flock of aeroplanes get busy and attack the Boche raiders."

"Good work!" approved Jimmy. "I wonder if it's the same in London? There seem to be more raids there than any place else. Almost every big raid you read about's on London."

"I suppose the fog gives the brutes more of a show to drop bombs," reflected Schnitzel.

"It's a horrible business," growled Bob. "I'm glad the Allies are beginning to give the dogs some of their own dope. I wish they'd wipe Germany off the map."

"She'll do that for herself if she keeps on trying a little longer. I'd hate to be deutschy Deutschland when our Allies get through with her. She'll sure be out in the cold," predicted Roger.

"Let her freeze. She deserves it," was Jimmy's vengeful opinion.

"So think I," echoed Ignace, who had been plodding tranquilly along with his Brothers in his usual silent fashion.

"Poland at last heard from!" exclaimed Bob. "I thought it had been struck dumb by Cousin Emile."

"No yet," flung back Ignace. "So much I hear I feel to keep the shut up. So mebbe I learn som'thin'."

"Oh, my conversation is always highly instructive," Bob patronizingly assured. "You can learn something from Bobby every time he opens his mouth. He's a walking compendium of knowledge and a spouting fount of useful information."

"We'll let Bobby tell it," jeered Jimmy. "I wouldn't be caught dead——"

Walking next to Bob, something suddenly cut the narrow space between the two with the peculiar whistling whine which belongs only to a speeding bullet.

"Drop!" yelled Jimmy, suiting the action to the word. "Some Boche has it in for us!"

CHAPTER V

A WILD GOOSE CHASE

Like a flash, five uniformed figures flattened themselves to the ground as several more bullets whistled above them. Though they heard no report, a peculiar sound as of an almost silent concussion accompanied the whine of each winging bullet.

For a moment or two the Khaki Boys pressed close to the cold earth, too greatly flabbergasted for speech.

It was Jimmy who first cautiously raised himself a little from the frozen ground. A bullet promptly sang past his head causing him to quickly duck and resume his former position.

"Where are they coming from?" breathed Bob.

"On the left. That gateway," muttered Roger.

The Khaki Boys had been in the act of passing an apparently deserted house on the outskirts of the village. It was surrounded by a high stone wall, but the gate was missing, leaving a wide aperture.

Roger's alert eyes had noted it just as they came abreast of it. On the other side of the road a little above it stood another house, dark like the first.

"Then charge it," came impatiently from Jimmy.

Up in a flash, the quintet made a bold dash toward the danger spot. Strangely enough not a single bullet more was directed at them by their unknown foe.

Reaching the gateway, no one was to be seen. The clear moonlight shone whitely down upon it, bathing the darkly outlined wall with radiant light.

"Whoever ambushed us has cut and run along close to the wall and down among those trees and outbuildings," surmised Bob.

"Come on, let's after 'em," proposed Jimmy sharply. "We're losing time. We'll never nab 'em at this rate. Hug the wall, though. It's safer."

Led by impetuous Jimmy the party traversed on the run a long stretch of bare ground that sloped gradually down to a small orchard at the end of the grounds. Their eyes were sharply trained ahead to catch a first glimpse of their quarry, hidden perhaps behind the trunk of a tree.

Against the moon's silver rays the trees stood out sharply, their bare branches affording little shadow in which the fugitive enemy might seek concealment.

First impulse toward self-protection under fire had been completely routed by the desire to give chase. The hunters now darted recklessly in and out among the trees, oblivious to the possibility of a fresh attack from a new quarter.

None came. Neither did they glimpse any human beings other than themselves. The enemy evidently had abandoned his or their murderous project, and fled from the premises. Continued search led to the discovery of a gap in the lower end of the wall.

"Here's where they beat it!" Bob pointed triumphantly to the gap.

"Looks like it. We've gone over every foot of this orchard."

Roger frowningly eyed the break in the wall.

"I don't believe it was they." Jimmy shook a decided head. "It was he. A one-man game. He had a gun with a Maxim silencer, too. That's why we heard only a queer muffled sound instead of distinct reports."

"That's so," agreed Schnitzel. "Anyhow, if there'd been two or three of 'em the whole bunch couldn't have skiddooed without our seeing at least one of 'em."

"So think I mebbe scare som' Boche pretty bad, we run after," offered Ignace.

"Somebody was sure plugging for the Fatherland," asserted Bob. "Nearly plugged us, too. The first shot zipped between Blazes' head and mine."

"If we'd jumped up and started on we'd have got another peppering. The sharpshooter who couldn't shoot sharp didn't figure on our rushing the gate. It gave him such a jolt that he beat it."

"Where did he go?" demanded Jimmy.

"In an opposite direction to us, I suppose," surmised Schnitzel. "While we were hiking for that orchard he was hot-footing it along the other way. Two of us should have gone one way and three the other."

"Then he certainly didn't go through this gap. We're a nice bunch of rookies," jeered Bob. "All run in one direction like a flock of sheep."

"Well, we were excited," excused Jimmy with a sickly grin.

"You mean rattled," laughed Roger.

"It was all Bob's fault," accused Jimmy jocularly. "If he hadn't gone and said that our gunman had beat it along the wall and into that orchard we wouldn't have been in such a rush to beat it after him."

"Yes, and what did you say?" retorted Bob in the same joking spirit. "You were first man to yell, 'Come on, let's after him.' Then away you went and took us along."

"Well, you didn't have to go, did you?" countered Jimmy.

"Sure we did, else why are we Blazes' bunkies?"

There was an earnest note back of this lightly uttered reply. Jimmy caught it. Slapping Bob on the shoulder he said: "Good old Bob. You're not so worse. I kind of like you."

"So glad, I'm sure," simpered Bob, returning the slap with interest.

"It's just as well that we kept together, I guess," commented Roger soberly. "There's safety in numbers, you know. I don't see that there's any use in hanging around here. Our man has given us the slip. It must have been some stray Boche out on his own. Not a soldier, but some secret sympathizer with the Fatherland, perhaps. Else why would he be slipping around behind gates to plug passing soldiers? It's unusual for a party from camp to be shot at like that so far back from the fighting district."

"This yellow sneak might have been hanging around the station when we got off the train."

As usual, Bob was full of theories. "He knew it was a straight road to camp and that he couldn't miss us. Very likely he knows this part of the country like a book, so he just took a cross-cut and waited at the gate for us. It was a fine chance to get a whack at the 'American dogs.' Long live Bunco Bill—not! I hope he chokes!" anathematized Bob.

"Some healthy little hate,"