Perilous in the extreme was the strait in which Jimmy and Roger found themselves. They realized that they could not remain very long on the rock in mid-stream in their present weakened end drenched condition. It was barely large enough for them, and just as the raft came in sight a new peril became manifest. This was the fact that the river was rising.
Roger had noticed it and called Jimmy's attention to it just as the Germans came around a bend in the stream. There had been considerable rain, and more was in prospect. The stream would probably rise suddenly, and then it would be impossible for the Khaki Boys to maintain their position on the rock. The torrent would sweep over it.
But a more immediate need confronted them. They felt that they must take refuge on the raft as the only means of getting out of the desperate situation where fate had swept them.
"Get ready!" called Jimmy to his chum, as a swirl of the current brought the raft nearer the rock.
"What's the game to be?" asked Roger.
"We'll leap on the raft as it floats past. If the Germans will let us share it with them, well and good. If not—well, we'll just have to fight them, that's all. As I said, it's our lives or theirs."
"If they haven't any arms we stand a chance," returned Roger. "But if they try any shooting——"
"I don't believe they have a gun or a revolver," interrupted Jimmy. "If they had, they'd have begun shooting before this. Come on now, get ready!"
The attitude of the Germans on the raft, at least those who by their attitude showed themselves to be unwounded, or at best but slightly wounded, was strange. They seemed stunned, as if they had passed through some terrible experience. And, as Roger and Jimmy learned later, the men had taken part in a desperate engagement, and their whole command had been practically wiped out. These few had managed to escape to the raft, but the horror of what they had gone through seemed to make them temporarily incapable of using all their faculties.
It was due to this, perhaps, that Roger and Jimmy were able to accomplish what they did. For as they leaped aboard the raft, there was only slight resistance at first. One or two of the Germans tried to push the lads off, and they would have succeeded had they used their strength to its best advantage.
But they did not seem to know what to do. As a matter of fact they lacked a leader, and a quick glance directed to the prostrate figures on the raft showed that one was an under officer. But he seemed to be dying.
And so, leaping from their rock, the two Americans landed on the raft. One German tried to push Jimmy off, but was sent staggering back with a blow in the face, and he fell over one of the prostrate figures. Then Roger overcame the man who rushed at him, and for the time being the Khaki Boys were victorious.
But the situation was almost changed for the worse a moment later. The under-officer, corresponding probably to an American second lieutenant, raised his head from a pool of blood and cried, in German, of course:
"Throw off the American pigs!"
It was just this command that the German privates needed, and it seemed to galvanize them into action. The four, who of those on the raft alone seemed to be unwounded, sprang at Jimmy and Roger. But one missed his footing and fell heavily. This left only three, and two of them sprang at Jimmy.
But once more luck was with the Khaki Boys. With a flash of inspiration, Roger, as he saw his antagonist coming at him, reached in his back trousers pocket and pulled out a small nickle oil-can that he used on his rifle. Holding it out, as though it were a revolver, Roger pointed it at the German's head. In an instant the man's hands went up, and he cried:
"Kamerad!"
Pausing not an instant in his actions, Roger dashed his fist, oil can and all straight into the man's face, knocking him off the raft and into the river.
"Now I can help you, Jimmy!" cried Roger, and he sprang to the assistance of his chum. And sorely did Jimmy need help, for the two Germans had almost overpowered him in their endeavor to thrust him off the raft.
With desperate energy Roger and Jimmy fought the two, and for a few seconds hard blows were given and taken on both sides. The wounded officer shouted encouragement to his men, but the desperate plight of Roger and Jimmy made them fight to such good end that in a few minutes they had forced their assailants overboard.
The man who had fallen seemed to have either broken or badly strained his leg. He was groaning and unable to rise, and this left no able-bodied Germans to attack Jimmy and Roger. They were satisfied that none in the party of Huns was armed, and so they had the situation well in hand.
"Well, this is a little better than being on the rock—after we've got things our own way," declared Jimmy, as he began to get his breath back.
"What's to be done now?" asked Roger, while the wounded officer glared at them.
Jimmy looked down the foaming river. They were in a wider and deeper part now, and the raft was swinging in toward shore.
"We'll land at that point below," said Jimmy, indicating the spot meant. "We can leap ashore, and—well, we'll have to trust to luck."
"Yes, I'll feel better once we get ashore," said Roger.
They looked at the figures on the raft. Some of the Germans were dead, and others, apparently, dying. There was nothing Roger and Jimmy could do, and, watching their chance, when the raft was within a few feet of the shore they jumped off.
There was a rope fastened to one end of the crude craft, and, catching hold of it as he leaped ashore, Jimmy cried to the officer:
"Do you want to be made fast here?"
The man muttered something in his own tongue, but as it did not seem to be an answer in the affirmative to Jimmy's question, the lad tossed his end of the rope on the raft and let the structure go floating on down stream.
"They'll have to take their chance, same as we did," remarked Jimmy. "Though I'd have anchored them if they'd said the word."
"They may be rescued by friends below here," suggested Roger. "And now what are we going to do? It's going to be dark soon, and we don't know which way to go to get back to our lines."
"You said something then!" declared Jimmy. "It's going to rain, too. I felt a few drops. Say, this is about the worst plight we've been in since we left Camp Sterling."
"Oh, it might be worse!" declared Roger, with as much optimism as he could muster. "Let's hike along until we get somewhere and find something to eat."
"Say, don't get sarcastic!" begged Jimmy.
They walked up the river bank and saw a lonely bit of country stretching before them. There did not appear to be a house on it, but that war had passed that way was made evident by many signs, few of them pleasant.
"Let's see where this road leads to," suggested Jimmy, pointing to one that did not appear to have been used recently.
"Might as well take it as any," agreed Roger. "I wish it led to a can of beans and a ham sandwich."
"Don't rub it in," groaned Jimmy.
They were tired, wet, and hungry. They were exhausted from the battle in which they had taken part, they were sore from the treatment accorded them by the Bixtons, and they had hardly recovered from the strenuous battle on the raft. Still they did not give up, but tramped on.
They passed a field in which a few miserable turnips were growing, and, digging out some, they ate them. Poor as this food was, it served to put a little more life into them.
It was getting dusk when, as they were going down the road, they heard voices ahead of them, around a turn. Jimmy and Roger looked at one another. The same thought was in the minds of both.
Were these friends or foes?
"Let's hide until we take a look," suggested Jimmy.
"Hide where?" Roger demanded.
"Up in that hole, or cave," went on Jimmy, pointing to one that showed through a fringe of bushes in the face of a hill which was bordered by the road. "We can stay there until we see who is here."
In the fast-falling darkness they scrambled up the hill and dodged into the cave. As far as they could tell it seemed to be a fairly large one.
"Look down and see if you can make out who was doing that talking, Roger," Jimmy directed. "I have a flashlight in my pocket, but I guess the water's put it out of business. Otherwise, we could see what sort of place we're in."
