Army Boys in the French Trenches

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There too the rustling sound had ceased and a silence prevailed as deep
as his own.

For minutes that seemed ages this condition persisted. Then slowly, so
slowly that Frank at first was not sure that he saw aright, a slender
spear-like point broke the outline of the top of the hedge. Only the
fact that it stood out against the dim light that came from the enemy
trench enabled Frank to see it at all.

Gradually the object rose higher until it seemed to broaden out at the
base; and then with a quickening of the pulse Frank realized that what
he saw was the spike of a German helmet!

He had won in the duel of silence. The other, unable to stand the
strain, had risen first. Would he win in the grimmer duel that seemed to
be impending?

Frank's fingers stole toward his revolver, but stopped before they
reached it. There must be no shooting so near the enemy trench. A horde
of Germans would be upon him in a twinkling.

His rifle lay beside him where he had placed it while working on the
wire. His fingers closed upon the stock. Here was a weapon that he might
use at either end with deadly effect. The butt could serve as a club,
while the bayonet, painted black like the rest of his accoutrements so
that no glimmer of steel should betray it, carried death on its point.

Now beneath the helmet the head of a man appeared, then the shoulders,
and finally the sentry, evidently satisfied that his suspicion had been
without foundation, straightened out to his full length. He stood for
another minute or two peering into the darkness. But Frank's black-clad
form merged so perfectly into its surroundings and he remained so
motionless that the German at last was convinced.

With a grunt of satisfaction he stooped to pick up his rifle.

Lithe as a panther, Frank sprang to his feet, leaped over the hedge and
landed heavily on the stooping form, knocking the breath out of the
German's body.

In a flash Frank's sinewy hands were upon the sentry's throat, stifling
the cry that sought to issue from his lips.

There was a brief struggle, but the attack had been so sudden and
tremendous that it was soon over, and the German lay limp and
unconscious.

The instant Frank realized this, he relaxed his hold. He tore open the
man's coat, felt for his heart and found that it was still beating.

What his foe would have done if the case had been reversed, Frank knew
perfectly well. A dagger point would have pierced his heart and stilled
its beating forever. More than once he had looked on the bodies of
comrades who had been butchered while lying wounded and helpless on the
battlefield, and had been stirred by a wild desire to take similar
vengeance on those who had violated all the laws of war.

But he was an American, with all the proud traditions of honor and
chivalry that had come down to him through generations. He could not
slaughter a helpless foe. He had the man a prisoner. It was enough.

Quickly he tied the sentry's hands, using the German's own belt as a
strap. Then he tore some strips from the white cloth he had been
carrying to fasten on the bushes and made a gag, in case the man should
recover his senses and try to give the alarm.

He dragged the man through a gap in the hedge so that he would not be
found by any of his comrades who might come that way. Then he crept down
to where the corporal and the other members of the patrol were still
busy on the wires and in a whisper told what had happened.

Wilson was quick to see the opportunity that the capture had afforded.

"Good work, Sheldon," he commended. "Here's where we get through the
wires. And we've got to do it quickly, for we don't know at what time
that fellow's relief may be coming along."

His prophecy seemed about to be fulfilled with startling suddenness,
for, even while he spoke, a group of several figures, topped by helmets,
was revealed by the action of one of them in striking a match. It flared
up brightly for a second, but luckily the boys were outside the zone of
light that it formed.

They lay perfectly still, although each of them took a tighter grasp on
his rifle.

The men conversed in guttural tones for several minutes, that seemed as
many ages to the watchers in the shadows.

Would the Germans come toward them or walk away from them? Their lives,
or at the least their liberty, might depend upon the answer.

One of the men pointed in their direction and even took a step forward,
but his comrades stopped him and an animated discussion ensued, which
finally resulted in their retracing their steps in the direction from
which they had come.

A sigh of relief went up from the boys and their grip on their weapons
relaxed.

"A mighty close shave," whispered Billy.

"It was all of that," agreed Bart.

"As close for them as it was for us," said Tom grimly. "I had that big
fellow picked out and I'd have dropped him sure."

Like so many ghosts, the party drifted along in Corporal Wilson's wake
until they came to the gap. A glance at the motionless sentry showed
that he had not yet returned to consciousness.

