"The impudent effrontery and the cunning treachery of this man constitute him a menace to every other person aboard this ship. We are not safe while he is free.

"This German spy must and shall be found."



CHAPTER VIII

THE DEATH OF THE SPY

The inability of Lieutenant Mackinson to add a single word of further information to what he had said as he regained consciousness on the promenade deck increased the mystery.

The young lieutenant, it seemed, had been following a trail which he believed was leading him closer and closer to the object of the hunt, and it was in forging the links of this chain of circumstantial evidence that the young officer was led into the lower depths of the ship.

"From a sailor who did not know why I was inquiring," he told the captain, "I learned that on the night the unknown man invaded the battery room this sailor had seen another member of the crew, presumably from the engine or boiler room, throw aside something as he hurried along the passageway leading from the wireless room. He was in his undershirt.

"The sailor said he was about to investigate when he saw us come along, and you stooped to pick up whatever it was that had been thrown away.

"While I was talking to him another member of the crew, evidently also from the boiler or engine room, brushed by us. He had disappeared when the sailor said to me, 'I think that was the fellow—the one that just went by.' Not wanting to arouse his suspicions, I ended the conversation with a casual remark, and then strolled away until I was out of the sailor's sight, and then hurried as fast as I could toward the engine room.

"I do not know that part of the ship well, and it was very dark down there. I was groping my way along when I thought I heard steps just ahead of me. I stopped to listen, and when the sound was not repeated I proceeded onward.

"All of a sudden I was grasped by the neck and one arm from behind, and thrown into that closet. Before I could utter a word I was a prisoner behind a locked door. I called several times, and, receiving no response, realized that I must be some distance from anyone else and that the noises of the engines completely drowned out my voice.

"Every moment it became more stifling in there, and I had no doubt that I had walked directly into a death-trap. It was then I began signaling on the steam-pipe. I guess it was a mighty lucky thing for me that Slim Goodwin strolled out on deck just at the time he did."

And that was all that Lieutenant Mackinson could tell. The mysterious stranger remained what he had been from the first—a desperate and dangerous and unknown spy, lurking somewhere upon the American transport Everett with the evident intention of making the ship's position known to German U-boats when the Everett and her convoy of cruisers and destroyers entered the danger zone.

Then it was, with the lieutenant temporarily disabled as a result of his experience, that the three boys from Brighton, who seemed somehow to have been selected by Fate as the despoilers of all the spy's plans, put their heads together to devise a scheme of capture.

"We've got more than one good reason for wanting to get this fellow," Slim reminded the others with considerable warmth, during the course of their deliberations. "First and foremost, of course, is our plain duty to our country, to which he is an enemy and a traitor.

"But, in addition to that, there is that knockout that he handed to Joe, and the midnight scare he gave Jerry and me, and finally his effort to kill Lieutenant Mackinson by slow suffocation, not to mention the nerve of the fellow in coming back the way he has."

"Yes," added Jerry, "we owe him a lot, and it is up to us to figure out how we can square the debt."

"Well," said Joe, "I think I've got a plan that will work; but we've got to remember that we are dealing with a very shrewd man."

"Well, what's your suggestion?" Slim demanded.

"That we divide our forces," answered Joe solemnly, "lie in wait and try to ambush the foe."

"Right!" cried Jerry. "Joe, you'll be a general before this war's over."

"Along what lines do we disperse our forces, General?" asked Slim.

"Along what lines would His Royal Stoutness suggest?" demanded Jerry.

"Oh, you don't have to keep reminding me that I'm a trifle heavy," Slim replied in a peevish tone.

"A trifle heavy! Get that, will you," echoed Jerry with a gale of laughter. "A trifle heavy! Oh, my!"

"You'll find out if I sit on you," Slim threatened, in a belligerent tone.

"Come now," said Joe, "this isn't making any progress toward capturing the spy."

"No," Jerry responded, "and that's our first duty, even if it is a trifle heavy."

"I've warned you," Slim snapped out.

"Quit it now," ordered Joe. "Let's get down to serious business."

"All right," agreed Jerry. "Shake, Slim, just to show there's no hard feelings."

"Won't do it," Slim muttered.

"Oh, yes, you will," counseled Joe. "Shake hands, the two of you."

Slim's good nature overcame his feigned reluctance, but as Jerry grasped his hand he gave Jerry a jerk that nearly took him off his feet.

"Now we're square," said Slim, as Jerry rubbed his nearly dislocated shoulder.

"Well, that pull was a trifle heavy," muttered Jerry, determined to have the last word.

"Now my plan is this," said Joe, facing the other two seriously. "The nearer we come to the zone of the German submarines, the more this man will try to arrange to notify them of our presence, and to do that he will have to use the wireless somehow. It seems likely that he would make his effort at night, because then it is easier for him to escape detection.

"Now if we let Lieutenant Mackinson sleep during the day we could so divide up the work as for all of us to get some sleep, and then all could do watch at night.

"The lieutenant could be in the wireless room, and one of us in the battery room, while the other two did duty outside. If one of us should hide under that stairway at the upper end of the passage, and the other in that alcove at the other end, no one could reach the wireless or battery rooms without our seeing.

"It would be tiresome and monotonous work, all right, but it might accomplish the result."

"I'm willing," said Jerry, "but you and I will have to do the outside work. Slim's a trifle heavy to get into either one of those hiding places."

"Well, I'll cover the battery room," said Slim, ignoring Jerry's remark.

"Let's see Lieutenant Mackinson, then," suggested Joe, and they went to find the young officer who was convalescing from his encounter with the spy. When he had approved the plan they got the O. K. of the captain.

And so it was, four hours later, with the lieutenant in the wireless room, and Slim in the battery room adjoining, and Joe and Jerry stowed away in the hiding places selected, their long night vigil began.

Hour after hour dragged itself by without a development, the intense silence broken only by the sounds of the engines and the wash of the sea against the ship. To the three boys, unable to see or talk to each other, and Joe and Jerry scarcely daring to move, the minutes lagged like hours, and the hours like dull, black, endless nights.

Dawn came, and with it new activities in all parts of the vessel, but without a reward for their watch, and as the two lads crawled from their places of concealment at either end of the passage, to join Slim and Lieutenant Mackinson, there were mutual feelings of disappointment, but none of weakened determination.

"What luck?" asked the captain, coming in at that moment.

"None, sir, at all," the lieutenant responded.

"Very well, then, try it again to-night," the commander ordered. "But in the meantime all of you get some sleep. You may get better results to-night, for by then we will be coming to the outer fringe of the submarine zone. I will arrange for another man to stay in the wireless room during to-day, and if an emergency arises he will call you."

So the four young men went to bed for some much-needed rest and sleep, and when they awakened it was almost time for mess—directly after which they were to take up their night watch again.

"I hardly think we will be troubled with U-boats to-night," the captain told them, "for it is perfectly clear and there will be a full moon. The sea is calm and we readily could discern a periscope a long distance away."

Truly it was a beautiful night. And it was in this alluring quiet of seemingly absolute peace that one of the tragedies of war soon was to be enacted.

The Brighton boys and their friend and superior officer, the lieutenant, had been in their appointed places hardly more than an hour when Joe and Jerry at the same instant caught the sounds of some sort of scuffle on the deck above.

It came nearer and clearer until finally, as it reached a point near to the top of the stairway under which Joe was concealed, the latter could discern the fog-horn voice of the first assistant engineer.

"G'wan with ye, now," he commanded, breathing heavily, as though from some violent physical exertion. "G'wan with ye, I say, or ye'll be findin' it mighty unhealthy fer ye. It's meself that'll be moppin' up the deck with ye if ye try to get gay once more."

The first assistant engineer was a mighty mountain of a man, but his voice broke off as the commotion started again. Certainly he must have a rough customer to deal with, thought Jerry, if he, with all his great physical strength, could not entirely quell him.

"Ye will, will ye?" hissed the voice of the engineer again. "Thry to bite me, eh?" and there was the terrible smash of a fist, and the unmistakable sound of a man falling upon the deck. "Ye dirty hound, I've a mind to boot ye into the sea."

And then there were other voices. Jerry heard the captain demanding an explanation, and the ship's doctor spoke.

"I found him tamperin' with the wires near the dynamos," the first assistant engineer was saying. "I niver liked his looks annyway, if ye'll pardon me, sir, fer sayin' it. And whin I asked him what he was about, he thried to git away. I grabbed him, and he showed fight. I guess I give 'im all he wanted, though, that last time."

"So?" said the captain, in a voice so stern it made Joe wince. "And what does this fellow do aboard the ship?"

"He's a third-class machinist, sir," the engineer replied. "But if ye'll excuse a word from me, sir, I think he's a first-class crook."

"Yes, and I believe he's worse than that," the captain added; and then, in a voice which seemed to shake the vessel: "Stand up!"

There was a strained silence for a moment. Then—

"Get Lieutenant Mackinson and those boys," the captain continued, and the ship's surgeon started down the stairway to find that Joe and Jerry already were summoning Slim and the lieutenant.

"It looks as though we'd caught the man," the doctor whispered.

As the four reached the deck where the captured man stood between the first assistant engineer and the captain, who had by this time taken out his revolver, there was a gasp of astonishment from Joe, followed by a louder "Holy smoke!" from Slim.

"Do you recognize this man?" the captain asked in a sharp tone.