Jimmy's fears regarding the light were only too true. It was useless without a new battery. Roger looked down toward the road, but could see nothing, nor did they hear any more talk.
They were debating with themselves what was best to do when it began to rain hard, and Jimmy said:
"Well, we can keep dry in here, or, at least, we won't get any wetter. Good thing we found this cave when we did. But I'd like to have a light so we could see what it is. Might be a whole squad of Huns in here for all we know."
"Not very likely," decided Roger. "If there were any here they'd have tackled us before this. Say, this is some storm!
"I'd like to know who it was we heard," continued Roger, when he and his chum had been in the cave perhaps half an hour.
"So would I," assented Jimmy. "Well, if it stops raining we can——"
He came to a sudden pause, and Roger understood why, for there was a noise in the rear of the cave. It was the sound of two persons talking. And the Khaki Boys, looking into the blackness back of them, saw the glimmer of a light.
"Look! There is someone in here!" whispered Jimmy.
"Let's creep back and see who it is," advised Roger.
Cautiously they made their way back toward the faint light. It increased in brightness as they neared it, and then, to their great astonishment, they saw a sort of room fitted up in the cave. It was like one of the trench dugouts, and there were some rude chairs and a table in the center of the underground apartment. On the table stood a lantern, but it was the sight of the two figures standing beside the table that gave Roger and Jimmy their biggest surprise.
For the figures were none other than those of Wilbur and Aleck Bixton!
The two scoundrels had set their rifles in a corner of the cave room and were looking at some papers they had spread out on the table. They did not seem to feel the need of caution, and spoke aloud.
"Well," remarked Aleck, "I guess by this time those two fellows wish they hadn't been so active in making trouble for poor Mike."
Wilbur Bixton nodded.
"I think we did for them all right," went on Aleck. "They'll never trouble us again. But I don't see what's keeping Carl Anker. He said he'd be here at nine, and it's long past that now."
"Oh, he and Fritz Ammann never did show up on time," remarked Wilbur. "I guess we'll have to wait for 'em. We ought to make 'em pay big for this information. It's the most important we've handed over yet."
"That's right," agreed his brother. "And look at the risk we run. They've got to come across with more money!"
Roger nudged Jimmy as they hid in a dark corner, and Jimmy signaled back that he recognized the import of the talk.
Then as the two scoundrels bent lower over the table, handling a number of papers, Jimmy put his lips to Roger's ear and whispered:
"If we could sneak around and get their guns, we could make prisoners of 'em!"
"That's right!" agreed his chum. "There's some black work going on here. They must have come to this cave to meet two men, who, from their names, are Germans."
"Not so loud!" whispered Jimmy. "Come on now! We've got to work fast. You take one gun and I'll get the other. Their backs are toward us, and if they don't hear us they can't see us. Once we have the guns, the jig is up for them."
Slowly and cautiously, in the semi-darkness, Roger and Jimmy crept forward. They were almost at the weapons, standing in a corner behind the two men who were bending over the table, when suddenly Roger's foot struck against what seemed to be a tin can lying on the floor of the cave. There was a loud, metallic rattle.
"Who's there?" cried Aleck, springing up and wheeling around.
"Come on! Rush for it!" yelled Jimmy, all need of silence now being gone. He and his chum made a leap for the guns, but Jimmy's foot slipped and he went down.
Wilbur Bixton turned higher the flame of the lamp, and in the sudden illumination the two brothers saw the boys they had, some hours before, dropped over the cliff.
For an instant deadly fear showed on the faces of the two plotters. But as they realized that Jimmy and Roger were not ghosts, the Bixtons sprang at them with yells of rage.
Then in the cave began a desperate hand-to-hand fight!
Forgetting for the moment the fact that he was a German prisoner, Bob Dalton, at the sight of the long-lost Franz Schnitzel, rushed forward to greet his Brother. The two clasped hands warmly.
"Oh, but it's good to see you!" cried Franz.
"And it's good to know that you are—alive!" Bob hesitated over the word. For poor Franz did not seem much more than alive. He was wasted away, as were all in that horrible camp.
In the American army they had been well fed, and their condition showed accordingly. For some time Franz, and for a shorter time, Bob, had been fed in the German way—underfed, and that on the most miserable of food.
"How did it happen that you were captured?" asked Franz, as he and Bob walked off a little by themselves. "I suppose you heard all about me."
"Well, not exactly," Bob answered. "We heard part of the story about your capturing some Germans, and then either being captured yourself, or else disappearing—we couldn't be quite sure what it was. We hoped you were alive, even if you were a prisoner, but we couldn't be sure."
"Oh, I'm a prisoner all right," replied Franz. "There's no question about that. And it happened just like that! I did capture some Huns, but another party came along, rescued those I had, and copped me. Then I was brought here, after a fearful journey. But tell me about yourself. How did they get you?"
Bob told of the blowing up of the farmhouse, his unconsciousness and subsequent capture.
"Well, I guess Roger, Jimmy and Iggy are the only ones left to fight the Germans," sighed Franz.
"I don't know about Iggy," replied Bob. "I hope he's left."
"Why, what do you mean? Are Rodge and Jimmy——"
Franz hesitated to put his terrible thought into words.
"We don't know what happened to them," said Bob. "They weren't to be found after one of the big fights we had. Whether they are killed or captured we don't know. For a time Iggy and I were the only two left of the original five. Now I'm gone, and poor Iggy may be all alone. But what sort of camp is this?"
"About as bad as it well can be," said Franz gloomily. "They starve us, beat us, make us work, and do everything mean."
"Any chance of breaking out?" asked Bob. And then as he looked as the heavy stockade and the bare, electrically charged wires, he added: "I guess there isn't, or you'd have tried it long ago."
"Some have tried it," said Franz in a low voice, as he looked around to make sure of the persons in the immediate neighborhood of himself and Bob. "Some got away—at least, they didn't come back here. Others who tried to get away have been shot, and some poor fellows were killed on the electric wires."
"Well, I guess we're doomed to stay here then," and Bob sighed. "But it's tough luck!"
Once more Franz looked around. And then, to Bob's surprise, his companion in misery leaned over and whispered:
"There's a chance! Just a bare chance! I can't tell you any more now. One of the guards is looking at us. Lean over and pretend to be tying your shoe!"
Bob did so, his heart thumping hard with the sudden rush of hope. He tried to act naturally.
"Look at these shoes!" he exclaimed, extending his foot as if he were tying a loose lace. "The fellows who caught me took my good ones and left me with these paper things. They're nearly half 'melted' now."
"I had the same luck," said Franz, exhibiting his footwear, which was in the same condition as was Bob's. "But it's all part of the fearful game. Are you hungry?"
"Hungry? Say, that word doesn't fit at all! I'm starved!"
