An hour later found Dave on a heavy motor-lorry bound for the place to which the fighting engineers had moved after the thrilling fight on the new roadway through the forest. Our hero had been told by one of the hospital staff that the lorry was headed that way, and the driver, a young American college man, had readily consented to give him a lift.

The drive to the engineers’ camp took about two hours. For the greater part it was over roadways much torn up by shell-fire and being used by a steady stream of lorries and other turnouts coming and going. On the way they met a battery which was shifting its position, and also a regiment of soldiers who were swinging along whistling popular tunes. They likewise passed a number of French people, most of them carrying some of their worldly possessions on their backs or under their arms. All of them looked much downcast, as if they had lost their last friend on earth, yet when they met the eyes of the Americans they would smile hopefully.

“They’re looking to our boys to do a whole lot for them,” said the lorry driver to Dave.

“And we’re going to make good!” answered our hero promptly. “Those folks are all going to have their homes back again.”

At the time Dave returned to camp the engineers had finished one piece of work and were awaiting orders. As soon as he leaped from the lorry there was a rush to greet him.

“Here’s Dave!”

“How are you, old man?”

“How did they treat you at the hospital?”

“Say, but you’re looking fine! It must pay to get wounded.”

“It hasn’t been the same old camp since you went away, Dave. My, but we’re glad to see you back!” And Roger, who had thus spoken, grabbed him by both hands. Then the others surrounded our hero, and while one caught a hand another caught him around the shoulders and another around the waist.

“Hay, let up, you fellows!” cried the young sergeant good-naturedly. “Please don’t pull me apart. Remember I have just come from the hospital.”

“That’s right! Boys, be careful,” admonished Phil. “We don’t want to kill him with kindness.”

“Say, that puts me in mind of a story,” burst out Shadow, who had been the one to encircle Dave’s waist. “A ragged newsboy went to a charity picnic. One of the ladies kept on stuffing him with cake. Finally she said: ‘Oh, Johnny, do have another piece of cake.’ Then Johnny turned a woebegone face on her and replied: ‘Thank yer, Miss. I could chaw it fur yer, but I couldn’t swaller it.’”

“We’ve got no time to listen to stories—only the one that Dave has to tell,” burst out Ben.

“I’m glad to see you in service again, Buster!” exclaimed Dave, as he caught the stout youth by the hand.

“We’ve both been through it, haven’t we, Dave?” was Buster’s reply, with a grin.

“Here is where the Oak Hall boys celebrate!” cried Roger.

“You’ve said it!” responded Phil. “And thank fortune we’ve got something to celebrate on,” he added.

“Phil and I went back to the nearest French town yesterday,” explained Ben. “We took up a collection and came back with a whole lot of good things to eat. We thought you would be along soon, from the word you sent two days ago.”

“That’s fine!” replied Dave, his eyes beaming. It warmed his heart to think of how his chums had remembered him. “Oak Hall forever!” he exclaimed enthusiastically. And then he added, making a sudden wry face: “Although I know one fellow who won’t subscribe to that sentiment.”

“Who is he?”

“Show him to me, and I’ll pound the life out of him!”

“He must be some dirty sneak!”

“The fellow I mean is Nat Poole,” answered Dave, and then came another outburst.

“Where did you meet that slacker?”

“Did they really make him come over to France after all?”

“Do you really mean to say you met Nat Poole?” demanded Roger.

“Yes. At the hospital where I was staying—just before I came away.” And then our hero gave some of the particulars. He did not at that time mention Lieutenant Max Gebauer except in a general way, for he did not wish to drag Jessie’s name into the discussion which he knew would follow.

“Gee, but that’s rich—Nat Poole getting whacked over the wrist with a frying-pan!” chuckled Phil. “I wish I had been there to see it.”

“And fancy Nat pitching into the cook for having done it!” said Buster. “I suppose he went up and shook his forefinger in the cook’s face and said: ‘You naughty boy! You are real rude, don’t you know!’” he mimicked, and at this there was a roar of laughter.

“Well, there is one thing certain,” remarked Ben. “The army will either make a man of Nat or he’ll be about half-killed, even if he doesn’t get shot.”

“Fancy Nat’s wanting to be an officer!” broke in Phil.

“I must say I am mighty thankful for one thing,” announced our hero. “And that is that Nat didn’t attempt to join the engineers. I would consider it an awful hardship to have him around all the time.”

“You never said anything truer than that, Dave,” returned Ben.

That night there was quite a celebration in one corner of the large dugout where the company to which Dave belonged was quartered. All the good things purchased by Phil and Ben in the neighboring French town were brought forth, and it may be surmised that all the young engineers did full justice to the “eats” set before them.

“This is almost like one of our old feasts at Oak Hall,” was Dave’s comment.

“Only we haven’t got Big Jim Murphy to watch us,” said Buster.

“Good-hearted Jim!” cried Dave. “He sure did do us many a good turn. I wonder where he is now?”

“Somebody told me he was in the heavy artillery, along with Luke Watson,” answered Shadow.

“Speaking of the old Oak Hall boys, what has become of Polly Vane?” queried Ben, referring to a youth of high intellectuality who, because of his girlish appearance, had been nicknamed Polly.

“Polly is at the head of one of the big government offices in Washington,” answered Roger. “I found that out through my dad, who chanced to meet him there one day while on business. Polly, he told me, is doing unusually well. It’s something connected with the war department, so you can say that he is really in the war, too, even though he isn’t on the firing-line.”