"I should say I do, sir," Joe responded. "He is the man who was planting ammunition in the waters near the navy yard that night before we sailed!"

"The very same one, sir!" Slim exclaimed, with equal positiveness.

The ship's surgeon, who had followed the others upon deck, stepped closer for a better inspection of this enemy. At the same instant the prisoner, striking out with both hands, knocked the captain's revolver hand into the air, and thrust the engineer from him. Before anyone could interfere he was dashing down the deck toward the stern.

Just as he took a wild, headlong leap over the rail the captain fired. While the captain, through a speaking tube, was instructing the man in the pilot house to signal below "Reverse engines," the others rushed to the stern of the ship.

Far behind them in the foamy trail left on the moonlit water by the vessel they saw what seemed to be the head of a man bobbing up and down—and then it entirely disappeared. The ship was turned, and that portion of the sea searched, but without avail.

"Gone," said the captain in tones of very evident relief. "Well, it was death for him, one way or another, and he took his choice."

As the captain and surgeon moved away from the stern rail of the Everett, the three lads and the lieutenant still stood there, gazing far out to sea.

"The man who made me nearly freeze to death in the water," spoke Joe, as though thinking aloud.

"And pummeled my stomach until it was sore for three days," echoed Slim, in sad reminiscence.

"And made me run a mile in nothing, flat," added Jerry.

"And fought me to a knockout finish later," mused Joe.

"And nearly smothered me to death," spoke the lieutenant.

"And was finally corralled by an Irish engineer!" said Slim.

"Gone," concluded Jerry, "and no one here will mourn his departure."



CHAPTER IX

THE PERISCOPE AT DAWN

That night the boys had ample evidence that they were inside the submarine zone, where anything might happen at any minute. Not a light was permitted on any of the ships, and they traveled along in the most peculiar fashion and over the most irregular course, never going at more than half speed and not more than a mile or so without a complete change of direction.

For no apparent reason whatever the engines would slow down and entirely stop, and in that position they would remain for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes or even half an hour, and then start up again on another tack.

"I believe we've become separated from our convoy," said Slim, who had been upon deck, and now entered the wireless room where Joe and Jerry were watching Lieutenant Mackinson make some readjustments of the wireless mechanism. "The pilot doesn't seem to know the course. Say, wouldn't it be great sport if we should be lost from the others? But I wonder why the captain does not wireless them?"

"No need," Lieutenant Mackinson assured him, "for we are not lost, nor are we separated from them. Every vessel in this fleet is simply carrying out a program secretly arranged long in advance, and which was in the nature of a sealed order which the various captains did not open until this morning.

"I dare say that our convoy is as near us now as at any time during the voyage, and that it is maintaining the same position at all times, going through the exact maneuvers that the Everett is performing."

"It is to fool the submarines?" asked Joe.

"Exactly," the lieutenant replied. "Our government is taking every precaution, and no unnecessary risks. You see, there is no way of keeping absolutely secret the departure of our transports. Nor is there any assurance that the information does not go directly to the German authorities, and from them to the commanders of the submarines. Our actions are designed to prevent them from estimating our course or position.

"It was their knowledge of that fact, and their determination to learn our whereabouts in another way, which doubtless led to that spy being aboard this transport. I feel——"

Suddenly the lieutenant ceased speaking, and all four, as of one accord, sprang toward the radio instruments.

"Listen!" Lieutenant Mackinson commanded, as he jammed the headpiece over his ears.

"SOS"—the most tragic of all the calls of the sea, was coming to them as a frantic appeal sent out through the air to any and all who might hear and respond.

"SOS," the lieutenant wrote down hurriedly as the message came through space. And then:

"American—Memphis—submarine pursuing—53-1/2 lat.—17 W. lon.—running fifteen knots three points south of west."

The entire message was repeated, and then there was silence—the dense and seemingly impenetrable silence that had existed before.

Came the nearer and more powerful crackle of the radio.

"One of our destroyers is replying," Lieutenant Mackinson announced, and one by one he jotted down the words:

"Continue same direction. U. S. destroyer be with you in about two hours."

"Understand you," the return message came back a moment later. "Submarine still on stern. Has fired two shots, but both missed."

It was a thrilling moment for the boys from Brighton. Out there in the blackness of the night an American fighting craft was separating itself from the rest of the fleet to run full speed to the assistance of a helpless merchantman, and, if possible, to do battle with the enemy U-boat.

For an hour and a half they sat there, speculating as to the possible outcome.

"I'd give a month's pay to be aboard that destroyer," exclaimed Jerry enviously. "That's the sort of excitement I like. Just imagine coming up to that merchantman just in time to save her from destruction, and then having a regular battle with the submarine, and finally watching her sink, with a shell hole torn in her side!"

"Yes," added Slim, "and imagine being aboard that merchantman, with a shell hole torn in her side before the destroyer arrives!"

"It's pretty cold swimming on a night like this," said Joe. "I've tried it, and I know."

Lieutenant Mackinson, still seated before the wireless instrument, signaled them for quiet again. Another message was coming through space. It was in code, but was one that was easy for the lieutenant to translate, for he had heard it before.

"Submarine disappeared. Returning to fleet. Convoying Memphis."

"Go on deck, keep your eyes busy off the port bow, and you may see something interesting," the lieutenant told them.

Following the suggestion they went above and had stood there for perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes when suddenly the lookout in the crow's nest sang out: "Destroyer approaching, two points off the port bow."

Almost at the same instant there loomed out of the dense darkness a faint light, apparently miles away. For a moment they would see it, and then it would be gone, only to reappear again, another time to be extinguished. But obviously all the time it was coming nearer.

They noted, too, that a similar process was being enacted by the cruiser in the lead.

"What does it mean?" asked Slim.

"The destroyer is just using another sort of wireless," Joe explained. "She is blinking her identity to the fleet, and the cruiser out there is signaling recognition."

The next time the destroyer signaled she was almost abreast of them, but about two miles away to the north. Her message then could be read by all the boys. The words it spelled out, however, were a complete riddle:

"Love—sky—sand—curtain—run."

It was not for several hours that they learned that the captain of the destroyer had flashed a message that he would convoy the Memphis several miles further westward, and then rejoin the others, and that the fleet commander, in flashing back "bundle," had given his O. K., with an admonition for speed.

There being no further necessity for the spy watch which had been maintained on the previous night, the boys drew lots to determine which one should do duty until morning in the wireless room, and it fell to Joe.

But the first faint gray streaks were hardly painting the eastern sky when Jerry and Slim, unable to sleep longer, came out upon deck to take for themselves a general survey of the danger zone.

"What's that?" cried Slim suddenly, staring off over the stern of the Everett.

"Smoke!" echoed Jerry, excitedly.

"Yes, smoke from the stack of the destroyer," said Joe, who had come up behind them without being heard. "We just got her signal a moment ago."

"How far do you suppose she is away?" asked Slim.

They were speculating upon the distance between the two vessels, when Slim, speechless for the moment, pointed to what seemed to be little more than a dark speck on the water about a mile astern and to the west of them—for at that time their zig-zag course pointed them almost due north.

"Submarine approaching astern!" sang out the man in the crow's nest.

It was as though the startling message had been megaphoned to every man aboard the Everett. At the same time the cruiser of the fleet began maneuvering herself between where the periscope showed the submarine to be and the transport itself.

Almost simultaneously the U-boat came to the surface and one of the big guns on the cruiser belched forth a shell that apparently fell a short distance the other side of the submarine. The U-boat itself let loose a shot, and with such accuracy that only the sudden maneuver of the transport at that instant saved it from being hit.

By this time the decks of the Everett were crowded with the khaki-clad soldiers of Uncle Sam whom the Germans were trying to prevent from getting into the trenches by sending them to the bottom of the Atlantic.

The cruiser had headed straight for the U-boat, while the destroyer was coming up behind it with even greater speed.

For some reason that never will be known the commander of the submarine had ignored the destroyer entirely, although it was difficult to imagine that he had not seen it. The general supposition later aboard the Everett was that something had happened to his batteries and he was unable to submerge.

"Hurrah!" shouted hundreds of men on the Everett in unison as the torpedo-boat destroyer opened fire.

And the aim of her gunners was deadly! for just as the U-boat began to submerge, one of the big projectiles from the destroyer hit her squarely amidships. There was a terrific explosion, the stern of the undersea craft was lifted upward, clear of the water, she stuck her nose into the briny deep, and without another second's delay, dove to the bottom, a wreck.

As the tremendous pressure of the water crushed in her air tanks, great bubbles rose to the surface and broke, causing rippling waves to roll outward in increasingly large circles. Then a flood of oil came to the surface of the sea, and the final evidence of the tragedy was obliterated.



CHAPTER X

FRANCE AT LAST

From that moment the watch on each vessel in the fleet was redoubled, and there was constant speculation, especially among the soldiers, as to whether another submarine would be sighted, and, if so, under what circumstances.

They had now abandoned the zig-zagging course and were taking a direct route around the north of Ireland and toward the North Channel.

On the following morning two additional destroyers bore down upon them from opposite points off the bow almost simultaneously, and as they came both code-telegraphed their identity. With these extra convoys it seemed indeed unlikely that a submarine would get near them, or, if it did, would attempt to do other than make its own safe escape.

Fair Head, at the northeast corner of Ireland, gave them their first sight of land since they had left the shores of America; and for many of them this first glimpse of Erin's Isle brought with it the sentimental thrill of seeing the country where their parents had been born and spent their youth—for there was many a lad of Irish ancestry aboard the Everett.

