While Frank was calling out after this manner everybody was making haste to show as little of their person as possible. As there was not much shelter of any kind available, the only way this could be accomplished was to flatten out on the ground.

By some species of good luck it happened that there was a dip to the earth at the base of the low elevation on which the windmill had been built. Frank afterward called it a “swale.” It ran away from the spot in a zigzag fashion, and perhaps if one were agile and clever, he might even manage to wriggle along this dip without exposing much of his person to those in the tower.

The four of them thus wallowed, and tried to exchange remarks.

“There goes another shot,” said Billy, as a report came to their ears. “I hope nobody’s been hit so far. How about that?”

“No damage here,” replied Frank immediately.

“I am pleased to say the same, young m’sieu,” added the Frenchman.

“Well, so far I haven’t felt a wound, but I’m expecting something dreadful to happen any minute now,” Pudge called out ruefully.

“Why, what’s the matter with you, Pudge?” demanded Billy.

“Only this, that I loom up so much more than anybody else, and there’s lots of chances of them seeing me, that’s all. But then a fellow can only die once, and perhaps I won’t know what hits me, which is some comfort.”

“Hug the ground for all you’re worth then,” the other told him.

“I am, till I can hardly breathe,” replied Pudge. “How long are we going to stay here do you think, Frank?”

“Not a great while, if we know it,” came the answer, which proved that Frank, as usual, was already figuring on some masterly move.

“But think of the nerve of the Germans occupying that windmill right back of the British lines, would you?” exclaimed Billy, as though that fact interested him more than anything else.

“Well, you can expect nearly anything in this desperate fighting,” Frank told him. “Only the other day I was reading about a case where they had made a fort out of an old windmill that had a concrete foundation and walls. The Allies tried ever so many times to dislodge the German sharpshooters, but couldn’t. Then the airmen took a hand, but failed to drop a bomb where it would do the business.”

“How did they manage it in the end, Frank?” asked Billy, always eager to hear the explanation of any puzzle.

“After they had lost a lot of men in direct assaults, the Allies dug a tunnel up under the windmill, laid a mine, and exploded it,” Frank continued.

“And that did the business, did it?” questioned Pudge, also deeply interested for personal reasons.

“It shattered things, and killed every German in the place,” said Frank. “Do you know they found more than a dozen quick-firing guns there? They had made it a regular fort, even though they knew not a single man of them could ever escape in the end.”

“But how can we dig a tunnel without the tools?” demanded Pudge, almost pathetically, “and what have we got to blow them up with, I want to know?”

Billy laughed derisively.

“We couldn’t if we would, Pudge,” he remarked, “and we wouldn’t if we could. We came over here on business for the Sea Eagle Company, Limited, and not to take a hand in shortening the supply of the Kaiser’s brave soldiers.”

“Then what are we meaning to do about it?” the fat boy kept on asking. “I want to know, because to tell you the truth, I’m not feeling very comfortable right now.”

“Frank, have you thought up that scheme yet?” asked Billy, just as indifferently as though it might be the regular program for Frank to figure out a method of escaping from each and every ill that beset them.

“I think there’s a way to do it,” Frank responded. “This swale we’re lying in, as near as I can tell, keeps right along in a crooked fashion, but always bearing in a direction that will take us away from the windmill.”

“Oh! that’s the game, then, is it?” cried Billy. “You lead off, and we follow after you like a trailing snake? Well, I’m pretty good on the crawl, and when it’s necessary I can wriggle to beat the band.”

“Yes,” sang out Pudge with a groan, “but how about me? I’m not built to make a good wriggler, and you know it, fellows. It’s going to be awful tough on a fellow whose body is so thick that it looms up above the sheltering bank some of the time. I’ll be fairly riddled with shot, sooner or later. Please tell me how I’m going to manage it, won’t you?”

“There’s only one thing for you to do, Pudge,” Billy jeered.

“What’s that?” asked the unhappy Pudge.

“Hug tight where you are, and we’ll promise to come back sooner or later and rescue you, after we’ve got a bunch of those Tommies to help us out.”

Apparently the “last resort” idea did not wholly appeal to Pudge, for he quickly went on to say:

“Guess I’ll do the best I can at hunching along after you. Some places I might manage to roll, you see. But I certainly do hope they won’t open fire on me with one of those machine guns that run off a dozen shots a second.”

Frank was already on the move. He may have been sorely puzzled to account for this strange and unprovoked attack on them by the unknown party or parties concealed inside the base of the old windmill; but he also knew that the only thing for them to do was to get away from the danger zone.

A third shot was heard just about that time, and Pudge gave a groan, which naturally alarmed the other boys.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been hit, Pudge?” called Billy, whose heart was in the right place, even if he did occasionally joke his stout chum when a rollicking humor seized him.

“No, not that I’m aware of,” came the answer, “but every time I hear that gun go off it gives me a fierce start. This thing is even worse than falling in an aëroplane, and expecting to get smashed when you strike the ground.”

“But we’re getting along, remember,” said Frank, meaning to encourage the other.

“And these bends on the dip help to hide us from those Germans back there in the bargain,” added Billy, wishing to contribute his mite of consolation.

The French aviator said nothing, though he too must have realized that they were all in more or less danger should they expose themselves too rashly. No doubt, those enemies concealed back of the walls of the windmill base were watching eagerly to catch signs of their presence, and ready to send a storm of deadly missiles that way at the least invitation.

Despite his size, Pudge was really making a good job out of it. He could do things when he made up his mind to try hard.

They could hear him puffing dreadfully, and making a noise that Billy likened to the blowing of a porpoise as it wallowed in the billows.

“Every foot counts with us, remember, Pudge,” said Billy, who was just ahead of the fat boy, turning his head to speak, for it was hardly wise to call out any longer and thus tell the enemy where to fire.

“Mine feel like they were made of lead and I can hardly drag ’em along after me,” the other replied, mistaking the meaning of Billy’s words.

“There goes still another shot; I wonder what they can be shooting at?”

Hearing Billy make this remark, Frank saw fit to answer him.

“I think they must believe we’re still hiding somewhere about the seaplane, which is partly visible from the rise; and every now and then they take a snap shot to let us know they’re on the job.”

At hearing that Pudge seemed to feel much easier in his mind, for there was a joyful strain to his voice when he next spoke in a husky whisper to Billy.

“That lets me out, Billy, and I’ll be able to hunch along better after this. But let me tell you I’ll be mighty glad when it’s all over with. I’m scraping my knees something awful, and I’ll be lame for days after this.”

“Well, why complain when you know there are some things a whole lot worse than having scraped knees?” he was told. Apparently this caused Pudge to look at things in a different light, for he closed up.

It continued in this fashion for quite some time, until Frank began to believe they had gone well beyond the danger zone. When he raised his head he could not discover the windmill at all, which was ample proof that there was no longer anything to fear from that quarter.

He was just about to say something along those lines to the others, when he made an unpleasant discovery.

“What are you stopping here for, Frank?” asked Billy, as he and the French aviator came crawling up alongside the leader, and he chanced to observe that Frank was acting rather strangely.

“Because it seems that our further progress is going to be blocked,” replied Frank.

“You’re staring hard at that bunch of trees ahead where we were hoping to get on our feet again. What’s wrong over yonder?” demanded Billy.

“Only that I’ve seen signs to tell me there are men hiding in among those trees, who have seen us coming, and are waiting to trap us,” Frank told him.