Once more Franz looked cautiously about. The guard's gaze seemed to be removed now, and the young prisoner spoke more freely.
"Come along," he said to Bob. "There's a vacant bunk next to mine. You want to cop it while you have the chance, then we can be together. And don't breathe a word of this to anyone, but I've a couple of chocolate cakes hidden away. They're great for staving off that starved feeling."
"Chocolate!" ejaculated Bob. "For the love of——"
"Hush!" cried Franz. "Do you want me to be robbed of it? I got it off an Englishman who died," he went on. "You see the Red Cross sends packages of food and things like chocolate to the Allied prisoners. Sometimes we get 'em, and, more often, we don't. The Huns know a good thing when they see it. But this Englishman got a package just before he died, and when he found he was going West he divided it out among some of us. I've kept my chocolate ever since, though many a day I've been almost wild to eat it."
"What'd you save it for?" asked Bob. "You didn't know I was coming."
"No, but"—again Franz whispered—"I would need it if I escaped. I was saving it for that."
"And you think there isn't a chance to get away now?"
Franz looked around and cautiously replied: "I think there's a chance, but there's no use dying of starvation waiting for it. I heard that there is to be another distribution of food packets from the Red Cross soon. We can save some of that, if we get anything, and take it with us if we're lucky enough to break out. Come on, I'll get the chocolate."
Franz led the way to one of the barracks where he and his fellow prisoners were herded. Herded is the right word, too. It was a miserable place. Franz went to his "bunk," which, was a mere apology for a bed. Looking about, to make sure he was not observed, he removed a loose board in the floor and took out a package wrapped in some old rags. In the package were two cakes of sweet chocolate.
"We'll divide one now, and save the other," whispered Franz. "No telling when we'll get more."
Bob never would have believed that chocolate could taste so good. It was nourishing, and small as was his portion and that of Franz, they both felt better after munching the confection and drinking some water.
Miserable days followed Bob's arrival at the prison where Franz was held. In common with other unfortunates, the Khaki Boys were starved, beaten at times, and driven forth to labor for their captors. At night they were herded back to the barracks.
"I don't see how we're ever going to escape," sighed Bob one night after a wearying day. "I'm willing to give up!"
"Don't say that!" urged Franz. "This very night some of us are going to get together in the dark and talk matters over. I have a plan. It may fail, but we might as well be shot while trying to escape as to lead the life we do."
This information seemed to bring new life to Bob.
And that night, between inspections of the guards, a silent band of prison conspirators met in a dark corner of the barracks. Franz whispered to them his plan of escape.
"What do you think of it?" he asked.
"It's desperate," said an Englishman.
"But let's try it!" suggested another. "Otherwise I shall go mad!"
And so the daring resolve was taken.
Silently, the desperate prisoners crouched in the dark corner of the miserable German camp. Their hearts that had been so deep in despair now beat with new hope.
"Now this is the plan in detail," announced Franz. "We must get it all straight, as the least slip means failure. It's lucky I can speak German like a native. I always despised the language, and when this war broke out and I heard the terrible things the Boches were doing I was ashamed to twist my tongue to the language. But now it comes in mighty handy. I think I can fool the guard at the barracks where they repair the uniforms. Once I get him out of the way it'll be fairly clear sailing. We can pass out in the dark, and, once we get beyond these hateful wires, it'll be the best chance we could hope for. Then it'll be every man for himself, for it won't be safe for so many of us to stick together, even if we are in German uniforms. Now does everyone understand it?"
They all said they did, and then, as it was risky to remain any longer away from their sleeping quarters, they silently stole back to their miserable pallets. But there was hope now, where they had had only despair before.
In brief, the plan made by Franz and some of his companions was this. Not all in the prison pen could be included, as there were too many of them. Some refused to take the chance, and others had plans of their own for getting away.
Franz could, as he said, speak German like a native. He had formed a plot to overpower the officer on guard at the shop where German uniforms were repaired. Then Franz hoped to be able to get inside the shop, pass out a number of German suits to his companions, don one himself, and, under some pretense, lead the daring band out of the pen under cover of darkness.
Such was the bare outline of the plot, but there were many side issues which rendered it much more hazardous than it sounds.
Among the many tasks the Allied prisoners were set at in the German detention camps was the repairing of German uniforms. The Huns were hard put, after the first two years of war, to provide clothing for their troops. And, as the Allies did later, the Boches formulated a salvage plan. That is, the uniforms, when not too badly damaged, were taken from the dead bodies of their soldiers and sent to the rear to be cleaned, mended, and put in shape, to be issued to men whose clothing had worn out in service.
Franz, Bob, and some of the others worked day after day remaking these uniforms, and they knew the inside and outside of the barracks shop where the uniforms were revamped and stored against the time of need.
After dark the uniform shop was deserted, but it was guarded generally by but one officer, as it was somewhat removed from the prisoners' sleeping places.
Franz planned to steal up on this officer as he was on duty in front of the uniform building, overpower him in the most silent way possible, and then don his uniform. He would hide his own miserable suit some place, and also drag the body of the officer out of sight.
Once attired as a German officer and with his knowledge of the language, Franz could move about the prison yard freely. He hoped he would not have to do much talking, however, as he did not know what orders the uniform guard might be under.
However, Franz intended to work quickly. Once he was attired as a Hun, though he hated the uniform, it was his idea to slip into the shop and bring out two other uniforms. Bob would put on one, and one of the other conspirators the remaining suit. Then the trio could move about with but little danger of detection.
Franz then proposed that he, Bob, and their companion should bring from the shop enough German uniforms to fit all who were going to try to escape in this way. They would don them in their sleeping quarters, and then, under cover of darkness, would be led boldly to the main entrance of the prison pen by Franz.
Here was the weakest and most dangerous part of the plot. If for any reason the guard at the gate suspected anything they would all be shot down without mercy.
But here again Franz counted on his knowledge of German. It was often the practice for squads of German soldiers to march into and out of the yard under the guidance of an officer, and Franz hoped he and his friends would be taken for one of these parties. He could give the guard at the gate any reason that seemed feasible for taking the men out at night. All the prisoners were soldiers. They could march in a squad like the Germans, and, though they might not be able to do the "goose step," there would be no need for that.
"Well, we've got to take the chance," said Franz, as he and Bob turned in on their pallets.
"Yes, it's worth taking a lot of chances to get out of this hole," was the answer.
How they lived through the next day Bob, Franz, and the others in the plot hardly recalled afterward. They were wistfully anxious for night to come, and terribly worried lest by some chance the plan might be spoiled.
But fate seemed to favor them. None of them was sent, as sometimes was the case, to labor in distant mines. They were all kept at tasks within or near the prison enclosure, and, to their delight, Bob and Franz were put at work sewing buttons on revamped uniforms.