Rounding Fair Head without mishap or contact with a submarine, the danger from that source was practically over. The convoy was reduced to a cruiser and destroyer, and thus they laid a southeasterly course to what your old-time sailor would have described as "a piping breeze."

They flanked the Isle of Man off its westward coast, and thence sped directly across the Irish Sea and into the harbor of Liverpool.

Their arrival was unannounced. It was only one of many, and a thing to which the people of that and other cities of England and France had become quite accustomed. Nevertheless they welcomed the hosts of Uncle Sam in the warmest manner, and in every possible way showed the deep sense of appreciation and feeling of increased safety with which they viewed the arrival of more and more thousands of American troops in their land, on their way to the trenches of France to help conquer the common enemy.

But there was not much time to be spent in Liverpool. Indeed, they had scarcely become accustomed to feeling their feet on solid ground again before the order to march was given, and they left the river front to go to the railroad station.

There they received a plain but substantial meal, were inspected and admired by their British cousins, and then boarded the long troop train that already awaited them.

"Take your seats, Yankees!" shouted the bearded conductor jovially, and the boys piled in.

The details of that ride through England the boys from Brighton never will forget, although it was a long and tiring trip from Liverpool all the way to Dover, on the channel which separates England from the mainland of Europe.

They crossed fair fields and beautiful streams that reminded them of their own native land, and came within view of giant ancient forests. They passed through cities and towns and again came out into the open country.

Occasionally there were stops, when the soldiers were allowed to leave the train "to give their legs a stretch." At such times they were greeted affectionately on all sides by the men and women of England.

"Hi say, Slim, old top," Jerry imitated good-naturedly as they boarded the train again after one of these delays. "Hi say, did you 'ear that 'andsome little Hinglisher out there say as 'ow 'ealthy you looked?"

"Did 'e?" asked Slim, grinning.

"'E did," answered Jerry. And then, winking to Joe. "But 'e added, old top, that 'e thought you looked a trifle 'eavy."

Only the sudden jolt of the starting train saved Jerry from the wallop that Slim directed at him; and had it landed, Jerry doubtless would have found it "a trifle 'eavy," also.

There was a general laugh from the others in the car, for all three of the boys from Brighton had become immensely popular with their companions in arms, all of whom by this time had become well accustomed to this sort of gentle fun between the red-headed Jerry and "the 'ealthy, 'eavy lad" called Slim.

When they had been riding for another hour they came upon one of those vast English concentration camps where thousands of young Britons were being trained and equipped for war.

As the train slowly, very slowly, passed around the outer edge of this camp, England saluted America, and America saluted England through their fearless young warriors. The young Britons shouted, waved flags, threw their hats into the air and sang. And the Americans, hanging from the car windows, and crowded out upon the platforms and steps, returned the demonstration with something for good measure.

From this point forward the journey constantly was punctuated by scenes and incidents significant of war. Here was an ambulance and Red Cross unit mobilizing for removal to the very heart of smoke and battle and bloodshed; there stood a row of houses whose battered roofs and tottering walls testified to a ruthless aerial night raid of the Germans.

It fired the blood of the Americans as they were reminded that these meagre evidences of Boche barbarity were as nothing compared to the deliberate and vicious ruin wrought in Belgium and northern France.

Dover at last—the channel port which marked the beginning of the last lap of their journey to France! The boys hardly could wait until the train came to a stop, to get a glimpse of the water, across which lay the scene of the bloodiest war in all history—a war in which they were to take an important part.

"They say this channel is awfully choppy," said Slim apprehensively, as they left the car. "Do you think, Jerry, that we're likely to get seasick again?"

"Don't know," responded Jerry, also somewhat dubiously, "but there's one consolation about it—it's only a short trip."

Never had the three boys from Brighton anticipated such co-ordinated efficiency in the workings of a war machine. They had expected long delays, frequent disappointments and protracted periods of training before they should reach the front-line trenches.

Instead, they experienced consistent progress, many pleasant surprises and few disappointments; and now, upon reaching Dover, they soon learned that if it was at all possible they would board a transport that same night for the French side of the channel.

From the train they were marched to a great cantonment on the edge of the city. The procession there was like a triumphant march, with throngs lined along the streets to cheer them as they passed.

For more than a year before, enemy propaganda in the United States had constantly preached that England was weary of the war. This did not look like it. The very atmosphere breathed the spirit of "carry on," of renewed determination to fight to a finish.

Amid such a spirit the Brighton boys reached the cantonment and after a hasty roll-call sat down to what they one and all pronounced a "fine feed."

They rested for several hours and then were again ordered to fall in. The march was begun to the docks, where three steamers to be used as transports were being loaded with provisions and ammunition.

Together with other American troops which had been awaiting their arrival, they went aboard the transports, but it was not till long after midnight that they were under way.

Not a light was permitted on board. Not even the officers were allowed to strike a match or to smoke. No unnecessary noises were permitted, and the whole proceeding spoke of the secrecy of war work and the danger of revealing their plans or their whereabouts to any prowling enemy.

With the dawn, scores of the men were on deck, including Joe, Jerry and Slim—and they were well within sight of land. Preparations already were being made for their landing, and a great excitement prevailed on each of the ships. Their long-held hopes were coming to fruition.

France at last!



CHAPTER XI

TAPPING THE ENEMY'S WIRE

The following morning all of those who had arrived on the transports were established in a concentration camp, but it was merely for the purpose of inspection of men and equipment, and was not to be for long. It was that same day that the three boys from Brighton were for the first time assigned to a regular unit of the Signal Corps.

Also, with a real thrill, they learned that they were almost immediately to see war service, for American troops were already in the trenches.

It was a happy circumstance for the three lads that they had had such close association with Lieutenant Mackinson, for, without question, he already had gained an enviable reputation, and when he was ordered to emergency service, and told he might choose the five men who were to be under his direction, his three assistants on the trip across were the first ones named.

The other two were Tom Rawle, a fellow proportioned like their first friend in the service, Sergeant Martin, and a wiry, energetic, quick-speaking youth named Frank Hoskins.

"We have a long trip before us," Lieutenant Mackinson informed them, "and we leave here on a special train in two hours. In a short time we will be in the thick of it."

It was joyous information for the five, and they set about their few preparations with a zest only experienced by boys knowing they have important work to do, and feeling capable of doing it well.

"How long have you been over?" Joe asked of Tom Rawle.

"Got here two weeks ago," the big fellow answered. "But I haven't had any real service yet. I was assigned once to Cambrai, but before I reached there a big drive was under way, the Germans were being pushed back, and the detachment to which I had been assigned was so far forward that my orders were changed and I was sent back here."

"Did you get within sound of the big guns?" asked Slim excitedly.

"I should say so," answered Tom Rawle. "And so will you within a few hours. Isn't that so, Hoskins?"

"Yes," answered Frank, "and when you do you'll get a new idea of the fighting qualities of the French and Americans, going shoulder to shoulder against the Boches."

"Hoskins knows," explained Rawle, "for he got nearer than I did."

"Only for a short time," Frank corrected modestly, "but they called it my 'baptism of fire.' I was out one night with an advance party. We were nearly ambushed, and had to beat a quick retreat."

"Well, tell them all about it," demanded Tom Rawle, impatient at Frank's unwillingness to talk much about himself.

"Oh, they fired on us from a distance of about a hundred yards," the other lad admitted, "and it was a surprise party for fair, I can tell you. When bullets begin singing around your head for the first time, and especially when they come without any warning from the enemy, or any expectation on your part, it does give you rather a peculiar sort of feeling.

"They got one of the fellows in our party with a bullet in the arm, then we all dropped on our stomachs and wriggled our way back into our own lines without any further damage. But we did some rapid wriggling, you can bet. There wasn't any time wasted by any of us, and inasmuch as we were apparently outnumbered, we did not fire back, for fear of giving them an exact range of our whereabouts.

"After that I was sent back along the rear lines on an inspection trip which brought me all the way to this point, where I was held for the formation of this unit."

"Say, that must be thrilling—to be a member of an advance party like that," said Jerry, his enthusiasm as fiery as his hair. "I wonder if we'll get any work like that?"

"You sure will," responded Rawle, "and plenty of it. You needn't worry on that score."

At that moment Lieutenant Mackinson arrived to inquire if all their preparations had been made, and if they were ready to board the special.

"All ready," they answered, and the lieutenant led the way to the train.

They found several others already aboard, who were to make at least a part of the trip with them. There were half a dozen men who had been slightly wounded in the trenches, and now, completely well, were returning to their regiments. Also, there was a wire company of the Signal Corps, which was going to join another American unit.

For the first three or four hours of the trip the lads, even including Hoskins and Rawle, found the returning young veterans the center of all interest, and from them they heard many serious and amusing stories, many true tales of the attack and retreat, of shot and shell and shrapnel and the hand grenade and the poisonous gas bombs thrown by the Boches.

And then, one by one, the soldiers of Uncle Sam dropped off into long and restful slumber—slumber that was to fit them for hard and difficult duties ahead.

"This is where we get off," finally announced Lieutenant Mackinson, shaking the lads into wakefulness. "We leave the train here and travel the balance of the distance by automobile."

