the Germans?" asked Earl.

"Ten-inch," said Leon. "They're good ones too."

"Can't they use the 42-centimeter guns out here?"

"No, they're for smashing forts. They're mortars, you know."

"None of them compare with our 75's," exclaimed Jacques proudly.

"That is, for field work, you mean," said Leon.

"Yes. And no gunners can compare with the French, either."

"That's been proved to every one's satisfaction, I guess," Leon agreed.

It seemed remarkable that these three boys could stand in the front
line trenches of the greatest battlefield the world has ever known and
calmly discuss the merits of the rival artillery. Such is the effect
of war, however. It seems as if a man can become accustomed to almost
anything, and after weeks and months on the battle-line the artillery
duels and the ever-present death become matters of unconcern to the
ordinary soldier.

"We ought to get some sleep," Jacques announced finally.

"Can any one sleep here?" demanded Earl.

"I think I can," said Jacques. "I'm healthy and I'm tired."

"We can lie right down here in the trench," suggested Leon. "We can
use our knapsacks for pillows and maybe get a little sleep."

"This is no place for a man who's nervous," laughed Jacques as a German
shell whistled over their heads and exploded with a roar a short
distance behind their position.

"I should think not," exclaimed Earl. "Still I don't suppose it will
do us any good to keep thinking about it. I suppose we might as well
try to get a little rest as Jacques advises."

"Jacques won't be able to lie down," laughed Leon. "He's too tall."

"Not at all," protested the young Frenchman quickly, taking this remark
literally. "I am but six feet two; you and Earl are at least six feet."

"Not quite," said Leon. "At any rate I was only fooling."

"I see," said Jacques soberly. He did not always catch the drift of
some of the sallies his young American friends made.

"How about sleep?" exclaimed Earl. "We can get some little rest
anyway."

The three young soldiers followed the example of most of their
companions in the trench and lay down, with their knapsacks under their
heads. Still the artillery roared. Incessant explosions shattered the
night air, predicting the struggle to take place on the morrow.

CHAPTER III

THE ATTACK

"The cannonade is worse than it was last night."

"I think you're right, Leon," Jacques agreed. "That is quite natural
though."