which were answered sullenly though promptly. But these had little interest just then, and their asking was really a matter for headquarters. They were simply the prelude to other questions in which the company were much more deeply concerned.

"You had a prisoner here?" asked the corporal.

"Yes."

"Where is he now?"

"He was placed upstairs."

"He is not there now. What have you done with him?"

"Nothing."

"What were you going to do with him?"

The officer moved uneasily.

"Take him back to my quarters," he finally answered.

"Why did you have that rope put over the tree by the well?"

There was no answer, but the officer grew red in the face.

"Did you hear the question?"

"It was to frighten him," the lieutenant finally blurted out. "Anyway he was a spy and deserved to be hung. He had come into our lines in disguise."

The corporal motioned to Frank.

"Ask the girl again if she is sure the prisoner had on an American uniform," he directed.

Frank did so.

"Oui, oui," she affirmed emphatically.

To make sure, Frank repeated the question to the farmer and his son and received the same answer.

He reported to the corporal.

"These people all say that the prisoner was not in disguise, Lieutenant," said Wilson. "Do you still wish to insist that he was?"

"Yes."

"That is enough," replied the corporal with quiet scorn. "Line up the prisoners, men," he commanded.

This was quickly done, and the homeward march commenced, but not until another search had been made for the missing captive of the Germans.

It had the same result as the previous one and the boys were full of questionings and forebodings as they marched back guarding their prisoners. But there were some elements of comfort in their perplexity.

In the first place, they had saved some American soldier, whether Tom or another, from a horrible death. Then, too, they had in their power the brute who had planned that death. It was not impossible, too, that, under further questioning of the lieutenant and his men at headquarters, more might be learned of what they wanted so badly to know.

Another subject of congratulation also was that the prisoner, if he had escaped, was not far from the American lines. He might find his way in at any time.

But there was one thing that bothered Frank considerably, and he mentioned it that night when he found himself alone with Bart and Billy.

"Do you remember the minute at the edge of the wood when the corporal gave the order to fix bayonets?" he asked.

"Sure thing," replied Bart. "What about it?"

"Just this," replied Frank. "At that minute I caught sight of a man running away from the farmhouse into the woods on the other side. I got the picture of him in my mind, but I didn't have time to think about it just then, for we were making a rush for the house. Then other things crowded it out of my mind altogether. But it came back to me on the way home this afternoon."

"What did the man look like and how was he dressed?" asked Billy eagerly.

"He had on an American uniform," replied Frank slowly, as he tried to make the picture clear in his own mind.

"Perhaps it was Tom!" cried Bart.

"No, it wasn't," said Frank positively. "The uniform was smart and newer than ours. Tom's must be in tatters and you remember the girl said it was. Then, too, I'd know Tom's gait among a thousand just as you would. No, it wasn't Tom, worse luck."

"Who was it, then?"

"I think it was Nick Rabig," replied Frank.

"Nick Rabig!" the others cried together.

"Mind, I only say I think," repeated Frank, looking around to see that no outsider was within hearing. "I wouldn't be willing to swear to it. But the motions were Nick's—you know he runs like a cart horse—and you know that Nick has been togged out in a new uniform since he came back from that queer captivity of his among the Huns."

"Nick Rabig there," mused Bart perplexedly, as he began to pace up and down. "What on earth could he have been doing there?"

"Say," put in Billy with agitation, "could he have done anything to Tom? Suppose he went there, no matter for what purpose; suppose he found that German crowd dead to the world; suppose he found Tom upstairs bound and helpless. You know how Nick hated him."

"Keep cool, old man," counseled Frank, though there was a trace of anxiety in his own voice. "No, I don't think anything of that kind has happened. If it had we'd have found some traces of it. I think we can leave that out of our calculations."

"I'm only too glad to," said Billy. "But what was Nick's reason for being around that farmhouse anyway?"

"What have always been Nick's reasons for being where there are Germans, or where he expects there will be Germans?" said Bart. "Suppose—just suppose—that Nick knew—had a tip, let us say—that a certain German lieutenant on a certain day would be in a certain place, ready to receive and pay for any information about the American forces that Nick had been able to gather. Do you get me?"

"I get you, all right," answered Frank, "and from what we know of Nick we've got a right to think so. Well, he didn't sell anything today anyway. He didn't find the German lieutenant in any condition to talk business."

The bugle blew for "taps" just then, and the conversation came to an end. And the two days that followed were so crowded with events that their own personal interests were thrust into the background.

For the great drive was coming, the drive for which they had been looking for months, looking not with fear but with eager anticipation, their ardent young hearts aflame with the desire to fight to the death the enemies of civilization.

The weather had favored the enemy in his preparations. Usually at that time of the year the ground was soft and not fit for military operations on a grand scale. But the ground this year had dried out unusually early and was suitable for the bringing forward of men and guns.

There were all sorts of rumors afloat as to what the enemy had in store. There were said to be monster guns that could throw shells more than seventy miles. There were new and diabolical inventions in the way of gas that were to cause unspeakable agonies to their victims. There was talk of gigantic mirrors that would act as burning-glasses and blind the opposing troops.

Some of these things proved to be true. Others were mere lies, designed to sap the morale of the Allied armies and civil populations before the fight began.

"Heinie's the biggest boob that ever happened," grinned Billy, when the boys were discussing the coming conflict. "He acts as if the Allies were a lot of children. He thinks that all he has to do is to dress up a bugaboo and we'll all roll over and play dead."

"He'll get something into that thick head of his after a while," predicted Frank. "It will have to be jabbed in, but there are a lot of us ready to do the jabbing."

"Let him bring on his bag of tricks," scoffed Bart. "When all's said and done, it's going to be man-stuff that will decide this war. And there's where we've got him on the hip. Man to man we're better stuff than the Huns. We know it and they know it. They can't stand before our bayonets."

"Right you are, old scout!" said Frank, enthusiastically, giving him a resounding slap on the back. "Let them bring on their old drive as soon as they like. They can begin the drive. We'll end it. And we'll end it in the streets of Berlin!"



CHAPTER XIV

THE STORM OF WAR

"Listen to that music," said Frank to his comrades the next morning, as a furious cannonade opened up that made the ground shake and filled the air with flying missiles of death.

"Too many bass notes in it to be real good music," remarked Billy with a grim.

"Maybe it's the overture just before the rising of the curtain," suggested Bart.

"Perhaps it is," agreed Frank. "The Hun has got to start his drive some time, and this would be just the kind of morning for it. See how heavy that mist lies on the ground? We couldn't see the Germans at a distance of fifty yards."

"It's mighty thick for a fact," observed Bart. "But I guess our advanced posts are on the job. They'll give us warning in plenty of time."

"Not that we need much warning as far as I can see," said Billy. "We've been ready for a long time to fight at the drop of a hat. I'll bet the Hun doesn't carry a foot of our line."