Never had the boys seen such a powerful looking car as that to which an orderly led them. Without the waste of a moment they climbed in—Lieutenant Mackinson, our three friends, young Hoskins and the towering Rawle. In another instant they were speeding across the country with the break of dawn.

But their trip now was far different from the one they had had across England. Where, in that country, they had seen big concentration camps, and men preparing for war, with an occasional evidence of war's effects in a building wrecked by a night air raid, here, in the eastern part of France, they came upon actual war in all its fateful progress, with whole towns demolished, forests and orchards blotted out—stark ruin written over the face of the earth.

With a clear right-of-way, their high-power machine swept past ammunition and food trains—long strings of powerful motor trucks driving toward the scene of action. They came upon towns and villages in that area known as "behind the lines," where French, American, Belgian and British soldiers were recuperating after hard days and nights in the front-line trenches.

By this time they were well within sound of the heavy guns, and their driver told them that the artillery duel then going on had been in progress for forty-eight hours at least.

"Sometimes it lasts for a week or more, you know," he said, "in preparation for a great infantry advance. But I understand that this time they expect to go forward before the end of to-day."

"Which, means," added Lieutenant Mackinson, "that we probably will get a chance to get right into the thick of it."

On and on they went, and nearer and nearer to the scene of actual battle they came. They passed the third-line trenches, and now, in places, they seemed to be in a straight line with some of the concealed artillery that was pounding away at the enemy in terrible detonations that shook and rocked the ground every minute.

At the second-line trenches their orders called for a halt. They did not have to be told that there was "something doing." The road, so far as the eye could reach backward over the route they had traveled, was a constantly moving line of motor trucks, coming forward with men and shells, while out ahead of them, tremendous and menacing, big tanks—the biggest things the boys ever had seen propelled on wheels or tractors—were pursuing their uneven course toward the front, in preparation for a new kind of assault.

"They look like miniature battleships on land, don't they?" exclaimed Slim.

The others agreed that it was about the best description that could be given of these massive fighting machines, equipped with guns and men, that could travel with their own power practically anywhere, across shell holes, over trenches, through barbed wire—the most human piece of war mechanism that had yet made its appearance on the battlefield.

Summons to a long-delayed meal gave a welcome interruption to their guesses as to just what their first duties would be, and they had scarcely finished their substantial rations of food when an orderly informed Lieutenant Mackinson that he was to report at once to the field headquarters.

"Await me here," he said to the five men under his immediate command. "I probably will be only a short time."

And, indeed, it seemed to them that he had hardly time to reach the headquarters when he was seen returning hurriedly. He gave some hasty instructions to the chauffeur, and the latter immediately began a quick examination of his engine and tires, which promised another early move.

"We go forward as far as we can by automobile again," the lieutenant informed them, "and after dark to-night we are to establish an outlying communication from the farthest skirmish points to headquarters."

Almost as he finished the sentence, they were started, but now their progress frequently was impeded, and occasionally a shell broke so close to them as to jar the machine from its course.

None of the men in the rear seats of that car were cowards, but, aside from Hoskins, it was their first experience under actual fire, and they marveled at the coolness of the driver, who seemed not to mind at all the dangerous quarters they were in.

When they climbed out of the machine, half an hour later, Joe remarked upon it in tones of open admiration.

"It's nothing," the youthful chauffeur replied. "You'll get used to it, too."

As he turned the automobile and started backward, Slim suddenly remembered that they hadn't even heard his name.

"Don't know it," said Hoskins, "but he was wounded twice in the trenches, I heard while we were waiting for the lieutenant. That's why he's driving a car now. He has seen enough service to know that nervousness doesn't help."

They had been directed to the quarters of Major Jones, in charge of the Signal Corps men in that section, and it was with considerable surprise that the boys learned, upon arriving there, that they were to accompany the lieutenant into the superior officer's presence for instructions.

He was a man, they found, about forty years old, already grizzled and hardened by his field experience. And he knew how to convey orders and transact business without a moment's delay.

"You are to follow the red-ink lines on this map," he told Lieutenant Mackinson, as they all leaned over his desk to follow the tracing of his pencil, with which he showed them the course they were to take.

"When you have reached this point"—indicating a heavy spot about midway of the map—"you will seek a suitable location from which to establish communications. You will determine whether it can be done by wireless. As soon as you can do so, report what progress you have made. Use every caution, for you will be in the country occupied by the enemy. You should leave here about seven o'clock this evening. It is now six."

Fifteen minutes later they had examined their arms and equipped themselves with a full supply of small-arms ammunition, portable wireless instrument and antennae, and three rations each of eating chocolate.

The latter article is dispensed to every soldier in the American armies just prior to an engagement in which he may become separated from his unit or companions, and, if wounded, might otherwise starve to death.

The remaining three-quarters of an hour they spent in close study of the map that Major Jones had given them, and promptly at seven o'clock they started upon the dangerous mission.

With nightfall the big cannonading had noticeably shut down, but to the south of them artillery firing still could be heard distinctly. It was a black night and they proceeded with the greatest caution.

They did not dare use the flashlights that each of them carried, and frequently all of them would have to drop suddenly flat upon the ground as a big rocket went up from either side, lighting the whole section for trace of skirmishing parties.

In this way they went forward, yard by yard, until they reached a thick clump of trees. There, after listening intently for several minutes without hearing a dangerous sound, they spread out their coats, tent-like, while Lieutenant Mackinson, with gingerly flashes of his light, examined the map again, to make certain of their location.

They had hardly progressed a hundred feet further when the unlucky Slim tripped and went sprawling on the ground with a pained but suppressed grunt.

"Sh-h-h-h!" warned Lieutenant Mackinson in a whisper, while Tom Rawle, quietly chuckling at the fat lad's misfortune, aided him to his feet.

"Down flat!" said Mackinson again, as he discerned several shadows moving across a space a considerable distance to the north of them.

For fully ten minutes, which seemed like an hour, they lay there, not daring to move. They watched the enemy scouting party get a like scare, and then, after what seemed to be a whispered consultation, turn back to the German lines.

"What did you fall over?" the lieutenant finally asked of Slim, in a scarcely audible tone.

"I just found it," replied Slim. "It's a wire. Here, let me have your hand." And he guided the lieutenant's fingers to that which had been the cause of his downfall.

"Copper!" exclaimed the lieutenant. "Hoskins, let me have that kit."

And without the aid of a light he extracted from the leather case which Hoskins gave him a very small telegraph instrument. The instant it was attached to the wire the receiver began to tick irregularly.

Neither Rawle nor Hoskins understood German, but to the others they were words easy to translate.

They had accidentally struck an enemy wire and had tapped it! That part of the message which they had intercepted read:

"—lead enemy to believe whole attack centered from your position, but main assault will be a flank move around Hill 20"

At that instant a fusillade of bullets cut the ground all about them, and the six men suddenly realized that they were under a pitiless and well-directed machine-gun fire.



CHAPTER XII

THE S O S WITH PISTOL SHOTS

To move from the position they were in was impossible. All that they could do, imprisoned there as they were within a steel and leaden wall of rapidly falling machine-gun bullets, was to hope that the gunners would not change their aim, even by the fraction of a point, and that neither side would send up a torch rocket to divulge their exact whereabouts and bring sudden death or mortal injury to them all.

They knew now that they had been discovered by the enemy scouting party which they had observed a short time before—as they thought, without the others knowing of their presence there in "No Man's Land."

They also realized now, when it was too late, that the Germans had returned to their own lines, after that brief consultation, in order to procure the machine-gun with which to wipe them out.

And through it all they dared not return the fire, could not even utter a word to each other without fear of giving the enemy a closer range upon them.

It was a terrible three minutes for that isolated little group of Americans, for bullets were striking all around them, the nearest not more than ten feet away, and there was every possibility that another detachment might be flanking them, to cut them off later in their retreat, in case the machine-gun did not effectively do its deadly work.

There was but one desperate course open to them, and that Lieutenant Mackinson ordered at the instant the firing ceased.

"Run!" he ordered, in a shrill whisper. "Run straight toward our own lines for about a quarter of a mile and then detour to the south."

And off they started, each with all the speed he had in him. The renewal of the machine-gun fire compelled them to take a zig-zag course, however, and in this way for the first five minutes they all kept together.

Then Tom Rawle, who, with the lieutenant, had been a little in the lead, gradually dropped back until he was abreast of Joe and Jerry, who were running together, and then behind them, reaching Frank Hoskins and Slim, who were bringing up a loudly puffing rear.

Finally, as they began to pass him, too, and his lagging pace became noticeable, he urged them ahead and told them not to mind him.

"I got one of those bullets in the hip," Rawle told them, to the surprise of all, for up to that moment he hadn't uttered a sound. "It cuts down my speed, but it's nothing serious, I guess. You keep right on and I'll follow as rapidly as I can."

"I'm almost winded myself," said Slim. "I'll stick with Tom; you fellows keep right on. We'll join you in a few minutes after you stop. Joe, I'll give that 'whip-poor-will' call if we can't locate you. At any rate, we know our way back to the American lines."

"Not so loud," warned Lieutenant Mackinson, as he slowed down. "I guess you are right," he continued. "You stay along with Rawle, but the two of you try to follow as quickly as possible, so that we can get Tom back to the lines for medical attention. It is necessary that I have the others with me, though, for we must not only accomplish our mission, but also give the commander that intercepted German message."

