re torn in seven or eight
places, and his left sleeve hung in ribbons. Up to his waist-belt he was
soaked by his passage through the stream. Above that his tunic was
covered with blood; on the whole, not a man you would have cared to sit
next to in a railway carriage or anywhere else.

But he only smiled as Dennis pointed to him. "Yes, I know," he said;
"but what's the odds? We've done a big thing, and the rest of the
battalion's done a big thing, and we've got to keep the beggars on the
go before they dig themselves in. Come on, dear old Den.; you'll hardly
believe it, but I haven't got a scratch of my own. All this gore belongs
to the enemy, and I don't think we've lost more than a couple of dozen
of A Company."

They ran side by side, and soon came up with a khaki mob of their own
men and the Highlanders streaming along each side of the German
communication trench, up which the Bavarians were still flying. Every
now and then they fired into it or threw bombs, but the older hands knew
that the walk-over would not last for ever, and kept their eyes skinned.

Suddenly, where the shattered trees thinned out and the still rising
ground showed an irregular ridge against the skyline, a sound which they
all knew only too well fell upon their ears.

There were two machine-gun emplacements on the ridge, and a murderous
fire was opened upon the victorious pursuers.

Bob Dashwood blew the order to take cover, and, as there was plenty of
it, A Company promptly flopped down behind the fallen trunks which our
bombardment had uprooted in every direction.

"Phew! 'Ot stuff!" ejaculated Harry Hawke, as he made room for Dennis
beside him, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the sleeve
of his jacket.

He was blowing like a grampus, for the pace had been fast.

"When we've got our wind, I reckon there's a little job up there for us,
sir," said Hawke, pointing over the top of the fallen beech behind which
they crouched.

"You mean the machine-gun, of course," said Dennis, nodding. "But
unfortunately, whilst we're getting our wind, so are the enemy, and
there's forty yards of open climb before we reach those sandbags up
yonder. It isn't like that village behind us, and you may bet your boots
the trench on the top of the ridge is packed with Germans like herrings
in a barrel, waiting for us. We'll have to lie low until the battalion
overtakes us."

Harry Hawke squinted thoughtfully down the short length of his snub