"That's where you're wrong, Billy, old scout," warned Bart. "It stands to reason that he'll get away with something at first. You take any one man, no matter how strong he is, and if ten fellows rush him all at once they're bound to drive him back at the start. The Huns have got the advantage of knowing where they're going to strike. We don't know and so we have to spread our forces out so as to be ready to meet him at any point. Then, too, the man who comes rushing in has the advantage of the fellow who's standing still because he's got momentum. That's why generals would rather fight on the offensive than on the defensive. They're able to pick the time and place and the other fellow has to follow his lead."

"I don't see why the Allies can't take the offensive," grumbled Billy. "It gets my goat to let the Huns hit first."

"It does mine too," admitted Frank, "and if it hadn't been for Russia quitting, we'd be looking now at the coattails of the Kaiser's generals as they scooted back to Berlin. But that's a bit of hard luck that we can't help. Russia's back-down has taken ten million soldiers from the Allies' strength. But America will make that all up in time and then you'll see us doing the chasing."

"It can't come too soon to suit me," said Billy. "I only wish Uncle Sam had started sooner to get ready."

"So do I," replied Frank. "But there's no use crying over spilt milk. We're getting ahead now with leaps and bounds. I was talking to Will Stone the other day, and he'd just got back from a flying trip to one of the French seaports. He says it simply knocked him stiff to see the transports coming in loaded to the guards with American troops. And he says the roads are fairly choked with doughboys moving this way. They're coming like a swarm of locusts. And there's millions more where they came from. Oh, Uncle Sam is awake now, all right, and don't you forget it! And when he once gets started there's nothing on earth can stop him."

"Right you are!" said Bart.

"We've won every war we've ever been in and it's got to be a habit," grinned Billy.

The old Thirty-seventh was stationed on the second line, or what is called in military terms, "the line of resistance." In modern fighting, when a heavy attack is expected the defending army is usually arranged in three lines. The first is the advanced line, and this is hardly expected to be held very long. Its chief aim is to hold back the enemy for a while and weaken him as far as possible. Not many troops are employed on this line nor many big guns. The chief reliance is on rifle fire and machine guns, which are so placed as to deliver a withering cross-fire and cut up the enemy divisions.

By the time the first line is driven back the defending army knows where the enemy has chosen to strike and is ready for him on the second line or "line of resistance." Here the battle is on in all its fury. If here again the enemy advances, there is still a third line of "battle positions." This is practically the last entrenched position that the defenders have. If they are driven back from this into the open country beyond, it becomes a serious thing for the retreating army, as many of their big guns will have been lost, and their forces are apt to be more or less disorganized, while the enemy is flushed with the victory he has so far gained.

The cannonade kept on with increasing fury all through the early morning.

"Heinie must have plenty of ammunition," remarked Frank. "He's spending it freely."

"It beats anything we've been up against since we came to the front," observed Billy.

"It seems to be coming nearer and nearer all the time," said Bart. "I guess this is going to be our busy day."

There was intense activity all through the lines. Orderlies galloped from place to place with orders. Big motor cars rumbled up, loaded with troops who were hastily placed in position. The big guns of the Allied forces had opened up and were sending back shell for shell over the enemy lines.

For over two hours the artillery kept up the Titanic duel. The fog was lifting, though still heavy in some of the low-lying sections. The Thirty-seventh was resting easily on its arms, ready for whatever might happen.

"We may not see so much fighting after all," remarked Billy, after a while. "The fellows in front seem to be holding pretty well. Perhaps they'll throw the Huns back right from the start."

"Don't kid yourself," replied Frank grimly. "That first line is almost sure to go. It's expected to. It's only a forlorn hope anyway. We'll get our stomachs full of fighting before the day is over."

Even while he spoke there were signs of confusion up in front. Groups of men came in sight evidently retreating. Machine gun crews, bringing their weapons with them, were hurriedly setting them up in new positions. There would be a few discharges and then they would be forced to retreat still further. They were fighting splendidly, and putting up a dogged resistance, yielding ground only foot by foot, but to the experienced eyes of the boys there was no mistaking the signs. The enemy had broken through the first line positions.

"Well, it's nothing more than we knew would happen," remarked Frank, as his frame tingled with the excitement of the coming fight which he knew would soon be upon him.

"That's so," agreed Bart. "But what gets me is that the line was broken so quickly. I thought it would be afternoon at least before the Huns got as far as this."

The lines opened up to let the newcomers through so that they could go to the rear and re-form.

"How about it?" Frank asked of a machine gunner whom he knew, as the man limped by him, supported by a comrade. "We didn't expect to see you fellows so soon."

"It was the mist," was the reply. "The Huns got within thirty yards before we tumbled to it. We did the best we could but they just swamped our position before we could get our cross-fire going. Even at that we mowed them down in heaps with our rifle fire, but they kept on coming. For every dead man there were twenty live ones to take his place. We put up a stiff fight, but there were too many of them. It seemed like millions. They're coming now like a house afire and you boys want to brace."

"We're braced already," muttered Billy through his clenched teeth, as he gripped his rifle until it seemed as though his fingers must leave their imprint on the stock.

There was a short period of waiting, more trying by far than any actual fighting.

Then the storm broke!

In front of them rank after rank of gray-clad troops came in sight, stretching back as far as the eye could see. The mist had wholly vanished now and the boys could see their enemy. It seemed as though the machine gunner had not exaggerated when he said that there were millions. They were like the waves of the sea.

But the stout hearts of the American boys never quailed. Time and again they had met these men or their fellows and driven them back at the point of the bayonet. They had outfought and outgamed them. They had sent them flying before them. They had seen their backs.

The blood of heroes and of patriots ran in the veins of the defenders. Their ancestors had fought at Bunker Hill, at Palo Alto, at Gettysburg. Above them floated the Stars and Stripes, an unstained flag, a glorious flag, a flag that had never been smirched by defeat.

Their eyes blazed and their muscles stiffened.

Then like an avalanche the enemy struck!



CHAPTER XV

FURRY RESCUERS

The satisfaction that Tom felt at having in his pocket the confession of Martel helped to make his imprisonment much more bearable in the week that followed. His heart warmed at the thought of the delight Frank would feel in clearing up the matter that had long laid heavy upon his mother's mind.

For the conviction never left him that some time he was going to put that confession in his friend's hand. He had escaped before from German captivity, not once but twice. What he had done then he would do again. And every minute of his waking hours found that active brain of his working hard at the problem.

He confessed to himself that the solution would not be easy. The guards were many and were changed frequently. The windows of the old barracks where he slept were fortified with steel bars, and the open camp where the prisoners were employed in outside work was surrounded with wires through which a strong electric current ran. To touch them would mean instant death, and they were so close together that it would be impossible to squeeze through without touching.