And so the little group parted, there in the blackness of night "somewhere in France," the lieutenant, Hoskins, Joe and Jerry to forge ahead as rapidly as they could in a detour that would again take them back into the enemy territory, but in another place, while Slim and the wounded Rawle came along at a slower pace.

The latter had been wounded more seriously than he knew, though, and he had not gone more than three hundred yards further before the loss of blood had so weakened him that he had to stop running and hobble along in a painful, limping gait, leaning heavily upon Slim's shoulder.

"Guess I'll have to quit," he said, a little later on. "Can't go much further." And even as he spoke he sank to the ground.

While Tom Rawle assured him that it "wasn't much of a wound," Slim, who was doing the best he could to stop the flow of blood with his handkerchief, knew that it was a bad injury, indeed, unless it was given early attention.

"I'll try to get one of the others to return," he said, "and then we can send to our lines for a stretcher to get you in."

"Nonsense," said Rawle, "I can walk; I'll show you."

But it was a pitiful effort, and unsuccessful, and Tom himself had to admit that he "guessed he was out of business" for a little while.

Thereupon Slim puckered up his lips and imitated the low but far-carrying call of the whip-poor-will—the call that he and Joe and Jerry had used so much to summon each other at Brighton.

He remained silent for a moment listening, but there was no answer except the distant rumble of the heavy artillery fire. He repeated the call several times. Here and there to the north of them occasional rockets went up from either line, but their brief light divulged nothing in the way of encouragement.

"It's not doing you any good to sit here without attention," said Slim at last. "Here is your revolver right alongside you. I will be back within half an hour. I am going to scout around for help."

"But don't take any chances for me," Tom Rawle warned him. "I guess I could crawl back to camp, at that."

"No, you couldn't," Slim declared, "and mind you don't try it. I'll be back for you in a very short time."

He disappeared in the direction that the rest of the party had taken, leaving Rawle there to await his return. Half an hour later he managed to find the spot again, but without the aid he had gone to get. Not a trace of the others had he been able to find.

But that was not the worst of it. Tom Rawle, helpless for all his big body and physical strength, lay stretched out upon the ground unconscious, a pool of blood by his side!

Slim put his water flask to the wounded man's lips and tried to rouse him, but without avail.

"Whip-poor-will-l-l," whistled Slim. "Whip-poor-will-l-l." But the sound was lost somewhere in the denseness of the night, and there was not even an echo for response.

Slim was growing desperate. At any time they might be discovered by an enemy scouting party, and then they would either be bullets' victims or prisoners of war. Yet he knew that he could not hope to carry Tom Rawle back to the American lines. Rawle's dead weight would have been a difficult burden for a man of twice Slim's strength, and he knew it.

What should he do? Unnecessary delay might cost the other man's life. Already his wound had caused him to lose consciousness.

As he turned the thing over in his mind there came faintly, ever so faintly, to him from far, far to the south, as though but a breath of wind, the familiar "Whip-poor-will."

"Whip-poor-will-l-l," shrilled back Slim.

He waited, but there was no answer. It was as though a whip-poor-will itself was mocking his plight.

"Whip-poor-will-l-l," Slim whistled again, and thrice, but each time there was nothing but the grim silence for reply.

"Tom," he whispered into Rawle's ear, gently shaking the wounded man. "Tom, can you get up? I'll help you back. We can make it somehow together."

But here again only the weak breathing of his comrade testified to their plight.

"Better to take the one chance that's left us," muttered Slim to himself, as he pulled Rawle's revolver from under him, to make sure that it was fully loaded. "Yes," he continued, "it's better to risk discovery than this fellow's life."

He took his own automatic from its holster and carefully examined it also.

Then, with a revolver in either hand, pointing them into the air and with fourteen shots at his disposal, he began firing.

Bang-Bang-Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang-Bang-Bang!

The shots rang out on the night air like a series of interrupted explosions. But to the trained ears of the other men of the party—Lieutenant Mackinson, Joe, Jerry and Frank Hoskins—two miles away, they carried their call for help.

It was the S O S of the international code, but in a new sort of wireless—by pistol shots!

Trembling for the results that his desperate action might bring upon them, Slim waited, bending now and then over the unconscious form of Tom Rawle.

But in fifteen more minutes his inventive genius was rewarded. From a considerable distance, but each time more distinctly, now came the repeated call of "Whip-poor-will," and in less time than it seemed possible that they could make it, the other group had returned.

In low commands the lieutenant then directed affairs, and in exactly the way that he had been carried out of the hold of the Everett on the verge of suffocation, so they carried poor Tom Rawle back to their own lines.

And when he had been placed upon a cot in the first emergency hospital, Lieutenant Mackinson hurried off to make his report, in the honor of which all shared.

For not only had they found a location from which to wireless advance-line communications to field headquarters, but they had also intercepted a message, knowledge of which resulted in a quick change of plans by which the Americans were able to beat the enemy at his own game on the morrow.

"Rawle was suffering more from loss of blood than from any seriousness of the injury itself," the surgeon told them when they asked there of their friend's condition, on their way to their own quarters. "He will be around all right again in a week's time."

And so, much desperate work accomplished on their first night within the firing lines, the lads threw themselves upon their cots to dream of spies and captured Germans and injured soldiers and calls for help by new methods in wireless.



CHAPTER XIII

THE CAVE OF DEATH

It is one of the fortunes, or misfortunes, of war that a position gained one day, even at great human sacrifice, may be of no real or practical value whatever the next. So it was with the advance post of communication located by Lieutenant Mackinson and his party under such dangerous conditions during the night before.

The information which they had gained through tapping the enemy's wire enabled the American and French troops, operating together, to prevent the German trick from being carried into effect. More than that, it enabled them to turn the knowledge of those plans to such good advantage that the allied brigades swept forward in terrible force against the weakest points in the enemy line. They pushed the whole Boche front back for more than a mile—at the very point where it had been considered strongest!

As a consequence, the point of communication which the lieutenant and his aides had established with so much difficulty was now well within the territory held by the American and French fighters. The requirements for a further advance now made it necessary to have another outpost point of communication as near to the enemy trenches as the first one was before the day's battle put the Allies a mile further forward.

And so, except for Tom Rawle, who was resting easy from his hip wound, the same party started out at the same tune for the same purpose on this second night, but with a very much sharpened realization of the obstacles they had to overcome and the chances they faced of being wounded or captured.

"We take an entirely different direction," Lieutenant Mackinson told them, as he looked up from the map he had been studying. "We go to the north and east and as close to the observation trenches as possible."

Now the danger of this can readily be seen from considering what an observation trench is. The front-line trenches of the opposing armies, of course, run in two practically parallel lines. But an observation trench runs almost at right angles with the front-line trenches, and directly toward the enemy trench, so far as it is possible to extend it. The extreme ends of these observation trenches are known as "listening posts," and often they are so close to the enemy lines that the men in the opposing army can be heard talking.

Lieutenant Mackinson and his aides, Joe, Jerry, Slim and Frank Hoskins, were to get their signaling location as near to an enemy listening post as possible! In other words, they were to court discovery in an effort to get just a few feet nearer the enemy than they otherwise would.

They went along much as they had on the preceding night, except, had there been light enough, it might have been noticed that Slim, in his walking, pushed his feet forward cautiously, and then in stepping lifted them high from the ground.

But as luck would have it they had not gone more than two hundred yards when a bullet whizzed within two feet of Jerry's head, followed by a shower of missiles that were directed entirely too close to them for comfort.

Instantly they dropped flat on the ground. In the distance ahead of them they could see three shadows stealthily crawling along toward them.

"Pick your men!" Lieutenant Mackinson ordered, in a whisper. "Fire!"

Their automatics let out a fusillade of bullets. Two of the shadows jumped slightly into the air, and then rolled over. The third man rose and started to run toward the enemy line. Frank Hoskins took deliberate aim and fired. The man dropped and lay still.

"Looks as though we got them," said Lieutenant Mackinson, "but they may be only pretending. Do not move for a few minutes."

While they were thus waiting, the enemy trenches sent up a glaring rocket. It fell shorthand failed to reveal them, but it plainly showed three German soldiers lying prone upon the ground, all of them apparently instantly killed.

"That's the part of it I don't like," muttered Slim with a shudder. "It isn't so bad when you are firing into a whole company or regiment and see men fall. At least, it doesn't seem so bad, for you don't know just which ones you hit and which ones some one else bowled over. But in this individual close-range stuff it leaves a nasty feeling."

"You are right," whispered Frank Hoskins, "but you'd better not talk any more about it now or some Boche may try the same close-range stuff on us."

Warned to silence by the lieutenant, they continued to creep along, only a foot or so at a time, stopping every few minutes to listen intently to see if their presence had been discovered.

On the night before they had been upon fairly level ground, but this night they were in a section that was all hills and hummocks and hollows. They would creep cautiously up the side of one mound, not knowing but that on the other side lay a group of Germans, perhaps out upon a similar mission.

For no one can tell what may happen in No Man's Land—that section belonging to neither side, before and between the front-line trenches of the opposing armies.

"With that star as my guide, I am certain that we have not turned from the proper direction," Lieutenant Mackinson whispered, as they came to a halt in a secluded spot that seemed as safe from attack as from observation. "We have passed the fifth hill. Fifteen more minutes should bring us to the place which Major Jones indicated on the map. It is a sort of natural trench. If we reach it all right we are to string a wire from there to our first observation trench to the northwest of it. I believe that the same place has been used for the same purpose before, during the long time that all this has been contested ground. An outpost there can observe and report every activity of the enemy in daylight, without himself being seen."