"That was a knockout for fair," murmured Billy admiringly.

"He must have thought a house was falling on him," whispered Bart with a
low chuckle.

"Frank's no featherweight," agreed Tom. "I'd hate to have those trench
clogs of his come down on my back with him inside of them."

A warning "s--sh" from the corporal brought them back to the grim
business still before them, and they crept along behind him as he wormed
his way through the breach.

Camp utensils were scattered upon the ground and indicated that a field
kitchen had stood there recently, an impression that became a conviction
when Bart burned his hand by bringing it down upon some smoldering
embers covered with ashes.

He bit his tongue trying to repress the exclamation that leaped to his
lips, but he succeeded, although his fingers were badly blistered.

Little by little, with many pauses, they reached the edge of a small
section of the first trench. Nothing hindered them, no one challenged
them. In fact their progress was so free from obstacles that the
corporal, a wily veteran who had had long experience among the savage
Moros while serving in the Philippines, became uneasy, fearing an
ambush.

Still, that was one of the chances that the party had to take, and there
was nothing to do but to keep on. But they redoubled their precautions,
every sense tingling with watchfulness against a sudden surprise.

They worked their way along the trench until they reached the entrance.
No sound came from the interior. They listened for the murmur of
conversation, the scraping of feet, the clank of a weapon. They looked
down its length for a ray of light. Not a gleam or a sound rewarded
them.

As far as they could judge, it was absolutely deserted. But on the other
hand it might be bristling with armed men, waiting in a stillness as
deathlike as their own the command to fire.

For fully ten minutes their watch continued. Then the corporal gathered
them close around him and gave his commands in a whisper.

"We'll raid it," he decided. "There are only a few of us, but we'll have
the advantage of surprise. That is, if they're not waiting to surprise
us. But we'll have to gamble on that. It's only a connecting trench, and
there won't be more than a dozen men or thereabouts in it. If we could
bag them and take them back to camp it would be a good night's work.
Have your guns ready and be prepared to slip them a few grenades if we
have to. I'll lead the way and when the time comes I'll flash my light.
Come along now and be right on your toes when I give the word."

Corporal Wilson went first and his scouting party followed close on his
heels. It was like going into the jaws of death. It would have taken
less nerve to face a charge, for then their blood would have been up and
they would have been fired by the sight of their enemy. There would have
been nothing of this eerie stillness, this vault-like chill. Yet not one
of them hesitated or lagged behind.

Twenty paces had been covered when the corporal stopped, drew out his
flashlight and sent out a stream of radiance that illumined every nook
and cranny of the trench.

On the instant the boys had their rifles at their shoulders with their
fingers on the triggers, ready for a volley.

But their precaution was needless. The trench was empty!

Empty as far as men were concerned. But it was full of other things that
made their hair stand up with horror as their meaning swept in upon
them!

CHAPTER VI

A TASTE OF COLD STEEL

Planted at intervals in the trench were rows of iron stakes, coming to a
sharp point at the top and cunningly camouflaged so that they would not
be detected by any one looking over the edge. The Army boys were not
slow in seeing the meaning of the trap and the fiendish ingenuity that
had conceived it.

"It's a dummy trench!" murmured Corporal Wilson. "The idea is to have
their men seem to retreat into it when the fighting takes place on this
part of the line. Our boys come on in pursuit, jump over the edge, come
down on these sharp stakes and are spitted like larks. Nice way to wage
war, that!"

"It's worthy of the Hun," growled Tom.

"And when you've said that you've reached the limit," observed Bart.

"The Turks are pretty good at torture," murmured Frank bitterly, "but
they must feel like thirty cents when they compare themselves with their
German masters."

"Let's get these things out of the way," said Billy wrathfully, as he
grasped one of the spikes.

But the corporal stopped him instantly. "Don't dig them out!" he cried.
"There's no knowing but what you may cause an explosion. Or they may
have some electric connection that will give warning to the Boches.
We've spotted the location of this infernal trap and that's enough. Our
officers will see that our men steer clear of it."

"Of course," remarked Bart, "all the value to the Huns of this trap
depends upon our boys jumping in from the top of the trench. If they
came in from the entrance to the dugout, all the trouble of planting
these spikes would be thrown away."