He fell to studying the routine of the various conveyances that were constantly arriving and departing. Some of them brought bales of goods, others barrels. The latter were especially common. They were in a part of the country that abounded in vineyards, and great hogsheads of wine were being constantly brought in to supply the demands of the division stationed there.

They did not stay full long. The German officers were notoriously heavy drinkers, and there were days when there were great drayloads of empty hogsheads ready to be taken away to be refilled.

Tom developed a great interest in these hogsheads. The work of loading them on the drays was performed by prisoners, and he managed to be in the vicinity as often as possible to help. He was stronger than most of the prisoners and he worked with such good will at loading the bulky hogsheads that little by little it became a habit with the guards to assign him to this work whenever it was to be done.

A day came when the rain poured down in torrents. Tom had waited and prayed for just such a day. The air was full of fog and a cloud of steam rose from the horses' backs. Everything in the prison yard was dim and gray and spectral. The guards were enveloped in heavy raincoats and the flaps of oilskin on their caps fell halfway over their faces.

Tom had managed to get on one of the trucks and was tugging at one of the hogsheads to make room for others further back. Other prisoners were lifting on the last hogsheads. Tom leaned over one of the hogsheads and suddenly let himself go into it headfirst. It was all over in a flash.

There was an awful moment of suspense. Had anyone seen him? He listened intently. No shout was raised. Nothing happened out of the usual.

The driver climbed up to his seat and the horses started. There was a momentary delay as the gates were opened to let him pass. Then the horses started on a jog trot and the truck was bumping its way over an uneven country road. A thrill of exultation shot through Tom, crouching at the bottom of the hogshead. He had made the first step on the road to freedom.

He was still in the most imminent danger. At any moment he might hear the clattering of horsemen in pursuit. And he knew the kind of treatment he would get if he were recaptured.

How to get out of the hogshead without detection was another problem. But this worried him least of all. He felt sure that the driver would stop at the first tavern he came across to refresh himself. Then he would make his break.

His faith was justified, for before long the truck came to a halt and the driver got down. The weather had driven all the tavern idlers indoors and the streets of the little hamlet were deserted. Like an eel, Tom squirmed over the edge of the hogshead, dropped into the roadway on the side of the truck away from the tavern, and, with assumed carelessness, went on down the road.

A few rods brought him into the open country. He had not the least idea where he was. In the gloom he could not tell which was north or south or east or west. But for the moment he was free.

He made his way across some fields in the direction of a dark fringe of woods. There he would find shelter for the present. It would be a poor kind of shelter, but just then Tom asked nothing better. The day would bring counsel.

For some days past he had been stowing away fragments from his scanty meals in his pockets. They were only dry and mouldy crusts, but they would at least sustain life.

Up in the streaming woods he hollowed out a place under a fallen tree. He was drenched to the skin, but he was so exhausted with the strain he had undergone that no bodily discomfort could prevent his falling asleep.

When he awoke the rain had ceased and the sun was striking through the branches of the trees. With the morning came new courage. He would yet win through.

He studied the sun and got a general idea of the direction in which he must go. He knew that the American lines lay to the south and west. He could hear the distant thunder of the guns.

All that day he traveled in the friendly shadow of the woods. He did not dare to approach a cottage or go to any of the peasants he could see working in the fields. Some of them, he felt sure, would befriend him, but at any moment he might come in contact with one of the oppressors who held the land in their grip. He would take no chances.

His food was almost gone now although he had husbanded it with the greatest care. But he tightened his belt and kept on.

On the morning of the second day he was crossing a small brook and was just stepping up on the other side when a wet stone rolled beneath his foot and threw him headlong. His head struck a jagged stump and he lay there stunned.

When he regained consciousness, he found himself looking into the face of a German officer who was amusing himself by kicking the youth.

"Awake, are you, Yankee pig?" the officer greeted him. "It's time. I had half a mind to give you a bayonet thrust and put you to sleep forever. You needn't tell me how you came here. I know. You're the schweinhund that escaped two days ago. Here," he called to some of his men, "tie this fellow and throw him over a horse. We'll settle his case later on."

The command was promptly obeyed and poor Tom found himself once more in the grasp of his foes. And from this captivity there seemed little promise of escape. The deadly purpose of the brute who held him in his power had been plainly written on his face.

After what seemed an endless journey, the party reached a farmhouse. The detachment took possession of the place and an orgy of pillage and destruction ensued. Tom was taken to an upper room and thrown roughly on the floor. Here he lay bound hand and foot. He could hear cries of terror and smashing of furniture going on below.

He had no companion but his own thoughts, except when some of the drunken roysterers invaded his room to remind him of the rope that hung over the tree near the well and to drive home the information with kicks of their heavy boots.

His thoughts were black and bitter. This, then, was the end. He was to be hung to furnish an occasion of laughter to a horde of drunken brutes. Well, there would be no whine from him. He would show them how an American could die.

His attention was attracted by a pattering of tiny feet. He looked in the direction from which the sound came.

A rat had emerged from a hole in the corner and was busy nibbling a lump of cheese that had been dropped by one of the soldiers who had just left. The nibbling ceased as Tom turned his head and the rat scurried back to the corner. There he stayed, his bright eyes looking longingly at the cheese.

A thought shot through Tom's mind that set him tingling from head to foot. Was it possible? Of course it was only a forlorn hope. But he would try it. He would be no worse off if it failed.

He rolled himself over to the cheese and rubbed the rope that tied his hand in the soft substance until it was thoroughly smeared with it. Then he lay on his side with his hands outstretched and pretended to sleep.

Through his nearly closed lids he watched the rat. For some minutes it stayed motionless. Tom never moved a muscle. Then the rat crept stealthily forward, and, with many half retreats, at last started in to nibble at the rope to get the cheese. Soon another rat came and then another.

Tom conquered the sense of repulsion that their close proximity inspired in him. His life depended on his self-control. The least movement might send them scurrying back to their holes. And out in the yard there was that rope that hung from the tree near the well!

So he nerved himself and his reward came at last. He could feel the tension of the rope yielding as one strand after another was torn by the tiny teeth of his unknowing rescuers.

Finally they ceased and sat up on their haunches washing their faces, and the need for inaction had passed. With a mighty effort Tom strained at the rope and it snapped.

He could have shouted with exultation. He waved his arms in the air and the frightened rats vanished. He rubbed his hands and arms until the circulation came back. It was an easy matter then to untie the rope that bound his feet.

The noise on the floor beneath had ceased, He stole to the window and looked out. No one was stirring in the space around the house. He shuddered as he saw the dangling rope on the tree near the well.

There was the sound of a stealthy step below. Tom drew his head from the window. Standing in the shadow of the frame he could see a young girl emerge and run swiftly away.

Where were the others? Consulting perhaps as to how they could get the most enjoyment from the spectacle of his hanging.

