he wounded
Belgians; the enemy's wounded had been transferred to Aix-la-Chapelle.

Nearing Argenteau they heard a feeble cry. They stopped, and listened.
Again it came, clearly this time: "Elsa! Elsa!"

It was a man's voice, and the name was that of a German woman. Maertz
searched in a thicket, and found a young German officer lying there. He
was delirious, calling for the help of one powerless to aid.

He seemed to become aware of the presence of some human being. Perhaps
his atrophied senses retained enough vitality to hear the passing
footsteps.

"Elsa!" he moaned again, "give me water, for God's sake!"

"He's done for," reported Maertz to the waiting group. "He's covered
with blood."

"For all that he may prove our salvation," said Dalroy quickly. "Sharp,
now! Pitch our firearms and ammunition into the river. We must lift a
gate off its hinges, and carry that fellow into Argenteau."

Joos grinned. He saw the astuteness of the scheme. A number of Belgian
peasants bringing a wounded officer to the ambulance would probably be
allowed to proceed scot-free. But he was loath to part with the precious
fork on which the blood of "that fat Busch" was congealing. He thrust it
into a ditch, and if ever he was able to retrieve it no more valued
souvenir of the great war will adorn his dwelling. They possessed
neither wine nor water; but a tiny rivulet flowing into the Meuse under
a neighbouring bridge supplied the latter, and the wounded man gulped
down great mouthfuls out of a _Pickel-haube_. It partially cleared his
wits.

"Where am I?" he asked faintly.

Dalroy nodded to Joos, who answered, "On the Meuse bank, near
Argenteau."

"Ah, I remember. Those cursed----" Some dim perception of his
surroundings choked the word on his lips. "I was hit," he went on, "and
crawled among the bushes."

"Was there fighting here this morning?"

"Yes. To-day is Tuesday, isn't it?"

"No, Wednesday midnight."

"_Ach, Gott!_ That _verdammt_ ambulance missed me! I have lain here two
days!"

This time he swore without hesitation, since he was cursing his own men.

Jan came with a hurdle. "This is lighter than a gate, monsieur," he
explained.

Dalroy nudged Joos sharply, and the miller took the cue. "Right," he
said. "Now, you two, handle him carefully."

The German groaned piteously, and fainted.

"Oh, he's dead!" gasped Irene, when she saw his head drop.

"No, he will recover. But don't speak English.--As for you, Jan Ma