It was not until the next day, when Dave could catch Roger alone, that he told his chum of what Nat Poole had said concerning Lieutenant Max Gebauer. This brought on quite a talk, during which the senator’s son told of what Laura had written on the subject of the young lieutenant.

“I always wanted to say something about that to you, Dave,” said Roger; “but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I spoke to Phil about it, and we concluded that it would do no good to worry you. I am mighty glad that the matter is cleared up so far as you and Jessie are concerned, and I know that Phil will be mighty glad, too.”

“I understand your feelings perfectly, Roger. Just the same, I think you should have come to me in the first place. However, that is now a thing of the past. What worries me is what Nat Poole said about a rumor going around Crumville concerning Jessie and this lieutenant. If this gets to Jessie’s ears, it will certainly hurt her feelings terribly.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“Maybe when she sent Gebauer off about his business he got miffed and spread the report himself, just to get square with her. And for all I know, Nat Poole may have had a hand in it, too.”

“If he did he ought to have a good pounding for it!” The senator’s son thought for a moment. “I’ll tell you what I can do, Dave. I can write to Laura and tell her what Nat Poole said, and then she and Jessie can fix up some scheme whereby they can let folks in Crumville know that there is nothing in the rumor.”

“Yes, that might help some,” and Dave’s face brightened a little. A letter was written that very night by the senator’s son and posted without delay.

Captain Obray was glad to see Dave back again, and praised him once more for what he had done.

“As you know, Sergeant Porter, you have already been cited for bravery for what you did for me and others during that battle,” said the captain of the engineers. “In a few days I hope to be able to announce something that will, I am sure, please you very much.”

Two days later came the announcement, which filled Dave with great pleasure. The engineers were reviewed by one of the army generals, and Dave, with a number of others, was asked to step forward, and then upon the breast of the young sergeant was pinned a Distinguished Service Medal—a round bronze disk bearing upon it an American eagle. The disk rested on a ribbon having a white center with a narrow blue stripe on each side and with red stripes at the ends. It may be mentioned here that the Distinguished Service Medals are authorized by our President for distinguished services in the present war.

“Dave, we’ve got to congratulate you,” said Roger warmly, after the review had come to an end and he and some of the other engineers had come around to gaze at the medal and admire it. “That is something you can wear for the rest of your life with a great deal of pride.”

“I’m hoping to see each of you fellows get one of these before the war is over,” answered the young sergeant. “I don’t know but what some of you deserve them already.”

“We’re not all as quick-witted as you are, Dave,” remarked Buster. “We may be willing enough to do a thing, but while we are thinking about it you jump in and do it.”

“You’ve said it, Buster,” added Shadow. “It’s the quick-thinking and quick-acting fellow who is going to get in the lead in this war, every time.”

Shadow and Phil had something to tell Dave which further interested the young sergeant. This was to the effect that they had had a chance some time before to visit the place where Dave had once located a hidden German ammunition dump. The two young engineers had made a long search in that vicinity for Dave’s missing watch. They had found the wrist-band to which the timepiece had been attached, but the watch itself had been missing.

“Well, that proves one thing,” said Dave. “I certainly lost the watch in that vicinity. And if it wasn’t in the band it must have either been smashed by the explosion or otherwise some person must have picked it up.”

Of course Dave had to write home concerning his medal, and he took the occasion to send a long communication to Jessie, mentioning what Nat Poole had told him concerning Gebauer. He added that he hoped the girl would not suffer because of any rumor that might have been circulated in their home town.

“Well, we have orders to get on the march again to-morrow morning,” announced one of the sergeants to Dave two days later, following a quiet Sunday, which Dave had spent in resting and in attending services at a nearby Y. M. C. A. hut. At the services he had listened to a good, straightforward sermon on the duties of a soldier, and there had followed a number of the familiar religious songs in which the entire congregation of engineers and others had joined heartily.

“I suppose we’re going up to the front again?” remarked Dave.

“More than likely. Although I haven’t any very definite information.”

“Did they say whether it would be trench work or road work?”

“Trench work, I imagine; although I’m not sure.”

Two days after that found the fighting engineers in a place that was entirely new to them. Here a long line of trenches were under construction by some other engineers, and they were sent in to give assistance before opening up a roadway still further to the northeast.

The weather had been fairly good for some time, but now another storm set in which made trench-digging anything but pleasant. However, it was all a part of the game, as Dave remarked, and consequently he did not complain. He wore his high trench boots and his rubber slicker, and thus protected himself as best he could.

A large part of the trench work in that vicinity had been completed before the fighting engineers arrived on the scene. They, however, were set to work completing the interior of a dugout of large proportions, a place located fully forty feet underground and covered with the trunks of many trees.

“This certainly ought to be a safe place from any bombardment,” remarked Phil, while they were at work.

Sixteen of the engineers were still down in the dugout, the others having been ordered to the surface, when there came a cry of alarm from a distance. Immediately following the cry came a roar of artillery, and this was kept up for fully a quarter of an hour.

“Something is doing—that’s sure!” cried Dave. “I wonder if it is possible that a battle is developing in this vicinity?”

“It certainly sounds like it,” answered Ben. “And it sounds to me as if it was coming nearer every minute.”

“If it comes this way, maybe we’ll be in for another fight!” cried Roger.