This gave them a chance to note that an unusual number of repaired suits were ready to be issued. This was another matter that had worried Franz. Sometimes the stock of available uniforms in the shop was exhausted. If that had occurred at this time there would have been none for the escaping prisoners.
"There's enough here for all of us," Franz remarked to Bob, as they stopped work that night.
They filed in to their meagre supper, as did all the prisoners, and, hungry as they all were, each one managed to smuggle away a small piece of bread, or what passed for it, and some other food. For some days past they had been hoarding such victuals as they could, for, once escaped, they must hide in holes, live the best way they could, and subsist on what they found until they could reach Holland or get back to the American lines. And they all hoped to be able to do this, rather than reach the neutral Netherlands, where they would be interned.
It may well be imagined that none of those in the plot to escape slept that night. The hour for the trial was set at two o'clock in the morning, that being the time when the guards would be least on the alert.
And, much as rain was hated, everyone was glad when it began to drizzle shortly after midnight. This meant that the guards would seek such shelter as was available on their posts, and not be quite so alert as they would be were the night fine.
"So far so good!" whispered Franz to Bob, as the time drew near. "I'm going to start now."
He slipped from his hard bed and silently made his way to the door. Franz knew the habits of the guard there. He generally was dozing off at this hour, though it was against the rules. But as no escape had been attempted in a long time, a little carelessness had crept into the iron discipline.
As silently as a cat Franz crept up on this guard. In his hand the Khaki Boy carried a file that had been worn down to what constituted a dagger with a needle point. There was so slight a struggle and commotion at the entrance of the barracks that Bob and the others, breathlessly waiting, hardly heard it. Franz shuddered at the deed he had been obliged to commit, but it was either his life or the guard's.
The lifeless body was dragged out of the way, and then Franz crawled from the building. It was raining harder than ever now, and he was glad of it. Quickly he made his way through the darkness to the clothing shop. He was not stopped, and for this he was also glad. For though he might have got past a sentry in the blackness by giving some excuse, in German, for walking around, there would have been grave danger of discovery. But, as it was, Franz found himself at the clothing depot, and then he began to look for the guard.
"The most likely place he'll be will be in the shelter of the doorway, out of the wet as much as possible," mused Franz. "I'll tackle him there."
As he approached the door to the shop a figure stepped from the doorway, just as he expected.
"Halt! Who comes?" demanded the under-officer in German, as he brought his rifle around ready for instant use.
"I have some important information for you," said Franz, speaking in the tongue he hated. "Hush! do not make an alarm."
As he spoke he drew near to the officer with the sharp-pointed file in readiness.
"What is the information, and who are you?" asked the officer, who was a corporal.
"This!" exclaimed Franz, and he struck true and hard.
There was a gasping, choking cry, hardly audible above the sighing of the wind and the patter of the rain.
"I—I hope I don't have to do this again," thought Franz with a shudder. "It isn't like killing men in battle. But it has to be!"
The way was now clear for him. As quickly as he could he stripped off the corporal's uniform and donned it in place of his own rags. These latter he tossed under the building, where he also hid the body.
Possessing himself of the officer's keys Franz hurried into the shop. Fortunately he knew his way about even in the dark, and he caught up two complete uniforms and two long coats from a pile he had noticed that afternoon near the door, where they were stacked ready to be shipped out in the morning.
Hurrying back to the sleeping shack, clad in the dead officer's uniform, Franz carried with him the two other outfits he had picked up. Quickly Bob and a man named Rayburn donned these suits, and then, in the darkness and rain, they carried away enough uniforms to fit out the entire escaping party.
Feverishly the men worked to get into them, and at last they were outfitted. They were ready to be led to freedom by Franz now, if only fate were kind to them.
"All here?" asked Franz in a whisper.
"All here," answered Bob, who had kept count. Some of the other prisoners awoke, but none would join the escaping party. They regarded the chances as too slim, and they knew what the result would be if they were caught.
Out into the rain and darkness Franz led his squad of "German" soldiers. Boldly they approached the gate. It was the crucial moment. Would they be stopped?
The sentry came out of his little box as Franz led his men up in double file.
"Halt!" came the command, and Franz repeated it.
"Who goes?" demanded the sentry.
"A party from the prison commandant's quarters to bring in a squad of American prisoners," answered Franz. "Our brave fellows have captured some more of the swine."
"Good!" grunted the sentry. "They ought all be shot. You have an order, of course?" he asked.
"Yes," answered Franz, and for a moment his heart went cold. He had not thought of this. In desperation he put his hand in the pocket of the overcoat he had taken from the dead officer.
Franz was about to take out the deadly file, and use it for the third time, but as he felt for it his fingers encountered a paper. He did not know what it was, but he would take a chance. At any rate it would be something in German.
Boldly he took it out and offered it to the guard at the gate. Had there been any slip here Franz was ready to kill the sentry at once. But the latter was intent on getting what he supposed was an order permitting a squad of German soldiers to pass out. He took the document from Franz's shaking hand.
"It is too dark to read," spluttered the guard. "And my flashlamp is broken. Pass on!"
"Forward, march!" ordered Franz, in German. And how those words thrilled the prisoners! They filed past the sentry who had turned to go back into his little box. Then, as Bob, who brought up the rear, was about to go through the gate which the sentry had unlocked, something seemed to strike the guard as wrong.
"Your men have no guns, corporal," he said. "And to bring in prisoners——"
"Bah! An unarmed German is a match for any number of the swine-dogs!" returned Franz.
"Right! Pass on!" chuckled the guard.
And the prisoners were outside the gate!
Jimmy and Roger, fighting in the cave with the Bixtons, never afterward could tell exactly how it happened. Certainly by all rules and regulations of personal encounters it ought to have been easy for the two scoundrels, physically comparatively fresh, as they were, to have overcome the Khaki Boys, who were well-nigh exhausted.
But if it is true that fear lends strength, so does righteous rage, and the Khaki Boys possessed this in full measure as they thought of not only what the two brothers had done to them personally, but their traitorous conduct toward their country.
"Hit, and hit hard!" cried Jimmy, as he sprang at Aleck.
"I'm with you!" sang out Roger.
Fists crashed to faces, there were body blows, figures leaped back and forth, casting fantastic shadows in the gleam of the lantern. There were cries of rage and grunts of pain. But, once started, the fight never slackened.
"We've got to down 'em this time, sure!" panted Wilbur, as Roger sent him back against the cave wall with a staggering blow.
"Oh, we'll down 'em!" gasped Aleck, but in his heart he knew the fight was going against him.
Once more the four met in the middle of the cave. Jimmy saw his chance when Aleck lowered his guard for an instant, and then the fist of the Khaki Boy went full and fair to the chin of the plotter.
For an instant Aleck seemed to stand motionless, and then, with a dazed look on his face, he sank to the floor, murmuring:
"I'm out!"