They began again to creep forward, now flat upon their stomachs, and only raising themselves from the ground a little way, but at infrequent intervals, in order to make sure of their position and that they were not being watched.

"Listen!" hissed Frank Hoskins, who was a little to the left of where the others were snaking their way along.

They all stopped moving, almost stopped breathing.

"What was it?" Lieutenant Mackinson barely breathed, after several minutes of silence.

Hoskins crawled nearer before he spoke.

"How near are we, Lieutenant?" he asked:

"I should say about a hundred yards."

"Look straight ahead of us when the next rocket goes up," Hoskins suggested.

They had not long to wait for one of the great sky torches to come sailing over the side of the German trench, but from a considerable distance ahead of them.

"Did you notice anything?" Hoskins asked.

"I didn't," whispered the lieutenant. "Did you?"

"I thought I saw half a dozen men," said Joe.

"We'll wait, then, and see," said Lieutenant Mackinson.

In a moment another rocket went up, this time from the American-French side, and it clearly showed what Joe and Frank both had seen.

Six, perhaps seven or eight, men were crawling along, headed toward them.

"They are making for the same place," said Jerry.

"Exactly," replied the lieutenant. "It means that we have got to fight for it. We will have some advantage if we can beat them to the protection of the base of that hummock."

As rapidly as possible they started forward. Lying out flat, they would draw their feet upward and toward them, rising slightly and going forward upon their arms. This action, which put them ahead a few inches every time, they repeated times without number. But it was slow progress at best, and made slower by the interruptions of the rockets.

"We are almost there," Lieutenant Mackinson whispered, "but I think we have been discovered. Lie flat and don't make a move. By keeping my head in the position I have it I can watch that other group. If we have been seen it means a running fight to the mouth of that trench or cave."

Another rocket cut a glaring path across the sky. Again it was from the American-French side and illumined the black shadows strewn along the ground like little clumps of low-growing bushes.

"Ah!" exclaimed the lieutenant suddenly, and then, in the same breath: "Up and at 'em, boys!"

Before the others had an opportunity to realize what had happened, Mackinson was dashing at top speed toward the indicated trench or cave, firing as he went.

As they followed suit, but more careful in their shooting, for fear of hitting him, they realized that the men in the enemy group were doing the same thing—running as fast as they could for the same position.

"Drop!" ordered the lieutenant, and they did so, but it was as if he had issued the order for both sides, for the others were not a second later in seeking the security of the ground.

"Either side may begin playing machine-guns on us at any moment," the young officer whispered, between gasps for breath. "Forward as quickly as possible, and continue firing."

How they ever escaped the enemy bullets as long as they did none of them ever knew, but the men of the other side were just as doggedly determined, and no less courageous, even if three of their number already lay stretched out motionless and useless upon the ground.

And so the battle waged, until both groups were no more than fifty feet away from the mouth of the natural trench. Each moment brought them closer together, with the even more vigorous popping of their guns, for by now it was virtually a hand-to-hand battle.

Only four men now remained upon the side of the Germans, and, so far as numbers were concerned, the Americans seemed to have the advantage by one. But the score was evened an instant later, when one of the Boches "winged" Frank Hoskins, and his right arm fell useless at his side.

But Lieutenant Mackinson squared accounts for Hoskins by putting another German completely out of commission. A prompt return compliment knocked Jerry's revolver out of his hand. At this juncture Slim played a heroic part by laying low another German.

Seeing themselves now outnumbered almost two to one—for apparently they did not know that they had injured Hoskins—the two remaining Boches took one final, despairing survey of the situation, then turned and started on a dead run for their own lines.

Lieutenant Mackinson leveled his revolver at them, held it in that position for a moment, and then—perhaps it was an accident—seemed to elevate it slightly in the air and fired. Certainly neither German was hurt by the bullet, although it did seem to add a little to their haste.

"The position is ours," announced the lieutenant exultantly, and then, suddenly remembering that Frank Hoskins had been hit and that Jerry had dropped his gun, he inquired: "Hurt badly, Frank? And how about you, Jerry?"

"Nothing but a scratch," said Frank. "Took me right on the 'crazy bone' and made me jump for a minute, but it's hardly bleeding now."

"Only hit my gun," announced Jerry, "and I recovered that."

There was no time for further conversation. The Germans had reached their own lines, and a machine-gun was being trained upon the Americans. They rushed headlong to the north side of the little mound, and into the opening of a natural cave.

The earthwork made them as solidly entrenched as though they were behind their own lines, and only heavy shells could dislodge them. But they had work to do, and the nature of it required that they do it quickly.

The entrance faced almost directly north and into No Man's Land, so that the light of an electric flash, such as they all carried, hardly could attract the attention of either side.

"Joe," said the lieutenant, sizing up the situation, "it is not safe to leave the enemy unwatched for a single second. I think it would be well for you to stay on duty outside, while the rest of us rig up the instrument and begin to unspool the wire. Hoskins, you're hurt, so you stay here with Joe. But both of you be mighty careful not to expose yourselves where you'll stop a German bullet."

With Lieutenant Mackinson leading, Jerry just behind him and Slim bringing up the rear, they crossed the five feet of narrow passageway back into the natural dungeon.

The lieutenant switched on his light. Involuntarily and with a startled gesture he stepped back.

"Jumping Jupiter!" exclaimed Jerry, "what's that?"

Slim, peering ahead of the other two, ejaculated something between a shriek and a groan.

Strewn about the ground of that cave, in every conceivable position of misery and torture, were the bodies of half a dozen dead men, all Germans.

The lieutenant's hand that held the light trembled slightly as he stared at the ghastly scene before him, but he was grit and courage right through to the heart.

"This is bad business," he said, "but we are under orders and we must go through with it. We cannot move the bodies out to-night."

He stepped further into the dark hole, and the other two lads followed.

Suddenly from behind them there was a grumbling, roaring crash, pierced by a cry of warning from Joe, outside.

The three whirled around, and for a moment no one could utter a word.

The mouth of the dungeon had completely caved in!

"Trapped!" gasped Jerry, who was the first to find his voice.

Even the lieutenant seemed dazed.

"Trapped," echoed Slim, "in the cave of death."



CHAPTER XIV

DESPERATE MEASURES

Never did three young men face a more terrible or more horribly gruesome situation. Here they were, locked in a natural dungeon behind a wall of dirt and rock probably four or five feet thick. Not only that, but the cave already contained the bodies of six men whose fixed and glassy eyes stared at them as though in mockery and warning, and the already foul air was becoming more stifling every moment.

In a dull way they realized that they probably could not survive more than two or three maddening hours in that death chamber.

"It may not be so bad as it seems," said Lieutenant Mackinson in a voice that seemed unnatural in that vault. "Perhaps it was only a slight cave-in."

He flashed his light about the hole. It was difficult to tell where the opening had been.

"Joe and Frank Hoskins!" cried Jerry, a new terror in his voice. "I heard Joe shriek!"

Slim, catching his meaning, snatched a rifle from beside one of the bodies, and with the butt of it began pounding frantically upon the side of the cave where the entrance had been.

There was no answering knock.

"Joe," shouted Jerry in a frenzied tone. "Joe! Can you hear me?"

No answer came, either from Joe or Frank.

"Pinned under tons of that stuff," gasped Slim, the words trembling upon his lips and a tear trickling down his cheek.

"I do not think so," the lieutenant assured them. "Both Joe and Frank were upon the outside when we entered."

"But they would try to get us out," said Jerry. "If they were out there they would give us some sort of signal that they were trying to help us."

"We might not be able to hear them," answered the lieutenant, even against his own judgment. "But look at it this way. Even though they never were inside here, they had a fair idea of what the place was like. They knew from that that we needed help, and needed it quickly. If one went alone, and anything happened to him on the way, the other might wait here indefinitely, not knowing whether he had got assistance or not. By going together they took the safest course."

And Lieutenant Mackinson's reasoning was correct. That was exactly the way Joe and Frank had figured it out, and, the latter forgetting all about his own wound, they had started as fast as they could for the American front.

"Keep cool, conserve your energy, and I feel certain everything will be all right," the lieutenant told the two friends with whom, in such a short time, he already had gone through so many harrowing experiences.

At that very same moment, a quarter of a mile away, Joe brought his companion to a halt, took out his flashlight, and, facing the American line, began making and breaking the connection in a way to give a number of short, even flashes.

Presently a light appeared, was extinguished and appeared again, at the edge of the American-French lines.

Joe had resorted to another sort of wireless—the "blinker"—and, not knowing the call signal for the station he was nearest, had given the prescribed call in such a case, a series of short flashes, or dots. The station had acknowledged, and he began sending his message out of the little battery in his hand:

"Americans. Three of party caught in cave-in. Need help."

And the answer was flashed back in the same code:

"Approach. Keep light on. Countersign."

Following these instructions, with Joe in the lead with the flashlight held out in front of him, they dashed on to the trenches. They gasped out the countersign, and were escorted by a sentry to the quarters of the officer of that particular section.

In a few words they told him what had happened.

Without an instant's delay the latter, a colonel of artillery, reached for his telephone.

"Ask Captain Hallowell to come here immediately," he said, and severed the connection.

