tell you boys," said Stubbs, "that I appreciate your saving me from falling into the hands of the enemy, where I might have been kept a prisoner for years."

"We didn't save you from anything," said Hal.

"I know, I know," said Stubbs, "but you might have done so. I want to tell you that I appreciate it and that Anthony Stubbs is your friend for life; and the friendship of such a man is not to be laughed at."

The little man's face was so serious that the lads even forbore to smile.

"We thank you for your friendship," said Hal quietly, "and I assure you that it will not be laughed at. Friendships are not to be treated lightly."

"I knew you would see it that way," was the response. "If at any time I can be of service to you, command me."

He arose and made them the bow of a cavalier.

The meal finished, Hal pushed back his chair and arose.

"We might as well be on our way," he said. "Come."

They left the room and made their way to the place where they had tied their horses. Hal started back with a cry of surprise.

The horses were not there, but upon the ground, a bullet wound in his forehead, lay the man whom Hal had left to guard them.

CHAPTER VI.

FOUR-FOOTED ENEMIES.

Hal bent over the dead British soldier; then, arising, turned to Chester.

"He was shot from ambush," he said quietly. "He didn't even have time to draw his revolver. See, it is still in its holster."

"And, if we don't get away from here immediately, we are likely to be shot, too," replied Chester.

"Chester is right," agreed Captain Anderson. "Come, Hal, we had better be moving."

Hal nodded, and gave a brief word of command. Immediately the little troop of cavalrymen, afoot now, moved slowly down the road in the darkness. They went forward briskly and the hand of every man rested on his weapon, for the mysterious death of their companion had been a warning they could not but heed. There was no telling what foes might lurk in the blackness of the bushes that lined either side of the highway.

Anthony Stubbs, war correspondent, had been unable to force himself into the center of the British troops, and was now bringing up the rear. Now and then he tried to insert himself between the men in front of him, but all such attempts had proved futile. The British did not intend to lose their formation in order to allow him to reach a place of comparative safety.

As Stubbs stumbled along in the darkness, he cast furtive glances over his shoulder and peered intently into the bushes, first on one side and then on the other; and as he plodded on he mumbled continually to himself.

Came a sudden shrill cry from the left—a wild screech that, for the moment, the lads were unable to identify.

Hal immediately called a halt and all stopped to listen. It came again, a shrill, piercing cry; and with it Anthony Stubbs hurled himself violently upon the men ahead of him and dashed through the center of the troop. Beside the two lads he stopped, panting. He felt more secure there.

"What was that?" he cried in a shrill voice.

The lads did not reply, but still stood listening. A third time the cry rang out from the woods. Then Chester laughed aloud.

"It's a cat!" he exclaimed.

"A cat!" echoed Stubbs.

"Yes, cats are plentiful in the war zone. Necessity has taken the edge off their skin-deep docility, and many of them resemble hyenas more than the domestic pets they used to be."

"Then there is nothing to fear," said Stubbs, drawing a breath of relief.

"No," replied Chester, "there is nothing to fear so long as we are many, but two or three of them would not hesitate to attack a single man. In fact, they have done so before now."

"What! pet cats attack a man?" exclaimed Stubbs.

"Yes, and from what I have heard, they are pretty tough customers. I heard that one man, in an encounter with four of the animals, had one of his eyes scratched out and was otherwise badly clawed before he could shoot them. Half starved, they are perfectly wild."

Stubbs shuddered.

"Let's get away from here, then," he exclaimed.

At a command from Hal, the troop moved off again and Stubbs stuck closely between the two lads.

They had progressed perhaps half a mile further when Stubbs felt his hat suddenly lifted from his head, and at the same moment the sharp crack of a rifle shattered the stillness of the night.

With a shout of terror the war correspondent threw himself to the ground and, like an ostrich, seemed to try to bury his head in the hard road.

Hal turned quickly and, taking quick aim with his revolver, fired into the bushes, a little below the spot where the rifle had flashed fire. A scream of pain rewarded this shot.

Without waiting to ascertain whether there was more than one of the enemy, Hal shouted a command, and the British cavalrymen poured a volley into the woods, aiming low and scattering their fire. Loud guttural exclamations and shouts were the answer to the fusillade.

Immediately Hal shouted:

"To the ground, men! Down quick!"

He suited the action to the word, as did Chester, Captain Anderson and all of the troop. They did not fall a moment too soon, for there now came from the bushes a scattering and withering volley that would have done terrible execution among the little troop of British, but for the fact that they were beneath the line of fire.

"Up and into the bushes!" cried Hal.

A moment and the British were screened from the fire of the enemy on the opposite side of the road, while from their shelter they poured a fire in the direction of rifle flashes across the highway.

Peering from behind the small tree where he had taken shelter, Chester saw a prostrate form in the middle of the road. He thought he recognized it but was not sure. He turned and called to Hal:

"Is Stubbs with you?"

"No," was the reply. "Where is he?"

"I'll have him in a minute," was Chester's brief response.

Throwing himself to the ground, he crawled from behind his shelter and wormed his way along the ground toward the prostrate form in the road, the figure of Stubbs.

The war correspondent lay as though dead, making no move. The lad, keeping as close to the ground as possible, so as to avoid the German bullets flying overhead, drew closer; and, while the lad did not know it, three other forms also were approaching closely in spite of the hail of lead.

But these latter were making their way through the tree-tops, jumping lightly from bough to bough. Silent as shadows they were, but their eyes glared a fiery red and their tails switched angrily.

They were cats.

Half-starved as they were, they had trailed the troop. They had been in the war zone long enough for their feline intelligence to tell them that where men rode there was likely to be food. More than one dead man, left dead upon the field, had fallen a victim to their claws and teeth.

So now, as Chester crept toward the inert form of the war correspondent, the cats, not perceiving this new enemy—so intent were they upon the body of Stubbs—also approached quietly. Two of the animals were now directly above the body of Stubbs, and stood switching their tails on