yed their
searchlights on the ground the boys hoped to cover, or sent up star
clusters to give light for raiding parties sent out to kill the French
and American wounded, such being one of the pleasant ways in which Fritz
makes war.

Late in the afternoon they paid a visit to their friend the sentry,
asking if he had seen anything of the two men that they suspected might
have the films--Secor and Labenstein.

"I wouldn't know 'em by those names even if I saw 'em," said the
soldier, "and, as a matter of fact, I didn't see the same two chaps I
saw before. But I have seen figures moving about down in that hollow,
where we wiped out the machine gun squad, and I wouldn't be surprised
but what there was something doing there."

"I only hope our films are there," said Joe.

"Don't build too much on it, Buddy," advised the sentry. "As I say, I
saw some figures I took to be Germans down in that valley, but they may
be getting ready for a raid on our lines, and may have nothing to do
with your pictures."

"Well, we'll take a chance," decided Blake.

"That's what!" chimed in Joe.

Being accredited representatives of a certain branch of the army, though
non-combatants, the boys were allowed to pass through the sentry lines,
except in certain restricted places. They were given the countersign
each night in case they desired to leave their quarters and go about.

But there was a risk in starting on this journey. As non-combatants, if
they carried arms and went into the enemy's territory, they were not
entitled to be considered prisoners of war. Of course they could fight
for their lives, but not with the same status as could a uniformed
soldier. As a matter of fact, they did not wear the regulation uniform,
having dark suits better suited to this night excursion than the khaki.

Waiting until it was dark enough for their purpose and taking with them
electric flashlights to use in case they got into a hut or some such
place where they could not see to search for their films, and having
blackened their hands and faces and seen that their weapons were in
order, they sallied forth from the home of the humble French couple,
many good wishes going with them.

It was a walk of three or four miles from the little village to the
place where the sentry had said the dugout lay, and during the first
part of the trip the boys talked to each other.

"Do you suppose we'll really find the films there?" ventured Joe.

"It's a slim chan