There was only one way of exit that promised safety. He must escape by the window.

He measured with his eye the distance from the ground. It seemed to be about eighteen feet. He himself was six feet high. That would leave a clear drop of twelve feet. He could probably make it without injury. At any rate he had no choice.

He let himself down gently with his hands and dropped. The shock brought him to his knees, but he arose unhurt.

The next moment he was racing for the woods with the speed of the wind.



CHAPTER XVI

CLOSING THE GAP

A sheet of flames leaped from the American rifles. A blasting torrent of death poured from the machine guns. The heavy field artillery, that had the range to a dot, tore gaping holes in the serried German ranks. Great lanes opened up in the advancing hosts. The target was broad and there was no need to take aim, for every bullet was bound to find a mark.

The enemy ranks faltered before that terrific fire and fell back, leaving hundreds of dead and wounded on the open space in front of the lines, while hundreds more were strewn along the barbed wire entanglements.

But the German commanders were prodigal of the lives of their men, and after a brief time for re-forming, the divisions came on again, only to be hurled back again with still more fearful losses. A third attempt met with a similar result. The Americans were standing like a rock.

"Guess Fritz is getting more than he bargained for," grinned Billy, as the Germans were forming for another attack.

"Yes," agreed Frank, "but he'll try again. He'll stand a whole lot of beating."

For several hours the fight continued with a bitterness that had not been paralleled before in the whole course of the war. Again and again the enemy attacked, only to be beaten back before the stonewall defense.

But the Americans were not satisfied with merely defending their position. About two hours after noon they organized a counterattack. With splendid vim and ardor, and in a dashing charge, they smashed the division confronting them, driving them back in confusion and bringing hundreds of prisoners back with them to the trenches.

"I guess that will hold them for a while," crowed Billy, as they rested for a few minutes after their return.

"We certainly slashed them good and plenty," exulted Frank, as he washed up a scratched shoulder that had been struck by a splinter of shrapnel.

"If the rest of the line is holding as well as our fellows, the drive will be ended almost as soon as it began," remarked Bart.

"And Heinie was going to walk all over us, was he?" grinned Billy. "He's got another guess coming."

But their amazement was great a few minutes later when the order came for the regiment to fall back.

"Fall back!" howled Billy when he heard the order. "What is this, a joke?"

"Why should we fall back, when we've just licked the tar out of the Heinies?" growled Bart.

"Orders are orders," said Frank briefly. "I suppose our commanders know what they're doing. But it certainly is tough luck."

Their officers no doubt felt an equal chagrin, but the need was imperative. The Germans had struck along a front of fifty miles. At many points they had encountered a resistance as fierce and determined as that put up by the old Thirty-seventh and its companion regiments of the same division.

But at others they had been more successful. They had introduced a new kind of tactics that had never been used before on the western front, although it had been employed successfully in Russia. These were the so-called Von Hutier tactics whereby, when a division was used up, instead of falling back it simply opened up and let a fresh division pass through and take up the burden.

The old plan had been to clear up everything as one went along. The idea of the new tactics was to press swiftly ahead even if they left behind them machine-gun nests and strong enemy positions. These could be cleaned up later one by one, while in front the swift advance was intended to demoralize the opposing army and throw it out of formation by the very speed of the progress.

The plan, like every other, had its weak points. It involved a very heavy loss of men because of the masses in which they moved forward, and it also exposed its flank by penetrating too rapidly into the host lines before the artillery could be brought up for support. But if successful, it was almost sure to break the enemy's line and throw it into confusion.

Later on the Allies were to learn how they might most easily frustrate these tactics. But at the start of the great drive the plan met with considerable success because of its novelty.

It was this that had brought the command to retreat. The British forces on the right wing of the Allied armies had been forced to give way. The line had not been broken, but it had been badly bent. The British retreated doggedly, fighting with the splendid heroism that was in accordance with their traditions, and at no time did the retreat become a rout. But in order to keep the line straight the American forces too were ordered to fall back, even though they had been successful on their section of the line.

"It's a shame!" growled Billy, as the retirement began. "It makes me sore to have those Heinies think they've got us going."

"We'll come back," said Frank cheerfully. "It's a good general that knows when to retreat as well as to advance. We're only going to get space enough to crouch for a spring."

The division withdrew in good order, keeping up a rear-guard action that kept the enemy at a respectful distance. When night fell the Americans had reached the position assigned to them, and the backward movement was halted. The troops entrenched, and with the Allied line straightened out once more, faced the foe that it had decisively defeated earlier in the day.

"Nothing to do till tomorrow," exclaimed Frank as he threw himself on the ground.

"Don't fool yourself that way," said Corporal Wilson, who had just come up and heard the remark. "Unless I lose my guess you've got something to do tonight. Didn't you tell me the other day that you understood how to handle a motorcycle?"

"Why, yes," said Frank. "I've ridden one a good deal. I won a race on Camport Fair Grounds a couple of years ago."

"Then you're just the man the general wants to see," replied Wilson. "He sent a message to the colonel asking for the services of a man who was cool and plucky, and who could also ride a motorcycle. I don't know of any one else who can fill the bill better than you."

"I'll be glad to do whatever's wanted of me," replied Frank, and with a word of farewell to his comrades he accompanied the corporal to headquarters.

Here he was ushered into the presence of a group of officers who were poring over a large map spread out upon a table.

"Is this the young man you were telling me about, Colonel?" asked the general, a tall, powerfully built man, looking sharply at Frank from beneath a pair of bushy eyebrows.

"Yes, General," replied the colonel. "Captain Baker vouches for his coolness and courage and his quick thinking in an emergency. And I'm told he understands all about motorcycles."

"Just the man," commented the general. "I want you," he continued, addressing Frank, "to carry a message for me to the British commander on our right. Our division has lost touch with him and the field telephone is not working. Probably it has been cut by the enemy. The message is most important and I want you to make all the speed you can. Go and get ready now and report to your captain, who will hand you the papers. He will have a machine ready for you. That is all."

Frank hurried back and made his preparations, which were brief. While he worked he told his eager companions of the errand with which he had been entrusted.

"Wish I were going with you," remarked Bart.

"Same here," said Billy.

"That would be dandy," agreed Frank.

He shook hands with them and hurried away to the captain's quarters, where he found that officer waiting for him with the papers.

"There's no answer," he said, as he handed them over. "When you've delivered the papers your work is done. Good luck."

Frank thrust the papers in his pocket after receiving full directions as to his route. The motorcycle was standing at the door. It was a powerful machine of the latest make and everything about it suggested strength and speed. He noticed that there was a saddle in the rear and a thought came to him.

"I see that this machine will carry double," he said. "Would you mind if I took a companion with me? The machine will carry two as swiftly as it will one. Then, too, if one of us were hurt or shot the other one could still go on with the message."

