out alive as those fellows over there,” and he waved an arm in the direction of the shell hole occupied by the Germans.

This act of indiscretion almost proved costly. When Hal’s arm showed above the top of the shell hole a German rifle cracked in the distance. Hal heard the whine of the bullet as it passed within a fraction of an inch of his hand.

“Guess I’d better hug down inside here,” he said calmly. “Fritz almost nicked me that time.”

The boys became silent. Every moment or two, one or the other, exercising extreme caution, peered toward the enemy, for they did not wish to be caught napping, should the Germans, knowing that the odds were two to one in their favor, decide to rush them.

Chester looked at his watch.

“Almost five o’clock,” he said. “It’ll be dark soon and then we can get away from here.”

“Guess Fritz will be as glad as we will,” Hal commented.

As it developed, however, the lads were not to get back to their own lines so easily.

The particular section of the great battle zone in which the lads found themselves when this story opens was perhaps ten miles south and west of St. Quentin, at that time in German hands. The river Oise flowed some five miles to the east and also was held by the enemy.

Darkness now drew on apace and Hal and Chester, making sure that their rifles and side arms were in perfect condition, prepared to quit their refuge.

“Better wait a few minutes,” said Chester. “It’s not quite dark. We would still make pretty fair targets on level ground.”

“It won’t be dark enough to cover us anyhow,” Hal replied. “See the moon.”

Chester gazed aloft.

“By Jove! That’s what I call pretty tough luck,” he said. “Well, we’ll just have to make the most of it; that’s all.”

“The sooner we start, then, the sooner we’ll get there,” declared Hal. “Guns ready?”

“Ready,” was Chester’s brief response.

“Then let’s be moving. Follow me.”

Hal got to his feet, but, with a cry, as suddenly dropped down again.

“Hit, Hal?” cried Chester, as he stooped over his chum.

“No,” replied Hal.

“What’s the matter then?”

“Stick out your nose and have a look,” returned Hal.

Chester did so, and what he saw was this:

Twenty-five yards away, and advancing rapidly, were the four Germans who so recently had occupied the neighboring shell hole. They were firing as they advanced and a bullet sped close to Chester.

“Quick with your rifle, Hal!” the boy cried, and bringing his own weapon to his shoulder regardless of his exposed position, he pulled the trigger.

One of the approaching foes staggered slightly, but he did not fall. The advancing Germans pumped rifle bullets the faster.

“We’ll have to stop them or we are done for,” muttered Hal, as he stood erect in the shell hole.

Despite the hail of bullets that flew about him, Hal was untouched as he took careful aim and fired at the nearest German.

The man stumbled, threw up his arms and flung his rifle a dozen yards away; then, with a cry, he pitched forward on his face.

“One,” said Hal quietly.

A bullet brushed the boy’s cheek, leaving a stream of red in its wake, but Hal did not quail.

Again his rifle spoke and a second German went to the ground.

“Odds even now,” Hal called to Chester. “Let’s get these other two.”

Without waiting for a reply, he leaped from the shell hole and dashed forward.