And out he was. No counting off of the ten seconds by a referee was necessary. Jimmy had delivered a knockout blow to his antagonist. At first the sergeant thought his enemy might be dissembling, but a glance at the prostrate figure showed that Aleck was not feigning. He was unconscious.
"I'll do for you now!" fairly roared Wilbur, as he came back with a rush at Roger. The latter was in a bad way, for he had slipped and had sustained a terrific blow from Wilbur's fist. But the remaining Bixton had not counted on Jimmy, and now Roger's chum could come to his aid. And this Jimmy did.
As Wilbur swung past him, to deliver what he hoped would be a finishing blow to Roger, Jimmy put out his foot and tripped the scoundrel.
Wilbur went down heavily, the breath being driven from his body. His head struck against a table leg, so stunning him that it was an easy matter for Roger and Jimmy to leap on him and secure him. Roger, greatly exhausted, sat on Bixton's chest.
"I—I'm all in! I quit!" the signal corps man gasped. "Let me get up!"
"Not much!" panted Jimmy. "We've got you where we want you now. Lively, Roger. We've got to bind and gag these fellows."
"What's the idea of gagging them?"
"So they won't tell we're here."
"Tell who we're here?" asked Roger, who did not get his chum's meaning.
"The Germans who are coming here to carry out some secret pact. You know what we overheard these fellows saying. Well, now I'm going to hide here and see the show out when the Heinies arrive. We'll bind these fellows and hide 'em. Then we'll wait for Mr. Carl Anker and Mr. Fritz Ammann, whoever they may be."
At the mention of these names Wilbur Bixton squirmed, and tried to shake off Roger.
"That'll be about all from you!" cried Jimmy in anger. "Either you'll lie still, you dirty traitor, or we'll put an end to this right now! You tried to kill Roger and me, and we won't show you any more mercy than we would a wild beast. Now lie still!"
He sprang up and took one of the two rifles.
"It's all up!" said Wilbur, and his voice was hopeless. "You fellows win."
"We haven't taken all the tricks yet," observed Jimmy grimly. "The game has only just started. Now, Roger, as soon as you get your breath, take off his uniform and slip it on yourself. I'll do the same for the other—dog!" he added contemptuously.
"What's the idea of changing clothes?" asked Roger.
"There are two ideas in this," answered Jimmy. "One is that our uniforms are wet and theirs are dry. Since they are to blame for the wet suits, it's only fair that they should wear 'em. But we won't take the trouble to re-dress 'em. Let 'em lie in their underclothes. It isn't cold in here."
There was a sound from Aleck, which seemed to indicate that he was regaining consciousness. Jimmy quickly secured the other rifle, and then, having made sure that the Bixtons were unarmed, the work of changing uniforms was begun.
While Jimmy stood on the alert with the rifle, Roger stripped off Wilbur's signal corps uniform. Then Roger changed down to his skin, wringing out his wet underwear and hanging it over a chair to dry. Next he donned the signal corps man's uniform without taking time to first clothe himself in undergarments.
Wilbur was bound and gagged, being dragged to a dark corner of the cave. Then the same treatment was given Aleck, who came to his senses as he was being bound, and murmured:
"Did we do 'em, Will?"
"I'll answer for your brother," said Jimmy. "He's sort of incapacitated just now, as you'll be a little later. No, you didn't do for us, and you can't now. The jig is up for you fellows."
Aleck did not answer, and soon he was lying beside his rascally brother, incapable of movement or speech. Roger and Jimmy now wore dry uniforms, and the change was grateful.
"Well, so far so good," murmured Roger, as he and his chum found time to rest themselves and catch their breath. "Hello, chocolate in this pocket!" he cried, as he felt a cake in the pocket of the uniform Wilbur had worn.
"Hope I have the same luck," said Jimmy. "Yes," he added a moment later, "I've got some, too. Say, this will come in mighty fine!"
"Well, now what's the game?" asked Roger, as he glanced at his chum. "How much longer are we going to stay here?"
"Until the two men, probably Germans, whom the Bixtons were to meet here, show up," was the answer.
"And then what?"
"Well, as soon as we hear them coming in we'll douse the glim."
"What's the idea? Think we can fight 'em better in the dark?"
"No, but they won't be so apt to notice that we aren't the same signal corps fellows they expected to meet. It's possible one of the Huns may have a pocket flashlight—very probable, in fact. But that won't be very likely to give the game away. They'll see two signal corps uniforms, and they'll take us for the Bixtons, I hope."
"I hate to be taken for such mean skunks!"
"It's in a good cause," replied his chum. "That's the only way we can get to the bottom of this game—and there's some rotten game going on, I'm satisfied of that."
"I guess you're right," agreed Roger. "So you plan to let the two men come in here, thinking we're the Bixtons they're to meet, and get their secret out of 'em that way?"
"If they'll talk, and don't get suspicious, yes."
"There must be two entrances to this cave," said Roger.
"Yes, and maybe more," agreed his companion. "We came in by one—the one nearest the river. The Bixtons came in by a second, and the Germans may come in by a third. All we have to do is wait."
And Jimmy and Roger were glad enough to do this, for they had been through some strenuous times in the last few hours. But the dry clothing, though it was exceedingly rough without underwear, gave warmth to their chilled bodies, and the chocolate had bolstered up their fagging energies.
Together they sat and waited in the cave, wondering when the two expected men would come and what would happen after they arrived. They talked in low voices, and speculated as to the fate of their comrades.
And much the same sort of speculation was going on in the minds of Bob and Franz and also poor Iggy, who alone of the five Brothers, was left with his command.
"First we are of a five, like a hand," mused the Polish lad. "Then we iss of a four when Franz goes away. And den we is of a two when Jimmy and Roger no more comes back. And den Bob, he goes away, and I iss alone. Py jolly, maybe it iss my turns next!"
Roger and Jimmy, sitting in the cave with the light turned low, presently heard a slight noise. At first they imagined it was made by one of their prisoners, but a moment of listening told them it was from another source.
"The Fritzies are coming!" whispered Roger.
"Be ready," advised his chum. "Have you the rifle?"
"Yes; and Wilbur's revolver, too."
"Good! Here they are, and out goes the glim!"
As he spoke Jimmy turned down the lantern completely, and there followed a guttural exclamation.
"Why is the darkness?" asked a voice in English. "Are you there Herren Bixtons?"
"Um," murmured Jimmy, nudging Roger.
"What is the matter?" asked the voice of the unseen one again. "You tell us to meet you here, and yet you have no light."
"Out of oil," growled Jimmy. "Maybe you have a flashlight. "
"It is out of oil, too!" laughed a second man, and both voices had an unmistakable German accent, though English was spoken fluently enough. "It gives but a little glow. But we have matches, and if there is a bit of a candle——"
"No candle!" returned Jimmy, trying to disguise his voice. "Nothing seems to burn in this rotten hole of a cave," he went on. "It's as damp as a swamp. I've caught such a cold I can hardly speak."