"An excellent idea," said the captain after pondering a moment. "Get him, but make haste."

Frank rushed back to his chums.

"Which one of you wants to go with me?" he asked breathlessly.

"I do," they yelled in chorus.

"Sorry," laughed Frank, "but there's only room for one. Toss a coin."

The luck favored Bart, much to Billy's disappointment. In a jiffy Frank and Bart had bidden Billy good-by, jumped to their places, and with a leap the powerful machine darted off.

The night was clear, and as soon as they were away from the camp Frank had no trouble in finding the road that he had been ordered to take. It was a good one in ordinary times, but now it had been torn by shells from the German guns in many places and care had to be taken to avoid a spill. The shaded light threw its rays a considerable distance ahead, but they were going at a speed that did not leave them much time to avoid obstacles even after they were detected.

The road swung around in a wide semi-circle and led through a number of French villages. These the Army Boys found in great confusion. The approach of the Huns was a terrible threat to the towns that might fall into German hands. What the enemy had done in the occupied parts of France and Belgium had given warning of what any other places they might capture would have to expect.

Wagons were being hastily piled with household belongings, men were shouting, children were crying, and the whole scene was desolate and pitiful beyond description.

The roads were so congested at these places that rapid progress was impossible. They had to thread their way among the crowd of vehicles, and in some cases were compelled to resort to the fields. But they made up for this on other stretches, and were congratulating themselves that on the whole they were making pretty good time when suddenly they were startled by a number of rifle shots and bullets whizzed by uncomfortably close.

"It's the Huns!" cried Frank.

"I didn't know they'd got as close as this!" exclaimed Bart. "More gas, Frank! Quick!"

There were hoarse commands to halt, and another volley followed the first. At the same time a number of dark figures threw themselves in the road, shouting and waving their hands.

Frank leaned forward, threw on all speed, and the machine responded with a leap that almost unseated the riders. The crowd in front scattered as the machine rushed at them, but one of them was not quick enough and was hurled twenty feet away.

More shots followed the daring riders, but they were now beyond range. For another mile they kept up the killing pace and then Frank slowed up a little.

"Ran right into their arms that time," he ejaculated.

"We were mighty lucky to come through with a whole skin," replied Bart.

"More than the machine has done, I'm afraid," remarked Frank. "I can tell by the way she runs that there's something wrong with the tires."

He looked behind, and seeing no signs of pursuit, he stopped the motorcycle and dismounted.

Something had indeed happened to the tires. Both the front and rear ones had been punctured by bullets. The air had gone out of them.

"Hard luck," exclaimed Bart.

"Never mind," returned Frank. "We'll ride her flat as long as we can and if worse comes to worse we'll ride her on the rims. We've got to get that message to the general no matter what happens."

"We'll get it there if we have to travel on our hands and knees," affirmed Bart.

"It won't come to that, I hope," laughed his companion, as he bound the flat tires fast with straps. Then he settled himself again in his seat and started the machine.

It went along more slowly now, and their troubles were increased by the fact that their route had carried them into a main road that was filled with motor lorries—huge trucks loaded with men and supplies that rushed on with the speed almost of an express train.

The lorries had the right of way, and individual riders had to look out for themselves. Sometimes they came down two abreast, filling the whole width of the road, and in such cases the boys had to dismount and draw to the side of the road until they had passed. If their machine had been in condition, they might have kept ahead by sheer speed, but in its present crippled state they would have been run down. And to be run down by one of those Juggernauts would have meant instant death.

On one such occasion they were hugging the fence, with their machine standing between them and the road. A lorry came thundering by, but just as it was nearly opposite, it swerved and struck the machine. It was torn from Frank's hand and hurled in front of the lorry which ran over and completely wrecked it.

The lorry tore on, leaving the two chums looking at each other in consternation.

"That's worse by long odds than the German bullets," exclaimed Frank. "I guess we'll have to do the hands and knees stunt you were talking about a little while ago."

"We must be pretty near to the English general's headquarters now anyway, aren't we?" asked Bart.

Frank consulted his route by the aid of a flashlight that he carried with him.

"About two miles," he announced. "Put on some speed now, Bart. We'll run most of the way and jog-trot the rest."

They let no grass grow under their feet, and fifteen minutes later they had reached the general's headquarters and were ushered into his presence. He seemed to be greatly agitated and was talking with great emphasis to a group of officers who surrounded him.

He took the papers that the boys had brought and read them over hurriedly.

"Very good," he announced briefly. "There is no answer. Were your orders to go back to your regiment to-night?"

"No, sir," replied Frank.

"In that case my orderly will find quarters for you," replied the general, and he gave directions to an officer who took them in charge and saw them safely bestowed for the night.

"That was some wild ride?" grinned Frank, as they were getting ready for sleep.

"It sure was," laughed Bart, "especially that part where the German bullets were zipping all around us. Wait till we tell Billy about it. He'll be green with envy."

"Well, we carried out our orders anyway," said Frank. "I'm glad that we'll be able to tell the captain so tomorrow morning."

But they did not report to their captain the next morning, nor for several following mornings, for when they woke they found that a condition had developed that was full of peril to the Allied cause.

The German plan had been to strike at the junction point of the Allied armies. If they could separate them there would be a chance to turn upon one of them and crush it with overwhelming forces and then at their leisure destroy the other.

In this they had come very near succeeding. A threatening gap had developed between two of the most important armies that were holding that portion of the front. The armies had lost touch with each other and the gap had gradually widened until at one place the armies were eight miles apart.

The only helpful thing about the situation was that the Germans themselves did not know of the gap until it was too late to take advantage of it. The very speed with which they had pushed forward had thrown their forces into confusion. Brigades and regiments had become badly mixed and it took some time to straighten matters out.

But if the Germans did not know how matters stood, the Allied commanders knew it only too well. It was this that explained the agitation that the boys had noticed in the general the night before. He had been called upon to close the gap. Upon his shoulders rested for the time the salvation of the Allied cause.

If he had had sufficient forces at his command, the problem would have been comparatively simple, provided he had been given time to solve it. But he had neither time nor men. He had only fifty cavalrymen. He lacked guns and ammunition. The hard-pressed armies at the right and left were battling desperately against the on-rushing German hordes and could spare him little.

"Looks as if he had to make bricks without straw," said Frank to Bart the next morning, when the state of things had been explained by the orderly who had taken them in charge.

"It's a case of must," said Bart, "and from the squint I had at the general last night he's the one who can do the job if it can be done at all."

"Will you stay and help?" asked the orderly. "Every man will help. The general's picked up three hundred American engineers working on a road nearby. Every one of them has thrown down his pick and shouldered a rifle."

"Bully for the engineers!" cried Frank.

"Will you stay?" asked the orderly. "Of course you can return to your own command if you want to."

"Will we stay?" exclaimed Frank. "Give me a gun. I know my captain would be willing."