He seemed already to have decided upon some sort of a plan, and his decisive manner gave the two lads a feeling of confidence in him. He reached into a drawer of his desk and drew out a large map. He ran his fingers across it and then came to a stop at a little black dot which appeared just in the angle of two converging red lines.

"Is that it?" he asked, turning to Jerry and Frank.

They examined the map carefully for a moment and then told him that it was.

Just then Captain Hallowell entered. His boots were spattered with mud, his face was grimy, and his eyes were bloodshot, indicating that he had been for many hours without sleep.

"Captain," said the colonel bluntly, "these young men are of the Signal Corps, as you you can see. They were detailed to-night to establish an outpost wire communication to Hill No. 8. You know it?"

"Very well, sir," the captain replied, his interest increasing.

"Well," continued the colonel, "they got there all right. But the other three in the party had hardly entered that hole when the entrance caved in."

"Great Scott!" ejaculated the captain. "I know that cavern. They can't last there long."

"Exactly," affirmed the colonel. "What is your suggestion?"

For a full moment Captain Hallowell was silent. "There is only one way," he said finally, "and that is a dangerous way. Blast them out."

"Blast them out?" repeated the colonel, but apparently without surprise. "How?"

"It would take too long to dig them out," Captain Hallowell answered. "And, besides, that could hardly be done without some sort of light, and that would attract enemy fire. There is but one chance, and that is to blast them out with one of our big guns!"

"Can you do it?" the colonel demanded again, in his blunt, insistent way.

"I will do my utmost to save them, sir," Captain Hallowell replied.

"Very well, then," answered his superior officer. "If you feel certain that is the only way, go ahead. Personally, knowing the place as I do, I see no other method myself. Have you the range?"

"I did have, sir," said Captain Hallowell, "but in such a delicate matter as this it would be necessary to be absolutely accurate. We have been firing practically all day, and the position of the guns changes slightly, of course. I would want to find a new and exact range."

He had noticed Frank's limp arm, and he turned to Joe.

"Take this flashlight," he ordered. "It is more powerful than yours. Get back there as quickly as you can, and follow to the letter these directions: Keep between us and that hill until you get to it. Stay on this side of the hill and crawl around toward the entrance until you get to a point where you can place this light, facing us, two feet above the ground and one foot in from the outer surface extremity. Leave it there until you see three quick successive rockets go straight up in the air from here. After that I will give you three minutes in which to get back to a place of safety. I'll put that flashlight out of business, and I think I can liberate your friends."

"Is your injury a serious one?" the colonel demanded of Frank.

"Very slight, sir. Only a flesh wound," Frank responded eagerly.

"Then take this light," the colonel ordered, "and follow him at a distance of a hundred yards. If anything should happen to your friend, you follow the directions you have just heard."

"Yes, sir," the lads responded in unison, and, with a hasty salute, were off.

Three times did Joe drop to the ground, as a shadow seemed to move somewhere out in the distance before him. But each time he was up and off again almost upon the instant, thinking of his own safety only as that of his three friends depended upon it.

And what of those inside?

Even the courageous Lieutenant Mackinson was beginning to show the anxiety he felt, while Jerry and Slim, despite their bravest efforts, gave way to occasional expressions of the horror of the thing.

They had pounded upon the walls until they had been overcome with despair, and then they had set to work digging with the only instruments at hand—the bayonets on the German rifles.

But soon they realized that this, too, was as hopeless as the pounding, for it further exhausted the energy which the foul air was rapidly sapping, without making any apparent opening in the thick earthen wall that surrounded them.

"Well," said Slim at last, gulping back his nausea, and smiling almost in his old time way, "I'm as anxious as anybody to keep up hope to the last. But if this is to be our end, I guess we can face it as Americans should."

"Bravo!" exclaimed Lieutenant Mackinson, "I always knew that each one of you fellows had the right sort of stuff in you."

And Jerry, too, slapped him affectionately on the back.

"Slim," he said, smiling over at his chum, and ready for his pun, even under such circumstances, "my head is feeling a 'trifle heavy,' but I'm game to stand up to the last."

Thus they sat down to wait—for just what, they did not know—while at that very moment, four feet away from them on the other side of the wall, faithful Joe was setting up the flashlight exactly according to directions.

For a few seconds he waited, and then, three times in quick succession, a rocket went into the air from just behind the American lines.

Over there Captain Hallowell himself found the range, submitted it to his most expert gunner, who verified it, and then they waited for the three minutes to elapse, during which Joe was to seek a place of safety.

It was in that interval, too, that Fate intervened for those within the cave, for they were sitting with their backs to the very point against which the shell was to be directed.

"We need all our strength," Lieutenant Mackinson was saying. "So long as possible we want to remain in full possession of our senses. The air is purer near the floor. I think it would be better to lie down."

And following his suggestion and example, the other two stretched themselves out in the middle of the cavern.

Within the American lines, at that point where a regiment of heavy artillery was stationed, Captain Hallowell raised his hand in signal to his gunner. Out on the parapet of the front trench an anxious colonel was standing, regardless of all danger, a pair of powerful glasses to his eyes. His vision was focused upon a little light far out in No Man's Land.

Two hundred feet away from that light Joe and Frank Hoskins lay prone upon the ground, silent, impatient, fearful, hoping.

With a quick motion the artillery captain swung his outstretched arm downward. There was a roar, a flash, and a great shell tore through the air. Out in No Man's Land there was a second explosion as the shell hit, and the target—a flashlight—was blown to atoms.

Over in the German trenches a sentinel chuckled at the thought of another wasted American shell, but out of the hole that that shell had torn three pale, haggard, and exhausted youths were crawling to safety and God's fresh air. And across No Man's Land dashed two pals to greet them.

American determination and American marksmanship had saved three American lives. The German sentinel might have his laugh if he liked.

It was hours later before the three who had been imprisoned learned how their rescue had been effected; but they got an inkling of it as they came within four hundred yards of the American-French front.

"What are you doing?" Lieutenant Mackinson had asked, as Joe brought the party to a stop.

"Just a moment and you will see," Joe had responded.

And, first in wonder and then with a dawning understanding, the other three read off his flashed message:

"Signal Corps men, and whole party safe."



CHAPTER XV

THE SURPRISE ATTACK—PROMOTION

During the week that followed, the lads were confined almost entirely to regular routine work, with nothing particularly exciting. Frank Hoskins' elbow wound healed quickly, without any serious results; and Tom Rawle, who had been under treatment at the field hospital, was able to get about the camp, although still pale and weak, and limping considerably from his injury.

But on the eighth day a veritable fury launched itself upon that section of the American-French front, in the shape of seemingly endless brigades of Boches that were hurled "over the top" of their own breastworks, across No Man's Land, and upon the first-line trenches of the Allies.

For several days the American and French aviators had been reporting heavy German formations in that region, evidently with the design of a terrific assault, but the allied commanders had not expected it so soon, and in truth they were not fully prepared for it.

It was a surprise attack in every sense of the word, with all the terrible carnage that such a battle brings.

Shortly before midnight of the preceding night a terrible bombardment had been directed against the American-French trenches, and their hidden artillery to the rear of them. This was kept up for about seven hours, and the duel of heavy guns shook the earth like a quake and was deafening.

Then, just as dawn was breaking, the infantry onslaught, participated in at some points by detachments of cavalry, began.

For three hours the Americans and the French fought stubbornly and with every ounce of strength and determination. Whole regiments and even brigades were wiped out on both sides, but the Boches, who had prepared every detail of the assault for weeks, were readier than their opponents and filled the gaps in their lines more quickly.

By noon it became apparent that the sacrifice of lives was becoming too great to warrant the Allies trying to hold their first-line trenches much longer, and that they must give them up, at least until they could re-mobilize their forces for a counter-attack.

The order was therefore given for those in the rear, including food and ammunition trains, field hospitals, etc., to fall back, in order to make way for the strategic retreat of those on the front when the moment for that retreat came.

Everything moved like clockwork, and with the greatest possible speed. And throughout it all men on both sides were shooting, shouting, shrieking, fighting, falling, while others, trapped in their dug-outs, either surrendered or fought desperately on until they fell wounded or lifeless before superior numbers.

Half a mile in the air, apparently over a point midway between what had been the first-line trenches of the opposing armies, a stationary balloon showed where Jerry and an observation officer were doing duty on that fateful day. Jerry was operating a telephone that ran directly to division headquarters, and hardly a moment passed when he was not repeating some observation of the other man in the basket with him, or relaying to him a query from the commander below.

Every detail of that tremendous battle Jerry knew. His own occasional glimpses over the side informed him of the temporary reverses his own army was suffering, while the remarks of the officer told him where the Germans were meeting their bitterest repulses, where they were drawing up their heaviest forces of reserves, what quick changes were being made in their general line of formation, and how far back their forces seemed to extend.

Slim Goodwin, busy as he was with the wireless at headquarters, found time for occasional glances upward at that balloon, to make sure that thus far his friend was still safe.

And even in the thick of machine-gun fire and shrapnel, where Lieutenant Mackinson, Joe, Frank Hoskins and two or three others were laying a new line of communication, the wavering, swaying target was watched from time to time, and speculations made as to how long it could remain without being punctured by a bullet, thus forcing its two occupants to resort to their parachutes to make a landing.

It was now well into the afternoon. The Germans had swept into the places vacated by the Americans and French, and still the battle raged. It was now that Slim began to wait anxiously for the new development, which his familiarity with the secret orders issued made him know was coming.