"It would be a trap just the same, only in a different way," replied the
corporal. "It's a safe bet that the Germans have machine guns planted
where they can sweep the whole length of this part of the trench. They'd
wait until our boys were all crowded in here and then the machine guns
would start spitting and wipe every last one of them out. There'd be no
way to get put except the way they had come in, and no one could get
through that storm of bullets. But now let's get out of this while the
going's good."

The conversation had been carried on in the faintest whispers, and after
the first hurried examination of the dummy trench there had been no
light. But they all felt better when they had passed out of the trench
without mishap and lay on the ground above. Here they were at least in
the open, and if death came to them they would not be slaughtered like
rats in a trap.

The corporal consulted his radio watch and found that it wanted but two
hours to dawn.

"Not much time left, boys," he murmured. "And unless we get back to our
lines before daylight, we'll stand a good chance of losing the number of
our mess. But if we don't do anything else, we've done a pretty fair
night's work. The finding of this dummy trench will put a crimp in the
Heinies' plans. I'd like to have some prisoners to take along just for
luck but all we've bagged is that sentry."

"Perhaps we haven't even got him," suggested Frank. "Some of his
comrades may have found him by this time."

"Not likely," replied Bart. "He couldn't make a noise, and as we left
him outside the wire they wouldn't be likely to stumble over him."

"All the same, we'd better get a hustle on," replied the corporal, and
they started on their homeward journey as stealthily as they had come.

They had some difficulty in finding the breach in the wire through which
they had entered, but at last they succeeded and wormed their way out.
Then they felt around for the sentry and found him in the place they had
left him. He had returned to consciousness, for when the corporal risked
a ray of his flashlight on the upturned face, they could see that his
eyes were open and looking at them intelligently.

The corporal placed the muzzle of his revolver against the man's neck as
a gentle reminder of what would happen to him if he should make a sound,
and they proceeded to untie his hands. Then they motioned to him that he
was to get on his hands and knees and go before them, which, with
muffled grunts, and after two or three attempts, he succeeded in doing.
He was evidently dazed yet and stiff from the cramped attitude in which
he had been lying, but stern necessity was on him and he finally wobbled
and staggered on before them.

They had got some little distance away from the wires when Frank
suddenly came to a dead stop. His comrades halted instantly.

"What is it?" whispered Wilson, who was nearest to him.

"That blur ahead of us," returned Frank. "It looks a little more solid
than the rest of the darkness."

He pointed ahead and a little to the right.

"I don't see anything," remarked Tom.

"Neither do I," affirmed Billy.

"I think I see a little blacker patch than usual," declared Bart. "And
it seems to be moving."

The corporal put his ear to the ground.

"I think Sheldon is right," he said, after a moment of intense
listening. "At any rate we'll take no chances. Slip into some of these
shell holes and lie low. If it should be an enemy patrol and there are
too many to tackle we'll let them go by. But if there aren't more than
double our number we'll take a crack at them. Keep your weapons ready
and let fly when I give the word."

The ground was so pitted with craters from the heavy artillery duel that
had been raging all the day before that they had no difficulty in
finding shelter. Their prisoner, who judged by the preparations that
some of his own comrades were approaching, was inclined to balk a little
and delay matters, but a vigorous push of Bart's boot hastened his
movements and he was tumbled in unceremoniously. And they blessed the
precaution that had still left the gag in his mouth when they had
unfastened his hands.

More and more the blur ahead of them detached itself from the
surrounding darkness, until even skeptical Tom and Billy knew that what
they saw was a body of men bearing down steadily in their direction.

Of course there was a chance that it was an American patrol out on an
errand similar to their own, but it was unlikely, if that were so, that
they would be going in the direction of the enemy's lines when the night
was so far spent.

Nearer and nearer came the party until not more than thirty feet lay
between them and the American boys who knelt in the shell holes, with
faces stern and set and fingers on the triggers of their rifles awaiting
the word of command.

But for some unknown reason the blur became motionless and remained so
for several minutes. Then it receded, as though the party had changed
its plan.

"What do you suppose is the matter with them?" whispered Tom. "Do you
think they've tumbled to our being here?"

"How could they?" returned Frank. "They'd have to have the eyes of cats
to see us in these holes."