"You can't drive us away," Bart almost shouted.

It was a scratch army that the general finally got together. Some of his men had never handled a gun before. Some were drivers, some were telegraph linemen, some were cooks. But he made the most of what he had. He himself was here, there and everywhere, having trees felled to obstruct the roads, planting machine guns in strategic places, digging shallow trenches, resting neither by day or night.

Frank and Bart worked like beavers. They were placed in charge of machine-gun crews, and their deadly weapons kept spitting fire until they were almost too hot to handle. Again and again they beat back German detachments. They fought like fiends. They never expected to come out of that fight alive. The odds seemed too tremendous.

"It's like Custer's last charge," panted Frank. "There wasn't one of his troopers left alive. But I'll bet that not one of them was sorry he was there."

"I'm glad that motorcycle carried double," replied Bart. "I'd have been cheated out of a lot of lovely fighting if it hadn't."

They fought desperately, savagely, their bodies tired to the breaking point, but their courage never failing. And at last they won out. The armies rejoined each other. The gap was closed. And Frank and Bart rejoiced beyond measure that they had been able to do their part in the closing.

"Some fellows have all the luck," remarked Billy, when they had rejoined their regiment two days later, and were telling him all about it. "Now if that coin we flipped had only come down heads instead of tails——"

"Stop your grouching," laughed Frank. "You'll have all the fighting that's good for you by the time we've driven the boches over the Rhine."



CHAPTER XVII

THE MINED BRIDGE

For several days the drive continued. At first it had been quite as successful for the Germans as they could have hoped. Their initial surprise had carried them a long way into French territory, and this had involved the capture of a considerable number of men and guns.

But they had fallen far short of their ambitious aims. They had not rolled up the Allied armies. They had not reached Paris. They had not captured the Channel ports.

The Allied armies had stretched like an elastic band, but had not broken. They knew now what the enemy's plans were and they were rapidly taking measures to check them.

The Germans had had a great advantage in being under a single command. There was no clash of plans and opinions. If they wanted to transfer a part of their forces from one point to another they could do so.

With the Allies it had been different. There had been a French army, a British army, an Italian army, a Belgian army, a Russian army and latest of all an American army. They had tried to work together in harmony and in the main had done so. But the British naturally wanted above all to prevent the German armies from reaching the coast where they could threaten England. The French were especially anxious to prevent Paris being captured. Either side was reluctant to weaken its own army by sending reinforcements to the other.

But the German success in the first days of the drive changed all this. The Allies got together and appointed General Foch as the supreme commander of all the Allied forces. He had done brilliant work in driving the Germans back from the Marne in the early days of the war, when they had approached close to Paris.

"Have you heard the news?" asked Frank of his chums the day after the appointment had been made.

"No," said Bart.

"What is it?" asked Billy.

"We've got just one man that's going to boss the job of driving back the Huns," answered Frank.

Bart gave a whoop of delight and Billy threw his hat in the air.

"Best news I've heard yet," crowed Billy.

"That's as good as a battle lost for the Huns," exclaimed Bart. "The only wonder is that it wasn't done before. Who's the man they've chosen?"

"General Foch," was the answer.

"Better and better," pronounced Bart. "That man's a born fighter. He licked the Germans at the Marne, and he can do it again."

"What I like about him," commented Billy, "is that he's a hard hitter. He isn't satisfied to stand on the defensive. He likes to hand the other fellow a good one right at the start of the fight."

"That's what," agreed Frank. "He hits out right from the shoulder. Of course he'll have to wait a little while yet until he sizes up his forces and sees what he has to fight with. But you can bet it won't be long before he has the boches on the run."

In the days that followed, the advantage of the appointment became clear. The armies worked together as they never had before. The khaki of the British mingled with the cornflower blue of the French. Reserves were sent where they were most needed, no matter what army they were drawn from. And, fighting side by side, each nation was filled with a generous rivalry and sought bravely to outdo the other in deeds of valor.

The old Thirty-seventh had been in the thick of the fighting and had covered itself with glory. It had taught the Germans that there were Americans in France, and that they were fighters to be dreaded.

The course of the fighting had taken Frank and his comrades in the vicinity of the farmhouse where they had rounded up the German lieutenant and his squad. But it was a very different place now from what it had been when they had first seen it. Shells had torn away part of the roof, and the attic lay open to the sky. But the farmer and his family still stayed there although in daily peril of their lives. They lived and slept in the cellar, which was the only place that afforded them a chance of safety.

One day when only an artillery duel was going on and the infantry was getting a rest that it sorely needed, the Army Boys went over to the house. The girl saw them coming and recognized them at once. She came out to meet them with a smile on her face.

"Les braves Americains!" she exclaimed. "You have not then been killed by those dreadful Germans."

"Don't we look pretty lively for dead men?" asked Frank jokingly.

"And that lieutenant?" she inquired. "Oh, I hope you have hanged him."

"No," said Frank, "but he's a prisoner."

"It is not enough," she said with a shudder of repulsion.

"Have you heard anything of the young soldier that the lieutenant was going to hang?" asked Frank eagerly.

"No," she answered. "But stay," she added, "I have something here that you may want to see."

She darted back in the house and quickly returned with a very-much crumpled card in her hand.

"It is a carte postale," she explained. "We found it in the yard some days after you had been here. It had been trampled in the mud by the horses' feet and the writing had been scraped or blotted out. Perhaps it belonged to the young man. It may have fallen from his pocket. I do not know."

Frank took it eagerly from her hand, while his comrades gathered around him.

The card was almost illegible, but it could be seen that it was a United States postal. There was not a single word upon it that could be made out in its entirety, but up in the corner where the postmark had been they could see by straining their eyes the letters C and M.

"That's Camport, I'm willing to bet!" exclaimed Bart excitedly.

"And here's something else," put in Billy pointing to where the address would naturally be looked for. "See those letters d-f-o-r——"

"It's dollars to doughnuts that that stands for 'Bradford,'" Frank shouted. "A card from Camport to Tom Bradford. Boys, we didn't guess wrong that day. That was Tom that that brute of a lieutenant was going to hang!"

They were tingling with excitement and delight. To be sure, they did not know what had become of their friend. But he had escaped from this house. He was perhaps within a few miles of them. He was, at any rate, not eating his heart out in a distant prison camp.

Then to Frank came the thought of Rabig. Perhaps Tom hadn't escaped. Perhaps Rabig had added murder to the crime of treason of which they were sure he was guilty.

"Are you sure that you haven't found anything else that would help us in finding our friend?" he asked of the girl, whose face was beaming at the pleasure she had been able to give to her deliverers.

"No," she answered. "There is nothing else. I am sorry."

"Let's take a look around the house again, fellows," suggested Frank. "We may have overlooked something the other day. It's only a chance, but let's take it."