"I was wondering what was the matter with your voice, Herr Wilbur," went on the voice. "Well, we are here, and we do not need to stay long, I suppose. It is not a nice place. As you say it is damp, and, too, there is always danger of discovery. You have brought the information we want, I dare say?" was the question.
"Did you bring more money?" demanded Jimmy, making his tones hoarse. "We've got to have more money, Mr.—er—Ammann."
To his surprise the man laughed. What could occasion mirth at a time like this? Was the trick of Roger and Jimmy discovered?
The next moment he felt a wave of relief as the man said:
"Ach! that's what you always do, even in daylight—mistake me, Herr Anker, for Herr Ammann. You Americans are not so smart as you all think, not to know us apart."
Then Jimmy knew he had played to pure luck, and he was filled with delight.
"Well, did you bring the money?" asked Jimmy, following a lead given him by the two prisoners now bound and gagged.
"Yes, we have a little more," answered the other German. "But it is hard to get now. Here it is—in gold. Now you have the plans all made for sending up the smoke signals, yes?"
"We have plans, yes," answered Jimmy. But he did not say what plans they were. Incidentally, they involved the capture of Herr Anker and Herr Ammann.
"Ah! Good!" murmured the one who had described himself as Anker. "You are doing a good deed," he went on as he came up to the table where Jimmy and Bob were seated and sat down. He had drawn from his pocket a flashlamp, but the battery was so nearly exhausted that it gave scarcely more light than a firefly. Jimmy was not afraid of detection in that illumination. "Yes, it is a good deed," the German repeated. "For, by enabling our troops to the more quickly gain a victory, you are bringing peace nearer, and you will thus save many lives."
"Um!" grunted Jimmy. He saw now how the Germans, by this sort of flattery and reasoning, had led on the Bixtons. But, indeed, it required little to corrupt those already evil.
"Now let us make sure all is right," went on one of the Germans, as they sat across the table from Roger and Jimmy in what was almost total darkness. "We bring you the money for the plans of the smoke signals. They are here—you have them?" he asked.
Jimmy had discovered a bundle of papers in the coat he had taken from Aleck, and, guessing them to be what was wanted, drew them out and laid them on the table. But if they should be plans that ought not to fall into the hands of the Huns, Jimmy had no intention of letting Anker and Ammann get away with them.
"If you will repeat the plans, then we will be sure we understand, my friends," suggested Ammann. "Sometimes in translating there is a mix-up. Now you will send up the balls of smoke, as you agreed, to let our gunners know where the American batteries and ammunition dumps are, is it not so? A green ball for an ammunition dump, and a red ball to tell where there is a battery. Two white balls will mean that the previous signals are to be disregarded, and we start afresh. That is what you said, last time. There has been no change?"
"Um—er—no change," said Jimmy grimly, but, he reflected, there was about to be a great change.
"Well, if that is all, we shall take the papers and give you the money we have brought," said Ammann. "Then we shall go. And next we will meet a week from to-night, but in a new place. This is getting unsafe. We had hard work to get here. Your lines are too close. But they will soon be loosed, when we shell the batteries as your smoke signals tell us the location. Ah, it is the only way to end the war and make friends of enemies! The more we kill the sooner the battles will end."
As he spoke he shoved forward a bag that clinked metallically. Jimmy held out the bundle of papers, dimly visible in the faint light.
Jimmy trod on Roger's foot under the table. They had learned all they needed to know. It was now very plain.
For German gold the Bixtons had betrayed their country, they had indicated the secret location of batteries and other engines of war, enabling the Huns to land their destroying shells accurately. The Bixtons, by means of the smoke signals to which they had access and which they could send up secretly, had given the Germans the exact information they wanted. And Ammann and Anker were German spies—the go-betweens.
"Ach! For the Fatherland!" exclaimed Anker, as he extended his hand for the bundle of papers Jimmy held out. "I do this for the Fatherland!"
"And I do this for the good old U. S. A.!" cried Jimmy in ringing tones as he leaped to his feet and brought the butt of the rifle down on the head of Anker. At the same time Jimmy yelled: "Let him have it, Roger!"
And Roger dealt Ammann a smashing blow, so that the two German spies slipped from their chairs together to the floor of the cave. They were now as helpless as were the Bixtons.
"Great work!" cried Roger, as he and Jimmy, lighting the lamp again, made sure that the two Germans, as well as the American traitors, were unable to give further trouble.
"Yes, luck was with us all right," assented Jimmy. "But, oh boy, what a lot this amounts to!"
"You mean finding out about the smoke signals plot?"
"Yes, and all that it takes in. You wouldn't think there could be such skunks on earth as those Bixtons, would you?"
"I should say not!" agreed Roger. Though the traitors were gagged their ears were open, and if they had a spark of manhood left they must have squirmed.
"You can't blame the Germans so much," went on Jimmy. "They were working for their country, not against it, and they probably thought what they did was all right. But it was up to us to put 'em out of business."
"And I guess you did to the one you hit all right," said Roger. "Looks as if he was done for."
"Couldn't be helped," was Jimmy's grim reply. "It was the spies or us. How's your man?"
"Well, I hit him pretty hard."
This was evident. Spurred by the necessity for acting with vigor and promptness, the Khaki Boys had struck hard. Both the Germans were unconscious, and, as developed later, one was so badly hurt that he died.
"Well, what's the next move?" asked Roger, as they sat down and looked at one another. Their nerves were a bit unsteady, and no wonder. They had passed through a strenuous time in the last fifteen hours.
"We've either got to take these fellows somewhere to give them up to the army authorities, or get word to our boys that the scoundrels are here," Jimmy said. "There may be more of the signal corps men involved in this spy work, and it ought to be known. But I don't see how we can very well take all four to our lines, provided we can find the lines. This fellow," and he pointed to the badly injured spy, "can't walk."
"Why not leave these two here in the cave, tied as tightly as we can manage?" suggested Roger.
"What about the Bixtons?" Jimmy asked.
"I fancy if we march behind them with their own loaded rifles we can induce them to go ahead of us to our lines," remarked Roger. "Later on the Germans can be attended to. They won't be very likely to run away."
"Say, I guess you've got the right dope!" Jimmy exclaimed. "We'll do just that. But it's late now, and probably as dark as a pocket outside. We can't find our way to the American lines now. Better stay here in the cave until morning."
"That's the best thing to do," decided Roger. "If any more spies show up we'll be ready for 'em, though I'm sick of this kind of fighting."
"So'm I," agreed Jimmy.
They cut into strips some of the German civilians' own garments, and with these bound the two spies. There was no need to gag them, since all danger of any of the plotters giving premature warning was passed. Indeed there seemed to be no need of binding the badly wounded Hun, but Jimmy and Roger were taking no chances.