And finally it did come, and in a way that staggered the Boches.

The Americans and French had retreated to a general line which permitted a quick re-mobilization to the best advantage. There their front-line ranks held firm, while the new formation was being effected behind them. It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when this was complete.

Then, in concerted action, the lines opened at alternate points, and pairs, dozens, scores of the huge armored tanks rolled through, their big guns already blazing shells into the ranks of the disconcerted enemy.

Nothing could halt them. They climbed trench parapets, descended into gullies, came out upon level land, and over their whole path swept destruction to the Germans.

Unable either to resist or to stop the progress of the tanks, which were followed by whole divisions of infantry, the Boches were forced to retreat and not only abandon every foot of the ground they had gained, but to sacrifice a part of their own first line as well.



It was one of the greatest and at the same time one of the most sudden reprisals of the war up to that time, and the victory that had been snatched from defeat was cheered by thousands of Americans and Frenchmen as they again took possession of their own trenches, or pushed onward across No Man's Land to occupy those which the Germans were now abandoning.

The sun was setting, and soon, in great measure, at least, hostilities would be suspended for the night.

Their work completed, Lieutenant Mackinson and his men were on their way back to make their report when they met Slim, who had been relieved for the night at headquarters.

"What time did Jerry come down?" Joe asked, after they had passed remarks about the various thrills of the day.

"Don't know," Slim answered, "but I saw them there at four o'clock, and they weren't there when I looked again, about half an hour later, so you can judge pretty well for yourself."

"Guess he had a pretty good bird's-eye view of the whole thing," said Joe, as they passed on, to meet again before mess.

Except for spasmodic outbursts here and there, the trench duel had almost entirely subsided, and the heavy roar of the artillery also was punctuated with longer pauses. Whatever the morrow might bring, the night promised to be fairly quiet, while each side took account of stock and made necessary repairs, or altered their plans to meet the new situation.

Our young friends were busy with wash basin, soap and water, taking off the grime in preparation for the evening meal and wondering where Jerry was keeping himself all the while, when suddenly a very strange thing happened beyond the enemy's line.

Lieutenant Mackinson was the first to discover it and call the attention of the others.

A Taube, one of the smaller, lighter, and more easily handled aeroplanes, and used in great numbers by the Germans, shot into the air at great speed from behind the Boche entrenchments. In its upward course its path was a dizzy spiral, and, if one on the ground might judge, its pilot seemed to be seeking a particular air channel. At least that was the way it looked.

Then, from almost the same point from which it had come into view, half a dozen other planes rose into the air, following in the path of the first, and also flying at top speed. Up to then there was nothing so very strange about the whole procedure. It simply indicated that those manning the American and French anti-aircraft guns, and the aviators of those two armies, should get ready to repel an enemy air raid.

But the queer thing occurred when every one of the pursuing planes opened up their machine-guns almost simultaneously upon the first. And even this might have been considered a well-designed hoax, were it not for the unmistakable evidence that the first aeroplane, the Taube, had been hit.

Still going at maximum speed, and now on a straight line toward the American side, without seeking a further height, the Taube several times wavered, and, a moment later, almost turned over.

But the pilot righted her, and even as the pursuers began gaining, and still kept up an incessant fire, he pointed her nose downward toward the American lines.

Four American planes sailed off and upward to meet the oncoming German air armada. But from the ground it could be seen that the man in the observer's place in the Taube was making desperate signals.

The American planes maneuvered in such a way as to encircle the Taube, and yet at close enough range to examine her without particular menace to themselves. There were several seconds of criss-crossing and rising and descending, and then as a unit the American planes left the Taube and started after the German craft, which had hesitated, as though uncertain what further course to follow.

Several volleys of shots were exchanged, and the other German planes turned back toward their own lines. The Taube continued on its wavering, crippled, downward course toward the allied lines.

"Looks as though a couple of our men had been reconnoitering the German lines in one of their own make of machines," said Lieutenant Mackinson, as the Taube came within a hundred yards of the ground and righted herself for a landing.

There was a general rush toward it as it hit the ground. Of its own momentum it rolled to within a two minutes' run of where the lieutenant and the others had been standing. In another instant it was entirely surrounded by a crowd of curious American soldiers.

But if they were surprised at seeing seated therein two men in the uniforms of the United States army, their feelings hardly compared with those of Lieutenant Mackinson, Joe, Slim and Frank Hoskins, as they recognized, stepping out of the Taube, Jerry and the observation officer with whom he had occupied the stationary balloon practically all of that day.

"Who are you?" "What happened?" "Where have you been?" and a score of similar questions were fired at them by the other soldiers as Jerry shook hands with his friends, and the officer smilingly made away to file his report.

"Well, to put it briefly," Jerry said, in answer to the general demands for information, "we were anchored off there most of the day in an observation balloon. Late in the afternoon a shell cut our cable, and almost before we knew it we had been carried behind the German lines.

"The fight was still commanding the attention of almost everyone, and after descending a little by permitting some of the gas to escape, we jumped over the side of the basket and came down on our parachutes. I landed in a deserted barnyard, and the officer hit the earth only a short distance away.

"While we were hiding there, debating just what we should do, along comes a Taube, and its pilot decides to make a landing almost at that same place. Well, the officer being a pretty good pilot, we decided to have that machine. We got it, and I guess that pilot's head aches yet where I plumped him with the butt of my gun when he wasn't expecting anything of the kind.

"But some other German aviators saw the affair, apparently recognized our uniforms, and hardly gave us time to make a decent start.

"Say," Jerry concluded, "they certainly did pebble us with machine-gun bullets! I saw two bounce off the propeller, and one broke a wire on the left wing, making us flap around rather uncertainly for a few minutes. It was a great race, though, and we considered our greatest danger lay in landing on this side. We knew it would be recognized for a German plane, and we were afraid we'd be fired on before we could make our identity known."

Led by the lieutenant and Jerry, the party tramped back to where, shortly, mess was to be served.

"That air certainly does give a fellow an appetite," said Jerry, as he splashed more of the clear cold water over his face.

An orderly stepped up to Lieutenant Mackinson and handed him a large, officially stamped envelope. As he tore it open and read the brief note within, a pleased smile spread over his face. From the same envelope he extracted three smaller ones. He handed one to each of the lads who had accompanied him over on the Everett, according to the way they were addressed.

Opening them, the boys could hardly suppress their jubilation. Stripped of their official verbiage, the letters informed the young men that each of them was made a corporal, Joe for valorous service in saving the lives of "three Americans entombed in a cave; Slim for heroism and presence of mind in saving and bringing back to the lines an American soldier," and Jerry "for coolness and courage, and for the information gathered behind the enemy's lines."



CHAPTER XVI

A TIGHT PLACE

Major Jones was paying his compliments in a very brusque, business-like, but kindly way. Before him, standing at attention, Lieutenant Mackinson and Corporals Joe Harned, Jerry Macklin and Slim Goodwin were awaiting important orders.

"The manner in which all of you have performed your duties in the past has won you the esteem and confidence of your commanding officers," Major Jones said.

"Your striking services not only have led to promotion, but to another important trust, upon which much may depend. Through the mountains to the east of us a company of engineers is cutting a rough road. They work under great handicaps and frequently are harassed by enemy detachments. But they are making progress.

"This road is being cut for the purpose of permitting the passage of a wireless tractor, of which you men are to be in charge. Through a part of that section an old telegraph line still remains, but it does not connect in a direction to meet our requirements.

"Reports received this morning indicate that by night the engineers will have put the road through to a selected point where you will have the least difficulty in concealing your tractor and its aerials. From your position there you will keep constant vigil, for you will be able to inform us long in advance of any effort of the Boches to come through that way.

"The road winds about the mountain side, and in some places is quite steep. But the ground is now hard and the motor will make the pull. Good-by, and good luck to you."

An hour later, with Frank Hoskins, who was an experienced driver, at the wheel, they started for their destination in one of the big, high-powered trucks which not only carry a complete wireless equipment but also provide enough space for sleeping quarters for half a dozen men.

As a matter of fact, these trucks are so designed that, if it is necessary, they can carry a crew of ten men, while by means of a special clutch and gear the engine is made to drive an alternator for generating the necessary electrical energy which, under the most adverse atmospheric conditions, will give a sending and receiving range of at least one hundred miles. In ideal weather the radius increases to as much as two hundred and fifty miles.

A powerful mechanism which in its operation resembles the opening of a giant pair of shears, raises the mast and umbrella-shaped antenna, and the average time in getting the apparatus ready for service is only about eight minutes.

The entire tractor, including crew, weighs close to five tons, and it can be easily imagined that its operation on a steep and treacherous mountain road was far from easy and anything but entirely safe.

With them the lads carried sufficient rations to last them five days, it being understood that their larder would be replenished at the necessary intervals.

They also took with them a radio pack-set, which is another wireless apparatus that can be carried about with little difficulty. This they had in the event of any unexpected emergency. The entire pack-set could be carried about in a suitcase, and after it was set up its current was generated by turning a crank by hand. Its range, under ordinary atmospheric conditions, was about twenty-five miles.

The first few miles of their journey were accomplished with little difficulty, but as they struck the uneven, newly-made road, their troubles began to increase. At times the jolts were so severe that it seemed they would shake the electrical apparatus loose from the tractor, while some of the inclines were so steep that, after attempting and failing to make them once, they had to go backward and then try again, with increased speed.