s the British. The tide turned. Once more
the ground was covered. The first entanglement was reached and
crossed. The havoc grew; the rout was turned into a victory. The
Allies had won the day!

They followed the fleeing enemy, stubbornly hammering their rear as
they retreated, while a thin sprinkle of Red Cross aids and doctors and
nurses commenced to appear on that dreadful field. They moved here and
there, clear stars in the dark sky of history.

One of them stopped to bandage a head where a clean line of blood
showed a deep furrow in the side. When the wound was bandaged, the
surgeon administered a dose of medicine, and in a moment Zaidos opened
his eyes, and looked curiously up at the doctor.

"You are all right," said the doctor. "Nothing but a scratch on the
head. Lie still and wig-wag the ambulance when it comes along."

He moved rapidly away, and Zaidos obeyed his parting order. In fact he
was not able to move. Velo's bullet had cut close to the skull and
Zaidos had lost much blood. He was conscious also of a pain in his
broken leg, but could not move to see what caused it. Finally the
aching grew so intense that it drove him to an upright position,
although for a moment things whirled, and he was forced to close his
eyes. When he looked he saw Velo, the anguish and pallor and amazement
of death written on his face, lying doubled against Zaidos' knee.
Carefully he worked himself free, to find that a bullet had struck his
leg while he was unconscious, and had broken the small bone below the
knee. It was the broken leg, at that. He straightened himself as well
as he could, and looked at Velo. He commenced to remember. It came
back bit by bit; the fight, and Velo's treachery. Last of all he
remembered what Velo had said. "I have the papers!" So it was Velo
all the time! Zaidos could not imagine how Velo had secured them. He
knew when he had lost them that night in the barracks at Saloniki.
Velo certainly had not been there. His hurt head beat painfully, and
it was difficult for him to think. If Velo had the papers, however, he
must get them. Velo was dead apparently. Zaidos knew that look. The
papers were his. He must take them before someone came and carried him
away. He knew what Velo's resting place would be, and shuddered.
Slowly, painfully, he shifted his position until he lay close at his
cousin's side. Supporting himself on his elbow, with his free hand he
felt in the bloo