eedingly
nervous and apt, at times, to let burst a salvo of fire without any real
reason.

The fluttering of some armless sleeve on the body of a dead man, the
rattle of a loose strand of barbed wire, the movement of a sorely
wounded soldier lying out in the open, might draw the German fire. And
if the moving picture boys were caught in that they would be hard put to
it to escape.

"The only thing to do, when you see a flash of fire, is to drop to the
ground and lie as still as you can," Blake had said to his chums before
they started out. "Duck your heads down on your arms and don't move. The
lampblack will kill any glare from the lights and they may not see us.
So remember, don't move if you see anything like a light. It may be a
glare from a discharged rifle, or it may be a rocket or star cluster.
Just lie low, that's the way!"

And so, as they crawled on, in crouching attitudes, over the desolate
stretch that lay between them and the place they sought, they made no
noise, and kept a sharp watch.

Blake led the way, his hand ready on his pistol, and the other two boys
followed his example. Their gas masks were ready at their belts, but
these were mainly an added precaution, as it was not likely, unless a
general attack was contemplated, that the Germans would produce the
chlorine.

Blake had gone a little way down the slope, Joe and Charlie following as
closely as was safe, when the leader came to a halt. Watching his dim
form, his chums did the same.

"What is it?" whispered Joe, in the softest of voices.

"A figure," answered Blake likewise. "I'm not sure whether it's a dead
man or some one like us--trying to discover something. Do you see it?"

Joe looked. He saw a huddled heap which might, some day, have been a
man. Now it was but a--heap. As the boys strained their eyes through the
darkness they became aware that it was the body of a man--a French
soldier who had fallen in the engagement of a few days before, and who
had not yet been buried. There were many such--too many on both sides
for the health and comfort of the living.

"Pass to one side," advised Joe. "We can't do him any good."

"Poor fellow!" murmured Charlie. "Ouch!" he suddenly exclaimed, in
louder tones than any they had heretofore used.

"Quiet!" hissed Blake. "What's the matter?"

"A big rat ran right over my legs," answered Macaroni.

"Well, if he didn't bite you what are you yelling about?" demanded Joe.
The trenches were full