"I hope the corp will let us go after them," murmured Billy. "I'm all
tuned up for a scrap."

Wilson hesitated. If he went after the supposed enemy, they would
probably hear him and he would lose the advantage of the surprise. On
the other hand, that they now seemed to be going in the direction of the
American lines might indicate that, after all, they were a patrol of his
own comrades. But while he weighed the chances, the question was solved
for him by the fact that the blur again became distinct. And this time
it grew larger very rapidly, indicating that the party had at last
reached a definite decision. On they came until only a few paces
separated them from the Army boys.

Just then a star shell rose from the German lines and sent a flare of
light stabbing the darkness and clearly revealing a dozen or more
Germans. As they were facing the glare they were momentarily dazzled by
it, and the Americans peering beneath their black hoods on a level with
the ground could have easily escaped detection had they been so
inclined.

But that instantaneous flash had decided the corporal. The odds were
more than two to one, but such odds as that was only a challenge to
Yankee fighting blood.

"Fire!" he shouted, and five rifles spoke as one. Three of the enemy
went down as though stricken by an axe, and another staggered and his
rifle clattered to the ground.

But the enemy rallied almost instantly, and at a hoarse command there
was a return volley. This proved harmless, however, for the boys knew
that it would come and bent beneath the edge of the craters until the
iron storm had swept over them.

"Now, boys, at them with your bayonets!" shouted Corporal Wilson, as
soon as he had drawn the enemy's fire.

With a leap the American squad was on the level ground and rushing with
leveled bayonets at the foe.

The Americans had the advantage of the surprise, and their headlong
charge would have won instantly if the forces had been equal. But
although two went down at once, the others, after yielding ground
somewhat, closed in a death grip with their assailants, and there was a
furious combat at close quarters.

There was no more shooting. It was a matter now of clubbed rifles and
bayonet thrusts.

Frank found himself engaged in a bayonet duel with a massive German who
towered above him in height and probably outweighed him by twenty
pounds. He was well trained too in bayonet work and was a most
formidable opponent.

But he met his master when he crossed bayonets with Frank. The latter
had made himself expert by long training under skilful French
instructors, and, besides, was the most finished boxer in the regiment.
At thrust and parry, feint and riposte, advance and retreat, he stood
first among his comrades.

Against the furious bull-like rushes of his opponent, he opposed a
quickness and agility that more than counterbalanced his enemy's weight
It was a contest of a bull against a panther, and the panther won.

For perhaps two minutes the fight continued. Then with a lightning
thrust Frank's bayonet found its mark, and the German staggered for a
moment, fell headlong and lay still.

His fall seemed to take the heart out of the others who were being
outfought and pressed back. They wavered, broke and started to flee, but
the sharp crack of the corporal's revolver brought one of them to the
ground, and the others halted.

Up went their hands and from the lips of each came the cry "_Kamerad_!"
in token of surrender.

The American boys rounded them up and disarmed them. Then the corporal
took account of stock.

Bart was there panting and flushed with nothing worse than a scalp wound
where a rifle butt had glanced from his head. Wilson himself was unhurt.
Billy also had come through unscathed, but Tom was nowhere to be seen.

An awful fear, a fear that they had never felt in the fighting itself,
clutched the hearts of his comrades. Good old Tom, bound to them by a
thousand ties of friendship and comradeship--had he met his fate in this
desolate stretch of No Man's Land?

Frantically they searched among the bodies for one that wore a suit
similar to their own. Frank found it first. His hand went to the heart
and to his joy found that it was beating.

He lifted Tom's head and rested it on his knee.

"Tom! Tom!" he called, as he chafed his chum's hands and loosened his
suit at the throat.

Tom's eyes slowly opened, and, recognizing his friend, a faint smile
came to his lips. But he did not speak, and Bart, who was the only other
one who could be spared from guarding the prisoners, joined Frank in
redoubled efforts to bring Tom back to full consciousness.

"He doesn't seem to have any bones broken," said Frank after a hurried
examination.

"And he isn't bleeding," replied Bart. "But he has a lump on his head as
big as an egg."

At last Tom's full consciousness returned, and with his chums'
assistance he got slowly and painfully to his feet.