They made a careful circuit of the house, but nothing rewarded the search until Frank, with an exclamation, picked up some pieces of rope that had been lying in the grass not far from the window from which the prisoner had dropped.

"Are these yours?" he asked of the girl who had accompanied them and had been as ardent in the search as themselves.

She examined them.

"I do not think so," she declared. "I do not remember seeing any rope like that around the house."

They scrutinized the pieces carefully.

"Look at these frayed edges," said Frank, laying them together. "You see that these two pieces were part of one rope."

"I'll tell you what that means," put in Billy. "The girl says that Tom was bound with ropes. That cut or broken one was the one that was used to tie his hands. In some way he cut that. He didn't have a knife or the cut would be cleaner. Perhaps he sawed the rope against a piece of glass that he might have managed to get near."

"Good guess," commended Bart. "And this long rope was the one that was used to tie his feet. Tom didn't need to cut that for his hands were free then and he could untie it."

"Good old scout!" exclaimed Frank in tribute to his absent chum. "Trust that stout heart of his to keep up the fight to the last minute. Think of the old boy sawing away at the rope when he didn't know what minute he'd be taken out and hanged."

"He's all wool and a yard wide," agreed Bart.

"The real goods," said Billy. "But what were the ropes doing out here in the grass?"

"Oh, I suppose he hated them so that he chucked them as far away as he could," suggested Bart.

"No," said Frank, measuring the window with his eye. "I'll tell you how I think it was. Tom knew, of course, that he couldn't get out of the house by the downstairs way without being nabbed. He didn't know, of course, that the bunch of Huns weren't in condition to nab anybody. So the window was the only way left to him. He took the ropes to the window with the idea of splicing them and climbing down by them. But that would have taken time, and when he saw that the window wasn't very high up he made up his mind to drop. The ropes were in his hand and he simply threw them out of the window as the easiest way of getting rid of them."

"That sounds reasonable," said Billy. "But, oh boy! if poor Tom had only known that all he had to do was to walk downstairs and bag the whole blooming bunch!"

"I wish he had," said Frank mournfully.

"If he had, that lieutenant wouldn't have got off so easily as he did," declared Bart. "Do you know what would have happened? Of course the first thing Tom would have done would have been to untie the farmer and his son. Can you picture, then, what would have happened to that lieutenant and probably to his men, too? The United States wouldn't have been put to any expense for feeding them."

"That rope by the well would probably have been put to work," agreed Frank. "But poor Tom didn't know and there's no use of our speculating."

Encouraged by the information they had gained, they looked still further. But nothing more was found, and they at last said good-by to the girl and made their way back to their quarters with their hearts lighter than they had been for days. In a sense they had got in touch with their missing comrade, had seemed near to him, and their hopes were high that before long they would have him with them again.

"It's disposed of one thing that was worrying me anyway," remarked Frank. "We know that Rabig had nothing to do with making away with Tom."

"Yes," said Bart, "that's one thing the fellow can't be charged with. But I'm still mighty curious to know what he was hanging around that farmhouse for."

"It sure was a mighty strange coincidence that he should be there at the time the Germans were," declared Billy. "But Rabig is the only one who knows why and you can bet that he won't tell."

The comparative lull that had occurred in the fighting was only temporary, and the next day the drive was resumed in all its fury.

This time the use of gas was greater than it had been at any previous time in the battle. And the Germans had made still greater strides in this diabolical contrivance which they were the first to inflict upon an outraged world.

At first the gas had been light and volatile. It caused terrible suffering to those caught by it, but it did not hover long over any given place and a gust of wind was sufficient to drive it away.

But that was not vile enough to satisfy the infernal ingenuity of the foes of humanity. Now they were using gas that settled on the ground so that nothing but a gale would drive it away, and that lasted for hours and even for days. And then there was mustard gas, that penetrated everywhere through the clothing, through the skin, and that burned and ate up the living tissues like so much vitriol.

But the Allies were on the alert and soon found a way to avert or modify the worst consequences of the various kinds of gases. And they were forced to fight fire with fire simply in self-defence. It was a question of kill or be killed, and they were left no alternative. They asked nothing better than to fight as knightly and honorable nations always have fought and always will fight when they are left free to choose their weapons.

But whatever the methods used by the Germans, whether gas or guns or men, they were finding increasing difficulty in keeping up the momentum of their drive. Sheer force of numbers had sufficed at first to carry them forward, but now the Allies with American help coming over the sea at the rate of two hundred thousand men a month—and the finest kind of men at that—were gradually getting on even terms.

"I see the Germans had a good day yesterday," remarked Frank, as he and his comrades were at mess.

"I didn't notice it," said Bart, looking at his friend in surprise. "We drove them back and gained ground from them."

"Oh, I don't mean here," exclaimed Frank. "I mean in Paris."

Billy almost choked in surprise and alarm.

"You don't mean to say they've got to Paris?" he sputtered.

"Not by a jugful," laughed Frank. "But they're sending shells into it."

"Then they must be pretty close to it," said Bart in some apprehension.

"The gun they're shooting with is seventy miles away from the city," replied Frank.

"Quit your kidding," commanded Billy.

"Where do you get that stuff?" asked Bart incredulously.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," said Frank seriously. "Honestly, fellows, they've got a gun that shoots a shell seventy miles or more. The shell weighs two hundred pounds. It rises twenty miles in the air, and it takes three minutes on the trip to Paris."

"Is that straight goods?" asked Billy suspiciously.

"It sure is," Frank assured him. "I was reading about it in a Paris paper I got hold of this morning."

"What was it you were saying about yesterday being a good day for the Germans," asked Bart, when he had digested the facts.

"Oh, one of the shells hit a church where they were having a service and killed seventy-five people, mostly women and children," answered Frank. "Don't you imagine the Germans call that a good day? Can't you see them grinning and rubbing their hands? It's as good as bombing a hospital or an orphan asylum. The Kaiser felt so good about that he sent a special message of congratulation to the manager of the Krupp works, where the gun was made. Oh, yes, it was a good day!"

"The swine!" exclaimed Bart furiously, while Billy's fist clinched.

"Let's get busy," cried Frank, springing to his feet. "I can't wait to get at those barbarians. I hope there's lots of bayonet work today. I never felt in better trim for it."

They fought that day as they had never fought before, for they had never felt so strongly that the world would never be a decent place to live in until their barbarous enemies were humbled to the dust.

The next day the old Thirty-seventh was ordered to take up its position at a bridgehead that it was of the utmost importance should be strongly held. The enemy attacks were converging there, and it was evident that they were planning to cross the river in force. The country behind the American troops was flat and difficult to defend, and if the enemy should make good his crossing the consequences to the Allied cause might prove serious.