During this process, by the light of the lantern the Khaki Boys made sure of the identity of the Germans. They were the same men who had been seen in the dugout, and there was no question now but what the Bixtons had been the two soldiers seen.
Having the instincts of humanity, Roger and Jimmy made their prisoners as comfortable as the circumstances would allow. They took the gags from the mouths of the Bixton brothers and gave them water. But the traitors spoke no word. The lesser wounded German begged for a drink, and it was given to him. The other remained in a stupor, though the Khaki Boys washed the wound on his head and bound it up.
Then passed the long night.
In the morning, not very much refreshed, as may be imagined, by the weary, hungry hours spent in the cave, Jimmy and Roger ventured forth. They found the entrance by which the Bixtons and the spies had come in, and from this point, which was on a hill, they were afforded a good view of the surrounding country.
"There's smoke over there," said Jimmy, pointing to what, at first, seemed to be a fog.
"Yes," agreed his companion. "Maybe it's smoke of battle or some burning village. But it means there have been men there, and that's more than can be said of this vicinity. It's deserted."
This was true enough. Though there were evidences all about that fighting had gone on in the neighborhood, there was no sign of habitation near the cave, and no inhabitants.
"Let's start for that smoke," said Jimmy. "It's an even break that we meet our lines somewhere over that way. That's the logical place for them to be, considering the fighting of yesterday. Let's hike for there, and drive the Bixtons ahead of us."
"I'm with you!" cried Roger.
There was no necessity of waiting for breakfast—there was no breakfast to be had. Jimmy and Roger donned their underwear, which had dried by this time, and then, again putting on the Bixton's uniforms, the two lads gave their orders.
"We're going to let you wear our uniforms," said Jimmy, "because they're still wet and, as it was your doing that made them so, it's up to you to stand the dampness."
The Bixtons said nothing. There was nothing they could say. Their bonds were loosed and, having seen that the Germans were still securely tied, Jimmy and Roger, taking their foes' guns, made the plotters march out of the cave.
"What are you going to do with us?" growled Aleck, as they were told to hike down the hill in the direction of the distant smoke.
"March you back to your company where you belong. They'll know what to do with you," said Jimmy.
"Look here!" begged Wilbur. "You've got us right, boys. We ain't going to crawl. But do you know what it means if we have to go back?"
"Yes, I know," said Jimmy soberly.
"Then turn us loose. Give us a chance, anyhow!"
"A chance to help kill some more of our boys?" cried Roger. "I guess not! You had your chance, and you didn't take it. You preferred to sell it to the Huns. Move along!" he cried.
The Bixtons saw that pleadings were useless, but later on they made one more attempt to free themselves. As they drew nearer the smoke it was seen that it came from a burning village, and a little later, as they entered the outskirts of the desolate and smoking town they saw signs which indicated that it had been recently occupied and deserted by Germans.
"They must be in retreat!" cried Jimmy. "Our boys can't be far away."
"You're right!" assented Roger. "If we go this way," and he pointed to the west, "we ought to come to our lines."
"You're wrong!" said Wilbur quickly. "Our lines lie over that way. I ought to know, for we came from there last night. Our lines are there," and he pointed to the east.
"You've got nerve—calling 'em 'our' lines!" declared Jimmy. "You don't belong to the American army any more."
"Do you suppose he can be right?" asked Roger in a low voice of his chum. "Maybe our lines are in that direction."
"It only needs their telling me to go east to make me go west!" exclaimed Jimmy. "Naturally they don't want to be taken back to the company they dishonored. They want to escape to the Germans they served. No, sir! We march west!"
And west they went.
It was about half an hour after this that Roger and Jimmy, driving the Bixtons before them, saw a group of American soldiers coming toward them over a shell-torn field.
"Home again!" cried Jimmy.
At the sight of Jimmy and Roger, with guns held in readiness, marching two other Americans soldiers ahead of them the party of Sammies, under the leadership of a sergeant, broke into a double quick, and soon reached the Khaki Boys.
"What's all this?" demanded the sergeant. "Who are you two with the guns, and what are these? Deserters?" he asked, pointing to the Bixtons.
"Worse than deserters! They're traitors!" said Jimmy. "And we left two German spies back in the cave. We've found out the secret of the smoke signals. We'd like to report to the officer commanding this sector, and deliver our prisoners."
"Smoke signals, eh?" exclaimed Sergeant Walton, who had charge of a party out in search of possibly forgotten wounded men. "That's queer. A squad of our boys, several squads, in fact, are out looking for two of the smoke signal machines which the signal corps reports missing since last night."
All eyes were turned toward the Bixtons. But they maintained their policy of silence.
"Come on, I'll take you to the K. O.," offered the sergeant.
This was done, and Roger and Jimmy soon turned over their prisoners and gave an account of the whole proceeding from the time they were knocked senseless until they attacked and caught the German spies. Then, after the boys had accurately described the location of the cave, a party was sent there to bring back the two Huns. The one had considerably improved, being but stunned, but the other never regained consciousness, and died that night.
But with the capture of the Bixtons and the finding of the papers which they had prepared to give the Germans in exchange for gold, the whole secret plot was exposed.
The two scoundrels had, more than once, sent up the smoke signals which enabled the Boches to locate hidden batteries or machine-gun emplacements. And to work their latest plot the brothers had taken into the woods one of the new smoke caldrons. They had sold their honor—and had brought death to many of their companions through greed for gold. It was during one of their secret conferences with the spies that the Khaki Boys had seen the Bixtons in the dugout. And only for their capture in the cave a grave disaster might have befallen the American army through the traitorous conduct of the Bixtons.
For they had planned, by sending up more smoke signals from another machine which they had taken to the woods, to disclose the location of a great battery of new, big naval guns, designed to smash the German lines.
The successful attack of Roger and Jimmy came at just the right time. The plot was foiled and the plotters caught. And, to end an unpleasant subject, it might be said here that the Bixtons were tried by court martial shortly afterward, found guilty, and executed, as was the remaining German spy.
"Well, that's over," said Roger, a week after their strenuous time in the cave and on the day of the traitors' execution. "It was tough, but it had to be done. And now I hope they'll let us get back to our old Five Hundred and Ninth."
"I'm with you there!" cried Jimmy. "I want to see Bob and Iggy. I don't suppose there's any news of Franz yet."
"Maybe not, but I hope there is," sighed Roger.
In due time they were sent back to their command, bearing with them the highest praise from the army authorities for their success in frustrating the smoke plot. And something more substantial than thanks was to follow.
"Iggy! Old scout Iggy!" cried Roger and Jimmy, as they greeted the Polish lad in a dugout where they found him, not far from the front lines now occupied by the Five Hundred and Ninth. "How are you, Iggy, and where's Bob?"
Ignace Pulinski rubbed his eyes, and shook his head.
"How can I dream when I awake am?" he said. "Py jolly, it seems real like!"
"What's real like, you old chunk?" demanded Roger.
