an listened with
the keen ears of a sportsman, all his faculties alert. A false
movement and he was lost.

A scrambling sound close on his left startled him. He fancied it was
the men quitting a trench and if so it could only be with one object in
view--a night attack. If this were the case it was well planned, for
there was very little noise. Alan, however, being near, heard that
faint peculiar sound of many men silently on the move.

He would have given much to know where he was--the exact spot. He
wondered if old Jean Baptistine had made a mistake and given him wrong
directions. He was glad he wore uniform and had Newport's revolver on
him--it might be useful.

A faint streak in the sky, a rosy tint wearing down the pale gray,
warned him day was breaking and he must be prepared.

There were others waiting for daybreak as well as himself, for the
heavy boom of a huge gun sounded quite close at hand. Alan looked in
the direction, and saw a cloud of smoke. This was answered by a boom
and a cloud from the opposite side and he knew an artillery duel had
commenced. Suddenly four men sprang out of a hole formed by a bursting
shell. They were Germans. What they were doing there it was
impossible to say. They were as surprised to see Alan as he was to see
them. In the growing light as he sat on his horse he looked like a
phantom emerging out of the mist.

A few minutes passed and the situation was summed up on both sides. A
dash was made at Alan, shots fired as he turned his horse to the right
and headed right straight at them. His charge was the last thing they
expected. He crashed into them, sending two to the ground; the others
hung to the horse and saddle.

Alan drew his revolver and shot one man through the head. The horse
plunged, reared, but he kept his seat. The two Germans who were
knocked down were on him again, but he wrenched free and galloped away.
Over this vacant space before him men seemed to spring up like
mushrooms. It was impossible to get through and reach the English
lines, which he could now see. He made the most of it. His horse
faced the situation bravely, but he was pulled out of the saddle and
made prisoner. He had narrowly escaped being killed, as sundry bullet
tears in his uniform showed. He thanked Heaven he was not in mufti or
it would have gone hard with him. He was dragged into the crater-hole
from which the four men who had first attacked him emerged. He had
ki