t who hadn't had a dozen wounds, and some twice that many. We must
see that bunch. Bravest soldiers of the whole war! They've been through
the three years--at Verdun--on the Marne--and now this awful Flanders
drive. It's up to us to see them."

News like this thrilled Dorn. During all the months he had been in
France the deeds and valor of these German-named Blue Devils had come to
him, here and there and everywhere. Dorn remembered all he heard, and
believed it, too, though some of the charges and some of the burdens
attributed to these famed soldiers seemed unbelievable. His opportunity
had now come. With the moving up to the front he would meet reality; and
all within him, the keen, strange eagerness, the curiosity that
perplexed, the unintelligible longing, the heat and burn of passion,
quickened and intensified.

Not until late in the afternoon, however, did off duty present an
opportunity for him to go into the village. It looked the same as the
other villages he had visited, and the inhabitants, old men, old women
and children, all had the somber eyes, the strained, hungry faces, the
oppressed look he had become accustomed to see. But sad as were these
inhabitants of a village near the front, there was never in any one of
them any absence of welcome to the Americans. Indeed, in most people he
met there was a quick flashing of intense joy and gratitude. The
Americans had come across the sea to fight beside the French. That was
the import, tremendous and beautiful.

Dorn met Dixon and Rogers on the main street of the little village. They
had been to see the Blue Devils.

"Better stay away from them," advised Dixon, dubiously.

"No!... Why?" ejaculated Dorn.

Dixon shook his head. "Greatest bunch I ever looked at. But I think they
resented our presence. Pat and I were talking about them. It's strange,
Dorn, but I believe these Blue Devils that have saved France and
England, and perhaps America, too, don't like our being here."

"Impossible!" replied Dorn.

"Go and see for yourself," put in Rogers. "I believe we all ought to
look them over."

Thoughtfully Dorn strode on in the direction indicated, and presently he
arrived at the end of the village, where in an old orchard he found a
low, rambling, dilapidated barn, before which clusters of soldiers in
blue lounged around smoking fires. As he drew closer he saw that most of
them seemed fixed in gloomy abstraction. A few were employed at some
task of hand, a