"Seeing you and Jimmy Blazes," was the answer. "Of a dream I know it iss! Yet I am not asleep! Of a queerness it is!"
"Of course it isn't a dream! We're as real as yourself!" laughed Jimmy. "Come out of the gas and tell us where Bob is!"
It took some little time to convince Iggy that it was not all a dream, but when he had shaken hands with them and they had clapped him most heartily on the back, he exclaimed:
"Oh, of such gladness am I! If only Bob was here now—and Franz, too, then would be the five Brudders ag'in!"
"What! isn't Bob here?" cried Jimmy.
Iggy shook his head.
"I see him not when we a big fight had," he explained. "Dot was after you two go away. First we was of a five, den it was of a fourness we was. You go and it was of a twoness—Bob and me. And den of Bob, he go away some place I know not. I am of a oneness, and what you call—er—by myselfness——"
"You mean lonesomeness," suggested Roger.
"Him it is!" cried Iggy. "I was such a lonesomeness, but now I am of a gladness. Only if we could find Bob and Franz!"
"It would be great!" sighed Jimmy. "Well, we'll keep on hoping."
They spent the rest of that day exchanging experiences—Roger, Jimmy and Iggy. Toward the close of the afternoon the three Brothers were ordered to the front lines. It was rumored that a big attack impended, though whether it would be made by the Americans or the Germans was not certain.
And shortly after Roger, Jimmy, and Iggy had taken their places in the traverse, with No Man's Land in front of them, the whole section of the line near them was thrown into a panic by the discharge of a rifle. It was but a single shot, and so quickly was a whistle command shrilled forth that there was to be no more firing, that there was no general fusillade, such as often follows a case of this kind. Even the Germans did not fire in a panic, as sometimes happened. Perhaps the reason for that was because of the distance of the two lines of trenches at this point, the wire entanglements being half a mile apart.
"Wonder what that means?" asked Roger, as he and his two chums got down off the firing step, it being evident that there was to be no engagement for the present.
"A couple of Germans caught out in No Man's Land," was the answer of a messenger who came through the trench just then. "Guess they'll wish they'd stayed at home."
"Germans!" exclaimed Jimmy. "They truly had nerve to come out in the open."
He and his chums were discussing the strange incident when a messenger hurried up.
"Sergeants Blaise and Barlow and Corporal Pulinski ordered to report to the captain," was the crisp message.
In surprise Roger, Jimmy, and Iggy looked at one another.
"Wonder if this has anything to do with the capture of the two Germans," said Roger.
"How could that be?" asked Iggy.
"Maybe there's some connection between them and the two spies we found in the cave," suggested Jimmy.
"Maybe," agreed Roger. "Well, we'll go see what's wanted, anyhow."
The messenger escorted them to a dugout where the captain of their company was stationed. He smiled as he saw the three, and then it dawned on the Khaki Boys that the matter could not be very serious.
"I sent for you to see if you could identify these two prisoners caught wearing German uniforms between our lines and the enemy's just now," said the captain. "They claim to know you."
He indicated two ragged, dirty youths in the characteristic uniform of the Kaiser's soldiers. They stood with their backs to Roger, Jimmy, and Iggy.
"Claim to know us!" exclaimed Jimmy. "I don't see how that can be."
"You don't!" cried one of the "Germans," as he wheeled about.
"Going back on us, are you?" yelled the other.
For an instant Roger, Jimmy, and Iggy stood with dropped jaws and widely opened eyes. And then, simultaneously, there burst from the trio the shout:
"Bob! Franz!"
A moment later the five reunited Brothers were clasped in each others' arms—yes, they fairly hugged one another, straining breast to breast, and they were not ashamed of the tears in their eyes.
"Do you recognize the prisoners?" asked the captain, with a laugh.
"Do we! Say, Captain, how soon before we're going to fight?" cried Jimmy.
"Oh, I guess I can let you have a few hours off to celebrate," came the answer. "Is that what you wanted me to say?"
"That's it, sir!" answered Jimmy with a snappy salute, in which the other Khaki Boys joined.
"And now for a talk!" cried Bob, as they marched back to a dugout behind the front lines.
As the readers are well acquainted with all that happened to Roger and Jimmy, details of the story they told to Bob and Franz need not be gone into. Similarly, they are acquainted with what happened to Franz and Bob up to the point when they, with their comrades in the liberation plot, escaped from the German prison camp, wearing Hun uniforms.
"And we have had one whale of a time since then!" said Bob, in telling the story of their journey back to the American lines.
He and Franz had suffered unimaginable hardships. They separated from the others, as it seemed safest not to travel in a large party. What happened to their fellow prisoners Bob and Franz did not hear until long afterward. Some reached safety, but many were recaptured or were killed.
Bob and Franz traveled mostly at night, and the knowledge Schnitzel had of German saved them more than once. Eventually, when almost ready to give up, they reached a place where the 509th and brigaded regiments opposed a strong German division.
And then, more by good luck than anything else, Bob and Franz, still wearing the ragged German uniforms, found a gap in the Hun lines and got through it to No Man's Land. Then they headed for the American trenches.
As they were in uniform, it was seen at once that they were not spies, though one over-zealous Sammie fired on them. At first the Americans thought they were about to receive two German deserters, as frequently happened. But once in custody Bob and Franz disclosed their identity, and, learning that Roger, Jimmy, and Iggy were in the neighborhood, asked that they be sent for.
The rest has already been told.
"Every man ready!"
"Every man ready, sir!"
This was the report that went up and down the trenches. The five Brothers, reunited after such stirring experiences, heard it as they stood together ready to leap up on the firing step and go over the top.
Behind them big cannon waited but a signal to the gunners to belch forth flame and destruction. Every one was on the alert.
It was a day following a tremendous battle, when the German lines had been smashed, torn apart and thrown into confusion, and when the fleeing Huns, driven from their stronghold by the masterful work of Foch and Pershing with the other Allied commanders, were endeavoring to save themselves from disaster.
"A little bit more of this, and we'll finish the job," remarked Jimmy, as he looked at his wrist watch.
"What time is it?" asked Bob.
"Nearly eleven. Why?"
"Well, I heard a rumor that the Germans had asked for a cessation of hostilities, to begin about noon, in order to get ready to sign an armistice."
"Don't you believe it!" exclaimed Franz. "The Huns won't know they're beaten until we grind their faces down in the mud! Listen to that! Talk about ceasing hostilities!"
It was the sound of heavy artillery on the American side, and the sound came nearer, like rolling thunder over the distant hills.
"Guess we're going in all right," said Jimmy, and there was a grim look on his face. "Fellows, we've had some hard fighting these last few days. A little bit more of it, and we may finish up. But——Oh, well, what's the use talking? If we live through it, we live—that's all. I wonder——"
His words were smothered in a terrific burst of fire from the guns back of them.