"Guess they haven't got my number yet, but they came mighty near it," he
said, trying to grin. "I'd just run one of the Huns through the arm when
I saw another out of the tail of my eye swinging for my head with his
rifle. I tried to dodge, but he must have been too quick for me, for
that's the last I remember."

"Thank heaven it was no worse!" ejaculated Frank fervently.

"It would have been a mighty bad thing for us if you had cashed in, old
boy," said Bart with feeling. "How did the scrap turn out?" asked Tom.

"Though I suppose there's no use in asking, or you wouldn't be here
taking care of me."

"We trimmed them good and proper," said Frank, from whom a ton's weight
had been lifted by finding that his friend had escaped serious injury.

"A lovely scrap," added Bart. "I wouldn't have missed it for a farm.
We've wiped out five and rounded out the rest. Let's go over and see how
many there are."

"Eight," announced the corporal, as he counted the prisoners who stood
in a group sullen and morose. "There must have been a baker's dozen in
the party."

"I don't know how superstitious they may be," chuckled Billy, "but I'll
bet that from now on they'll agree that thirteen is an unlucky number!"

CHAPTER VII

NICK RABIG'S QUEER ACTIONS

"Well," remarked Corporal Wilson, who was relieved beyond measure to
find that his own little force was practically intact, "eight is a
pretty good bag for one night's work, not to speak of five more who
won't do any more strafing for the Kaiser."

"Nine," corrected Bart. "Don't forget our speechless friend in the shell
hole."

"No doubt he'd be perfectly willing to be forgotten," grinned Billy.
"But we'd better take him along just for luck. That'll be nearly two
prisoners apiece for each of the bunch. Pretty fair work if you ask me."

There was no further time for talking, for it would soon be dawn and
they were eager to get back to their own lines. They had been under a
terrible strain through all the long hours of the night and were
beginning to feel the reaction. And they were not at all averse to
showing their comrades in the regiment how well they had fared and how
stoutly they had held up the colors of the old Thirty-seventh.

"Who goes there?" came the sharp challenge of the sentry, as they drew
near the American trench, and they knew that a score of rifles was
trained upon them to back up the sentry's demand if the answer were
halting or suspicious.

"Friends," replied the corporal.

"Advance and give the countersign," was the next requirement.

Corporal Wilson complied, and he and his squad were joyfully welcomed.

"I said 'friends'" added the corporal with a grin, as the party made
their way through the opening in the wire defences, "but perhaps that
doesn't go for all this crowd. Some of them didn't want to come, but we
told them they'd better, and here they are."

"A bunch of huskies," remarked the sentry, as he surveyed the prisoners
critically. "You don't mean to say that just you five rounded up that
gang?"

The four privates merely grinned.

"Looks like it, doesn't it?" answered the corporal with keen relish of
the sentry's surprise. "Counting those we brought down, there are just
fourteen that will turn up missing when the Boches call the roll this
morning."

"That's going some," said the sentry admiringly. "I only wish I'd been
along with you. Some fellows have all the luck."

The prisoners were turned over to the officer in charge, and the
corporal made his way to headquarters to make his report of the night's
work.

Bart and Tom went under the hands of the surgeons to have their wounds
and bruises treated, and were assured that with a little rest they would
be as well as ever in a day or two. Then the boys, "dog-tired," as Bart
expressed it, but happy and exultant that they had done their work well
and were back safe once more, tumbled into their bunks to enjoy the rest
they had so richly earned.

"Never was so tired in my life," murmured Frank, drowsily, as he fell
rather than climbed into his bunk.

"Same here," chimed in Billy.

"Rip Van Winkle won't have anything on me," drawled Tom. "What's twenty
years of sleep? I'm going to take forty."

As for Bart, he started to say something but dropped off to sleep while
saying it.

None of the quartette woke until late in the afternoon. Then they found
that their exploit had made a stir in the regiment. Their fight against
twice their number was the most interesting feature to their comrades of
the rank and file. But still more important in the view of their
officers was the discovery of the dummy trench, which might have been
turned into a shambles for the American troops if they had rushed into
the trap so cunningly and so fiendishly set for them.

"It was fine work, Corporal," the captain said warmly, when Wilson
finished his report. "You deserve credit for having brought your squad
back without the loss of a man."

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