The enemy advance had reached the further side of the river, which at that point was about two hundred yards in width. A fierce artillery duel was kept up between the hostile forces. A wooden bridge with stone arches afforded the only means of crossing, and this was swept by such a fierce shell fire from the Allied guns that it did not seem as though anything could live on it for a moment.

As an additional precaution the bridge had been secretly mined by the Allied engineers. Electric wires ran to the concealed charges.

A pressure of a button—and the bridge would be reduced to atoms.



CHAPTER XVIII

A DESPERATE VENTURE

"The Huns will get a surprise party if they try to cross that bridge," remarked Billy with a grin, as the boys were talking over the present situation.

"I don't see why we don't blow it up right away," said Bart. "Then the Germans would have to rely on pontoons and what we would do to them would be a crime."

"Our officers know what they're about," objected Frank. "We might want that bridge to go across on ourselves if things take the right turn. So it's just as well to have it handy. If there's any blowing up to do, we can do it later just as well as now. And it's just as well to have it go skyward when it's crowded with Germans as when it's empty. Get me?"

"I get you, all right," replied Bart. "But suppose something should go wrong when the time came to blow it up?"

"That would be something else again," laughed Frank. "But I guess there isn't much danger Of that. Just one little pressure of a button—and—zowie!"

Just then Frank caught sight of his friend, Colonel Pavet, coming toward him and went forward to meet the French officer.

The colonel's greeting was a very cordial one.

"I'm glad to see that you've come safely so far through this fierce fighting," he said.

"Fierce is the right word," answered Frank smilingly.

"I was at Verdun," went on the colonel, "and I thought at the time that nothing could be more ferocious than the fighting there. But this has been much worse."

"We've got a pretty stiff proposition right now in holding this bridge," observed Frank.

"Indeed you have," agreed the colonel, "and it is a compliment to the American forces that the defense of such an important position has been entrusted to them. Oh, you Americans! Where would we have been without your aid? And your fighting qualities! You grow men on your side of the ocean, Monsieur Sheldon."

"The superb fighting of the French has been an inspiration to us," replied Frank warmly.

"To come to personal matters," went on the colonel, "I have heard more in detail from my brother Andre about your mother's property. He has traced the butler—Martel is his name—in the official records, and has found that he was taken prisoner in an attack several months ago. He was very anxious to cross-examine him on some testimony he had given previously. It seems that Martel had testified that he had witnessed the execution of a later will than that in which the property was left to your mother. You can easily see how unfortunate that might be if it could be proved. Andre has a suspicion that cross-examination might show Martel's testimony to be false."

"It is too bad that the man is a prisoner," said Frank anxiously.

"There is more to be told," went on the colonel gravely. "I myself have put investigations on foot through the Swiss Red Cross. They were able to find out from German prison records that Martel died recently."

Frank started back visibly perturbed.

"Died!" he echoed. "Then his statement about the will stands uncontradicted."

"As far as he is concerned, yes," replied the colonel soberly. "I am bitterly disappointed, and I know that Andre will be, too, for he has made a very strong point of disproving that special testimony. But we will not remit our efforts in the least, mon ami. Be assured of that. I will let you know when I have any further news," and with a friendly wave of the hand the colonel passed on.

"What's the matter, Frank?" asked Billy as he went slowly back to his friends. "You look as jolly as a crutch."

"I'm no hypocrite, then," answered Frank soberly, "for that's exactly how I feel."

He told his chums of what the colonel had said, and they were sincere in their expressions of sympathy.

"I don't care a button about it for myself," explained Frank, "but I hate to have to tell my mother about it. She has little enough to make her happy nowadays, and I know how badly she will feel about this."

All that day the artillery kept up a ceaseless fire and the Germans did not venture on the bridge. But great activity was observed among them, and Dick Lever, who was leader of the aviation detachment that was operating in that sector, brought the news that evening that they were preparing pontoons and other small boats with which they would probably attempt a crossing at points that were not so well guarded.

"Your officers over here want to keep their eyes peeled," he remarked to the Army Boys after he had just made his report at division headquarters. "Those Heinies have made up their minds to get across this river by hook or crook. They figure that with the open country behind you they'll have a good chance to throw you back if they can only get a footing on this side."

"Don't you worry about our officers," replied Frank with a conviction that had been deepened by the skilful leadership the American troops had had so far in the drive. "It'll be as hard to find them napping as it is to catch a weasel asleep."

"I know they're good stuff," agreed Dick, "but we're all human, you know."

"All except the boches," grunted Billy. "They're inhuman."

"We've had plenty of proofs of that," laughed Dick. "They like to think they're superhuman, but we're teaching them differently."

"Seen anything of Will Stone lately?" asked Frank.

"Ran across him about a week ago," replied Dick. "He's fighting about ten miles north of here, where the country's suitable for tank work. He's doing some great fighting, too."

"I don't need to be told that," replied Frank. "That fellow would rather fight than eat."

"Well, so long, fellows," said Dick, as he rose to his feet. "Keep a sharp eye on those boches across the river."

"Trust us," replied Frank. "They'll never get over here."

The aviator's warning had been heeded by the officers, and detachments were stationed at places along the river above and below the main bridge.

Suddenly one morning, a whole fleet of boats, large and small, shot out at the same instant from the enemy side of the river. They were loaded with men and machine guns, and the evident plan was to get a footing on the American side which could be held until reinforcements could be hurried over and make the footing secure.

At the same time a tremendous gunfire strove to protect the crossing and clear the banks at the points where the boats were planning to land.

Before the American guns could get the range on the rapidly moving targets, the boats were halfway across the river, and the rowers were pulling like mad. One boat after another was struck and the occupants thrown into the river. But the Germans had allowed for the loss of some of the boats, and were perfectly resigned to lose them, provided a certain percentage of all could effect a crossing.

"Let them get here," muttered Frank, who, with Bart and Billy, was among the force which had been assigned to that point where the passage was being attempted. "They'll never get back again."

The surviving boats drew closer to the shore. The men on the boats were using their machine guns, and the banks were swept by a rain of bullets. More of the boats went down under the return fire, but a full dozen of them finally struck the shore. The crews jumped out in the shallow water and commenced to wade ashore.

But they were doomed men. With a yell the American boys swept down upon them. Frank and his comrades rushed into the water, and there was a battle that must have resembled those of the old Vikings. Back and forth the combatants struggled, shooting, hacking, swinging their gun butts. Some of them, locked in a death grip, went down together in the water that was taking on a reddish tinge. Others floated away on the stream. Others of the enemy, seeing that the fight was going against them, leaped back into the boats and strove desperately to push out into the river. But Frank leaped at the bow of one boat and held it, while Bart and Billy with their comrades did the same to others.

In a few minutes the fight was over. It had been a hot one while it lasted. Several of the Americans had been killed and quite a number wounded, but their loss had been largely exceeded by that of the enemy. Not a boat got back, and all who had not been killed remained as prisoners in American hands.