g the approaching figure closely. The
stranger removed a cigarette from his mouth to enable him the better to
lay his finger upon his lips, imposing silence, and as he did so the
movement of his hand and his way of holding the cigarette somehow caused
Tom to stare.

Then his puzzled scrutiny gave way to an expression of blank amazement,
as again the figure raised his finger to his lips to anticipate any
impulse of Tom's to call. Nor did Tom violate this caution until the
stranger was within a dozen feet or so.

"Roscoe--Bent!" he ejaculated. "Don't you know me? I'm Tom Slade."

"Well--I'll--be----" Roscoe began, then broke off, holding Tom at arm's
length and looking at him incredulously. "Tom Slade--_I'll
be--jiggered_!"

"I kinder knew it was you," said Tom in his impassive way, "as soon as I
saw you take that cigarette out of your mouth, 'cause you do it such a
swell way, kind of," he added, ingenuously; "just like the way you used
to when you sat on the window-sill in Temple Camp office and jollied
Margaret Ellison. Maybe you don't remember."

Still Roscoe held him at arm's length, smiling all over his handsome,
vivacious face. Then he removed one of his hands from Tom's shoulder and
gave him a push in the chest in the old way.

"It's the same old Tom Slade, I'll be---- And with the front of your
belt away around at the side, as usual. This is better than taking a
hundred prisoners. How are you and how'd you get here, you sober old
tow-head, you?" and he gripped Tom's hand with impulsive vehemence.
"This sure does beat all! I might have known if I found you at all it
would be in the woods, you old pathfinder!" and he gave Tom another
shove, then rapped him on the shoulder and slipped his hand around his
neck in a way all his own.

"I--I like to hear you talk that way," said Tom, with that queer
dullness which Roscoe liked; "it reminds me of old times."

"Kind of?" prompted Roscoe, laughing. "Is our friend here dead?"

"Yes, he's very dead," said Tom soberly, "but I think there are others
around in the bushes."

"There are some enemies there," said Roscoe, "but we won't kill them.
Contemptible murderers!" he muttered, as he hauled the dead Boche out of
the stream. "I'll pick you off one by one, as fast as you come up here,
you gang of back-stabbers! Look here," he added.

"I got to admit you can do it," said Tom with frank admiration.

Roscoe pulled away the shrubbery where the German had been kneeling