he thought was the right direction.

He had no idea of time. Things seemed dark around him, but he was not
sure whether this was due to the sky being overcast or to the approach
of twilight. Perhaps it was neither. It might be only that his eyes
were dimmed by the fever that was raging in him.

His wounded leg dragged behind him as he slowly worked along and every
moment was torture. Sometimes it caught in a bush, and the resulting
wrench almost caused him to swoon. But he kept on doggedly.

He passed many dead men, and painfully worked his way around to avoid
touching them. One of them, he noticed, had a sack full of hand
grenades. But the stiffening hand of the owner would never hurl
another of those messengers of death.

On and on Frank toiled. His head felt so light that it seemed to be
detached from his shoulders. He caught himself talking aloud, speaking
the names of Bart and Billy and Tom. Where were they? What were they
doing? Why were they not there with him?

And what had happened to the regiment? Had it been driven back? He
remembered the heavy reinforcements that the enemy had thrown into the
fight. Perhaps the old Thirty-seventh was getting ready for another
attack. But the effort to think was too painful and Frank gave it up.

Suddenly he heard the sound of voices a little way in front of him, and
a thrill of joy shot through him. He was paid at that moment for all
his suffering. How lucky that he had steeled himself to the task of
crawling back to his comrades! Soon he would be with the boys again.
They would give him water. They would bind up his leg. His head would
stop aching. The hours of torture would be over.

He was about to shout to them, when through a thick clump of bushes he
saw the helmets of German soldiers. They were working feverishly to
get some machine guns in position. It was evident that they were
expecting an attack.

In that moment of terrible disappointment Frank tasted the bitterness
of death. All that agony had been endured only to bring him into the
hands of the Huns!

But this revulsion of feeling lasted only for an instant. The sight of
his enemies had cleared his brain and awakened his indomitable fighting
instinct. The Huns were working like mad at the machine-gun nest.
That meant that the old Thirty-seventh was coming back! He must help
them. These guns, cunningly placed, would do terrible execution if
they were allowed to work their w