ng his head to the level rim of
the crater, to hear about him commands shouted in hoarse guttural
accents. The sounds of battle had died down and it was evident that
the fight for that day was over. And that part of the field had been
left in German hands!

Reinforcements coming up in the nick of time had halted a retreat that
was threatening to become a rout. The battle would probably be resumed
on the morrow, but for the present both forces were resting on their
arms.

The tables were turned with a vengeance. A moment before he had been
holding a prisoner and getting ready to take him into the American
lines. Now he was himself in the enemy lines, liable at any moment to
be discovered and dragged out roughly, to be questioned by German
captors.

All this passed through Frank's mind in a twinkling. But then another
thought came to him. He must silence his prisoner.

The thought came not a moment too soon, for as Frank dropped down
beside him a shout arose from the German's lips. He too had heard and
understood the sounds about him.

In an instant Frank had thrust his handkerchief into the prisoner's
mouth. The man squirmed and struggled, but his bound hands made him
powerless, and Frank soon made a gag that, while allowing the man a
chance to breathe comfortably, would keep him silent.

Then he settled back and tried to think. And his thoughts were not
pleasant ones.

He had had a brief taste of German imprisonment, and he was not anxious
to repeat the experience. Yet nothing seemed more probable. Little
short of a miracle would prevent his capture if he stayed there much
longer. In the morning, discovery would be certain. He must escape
that night, if at all. But how could he make his way through that
swarm of enemies?

And while he is cudgeling his brain to find an answer to the question,
it may be well, for the sake of those who have not read the preceding
volumes of this series, to tell briefly who Frank and his chums were
and what they had done up to the time this story opens.

Frank Sheldon had been born and brought up in the town of Camport, a
thriving American city of about twenty-five thousand people. His
father was American but his mother was French. Mr. Sheldon had met and
married his wife in her native province of Auvergne, where her parents
owned considerable property. They had died since their daughter's
marriage, and in the natural course of things she would have inherited