As Dave and his chums strode forward they saw the soldier ahead of them give the gaunt-looking French lad another shove. This caused the poor boy to lose his balance, and over he went in the roadway, falling on top of the big bundle he was carrying.

“Hi, you bruiser, stop that!” cried Dave, coming up behind the soldier and catching him by the arm. Then, as, rather startled by the interruption, the fellow whirled around, he added in amazement: “Nat Poole!”

“See here! what do you mean by grabbing me by the arm?” demanded the son of the money lender of Crumville, as soon as he recovered from his astonishment.

“Why, it’s Nat Poole!” exclaimed Roger.

“Who would have thought of meeting him here?” added Phil.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself for treating a poor French boy like this, Nat,” continued Dave, as he stepped forward and assisted the fallen boy to his feet. The fellow looked much frightened, thus confronted by four soldiers. Evidently he was afraid he had gotten himself into serious trouble. He did not understand what was being said.

“I guess I’ve got a right to hire a boy to carry a bundle for me,” grumbled Nat.

“Did you hire him?” demanded Dave.

“I don’t know as that’s any of your business,” was the blustering response.

“Did he hire you to carry the package for him?” questioned Dave of the boy in the best French he could command, which, it may be said here, was far from good.

“That soldier made me carry the bundle. He makes motions like he would beat me if I did not do it,” answered the boy, with a shiver.

“He won’t touch you; so don’t be afraid,” said Dave, and then he looked calmly at Nat.

“See here, Dave Porter! what right have you to come and butt into my private affairs?” growled Nat.

“As a commissioned officer of the army I am bound to see to it that the inhabitants around here are properly treated,” answered Dave. And if he said this rather sternly I think he may be pardoned for so doing.

“A commissioned officer? Humph, you’re only a sergeant! I don’t see how you got into that uniform.”

“Lieutenant Porter was made a lieutenant some time ago,” said Phil. “And you had better mind yourself, Nat, or you’ll get into trouble.”

“So they made you a lieutenant, did they?” queried Nat; and it was easy to be seen that he was envious of Dave’s promotion. “Funny the luck some fellows have!”

While this talk was going on the boy had been edging farther and farther away from the Americans. Now he suddenly took to his heels, running off as if for dear life.

“Now see what you have done!” grumbled Nat. “I wanted that boy to carry this bundle into town for me.”

“What’s the matter with carrying it yourself, Nat?” suggested Roger. “You are more able to do it than that poor half-starved kid.”

“Humph! I wasn’t brought up to lug bundles,” grumbled the money lender’s son.

“Is it your own?” questioned Phil.

“No! It belongs to our captain. He detailed me to take it into town for him.”

“If he did, he must have done it as a punishment for you,” returned Dave quickly. He well knew that privates were often punished by their superiors for slight infringements of the regulations by having disagreeable duties assigned to them. He himself had seen unlucky engineers set to work carrying bundles, cleaning up in camp, and even peeling potatoes and onions for weeks at a time.

“Never mind why I was carrying the bundle. I can’t see that it’s any of your business, even if you are a lieutenant.”

“I won’t argue the point, Nat; but in the future you take my advice and leave the poor French boys alone.”

“Oh, say! you fellows make me tired,” growled the money lender’s son. And then, grabbing up the bundle which still lay in the roadway, he turned his back on the others and stalked off.

“Say, Dave, I think you ought to report him,” was Phil’s comment.

“Oh, let it go, Phil,” was the quick reply. “If I, as a lieutenant, reported Nat, he would claim that it was nothing but a personal matter between us. I don’t want to take advantage of my position when it comes to dealing with somebody I have known for years. I would rather fight it out on my own hook, so to speak.”

“Oh, I understand your feelings, Dave—I’d feel that way myself.”

“If you reported Nat he would make a great hullabaloo and say you were simply trying to show your authority,” said Roger. “Just the same, I am glad we caught him and came to the rescue of that boy. We want all of the inhabitants here to realize that we are their friends and intend to treat them with perfect fairness.”

The three chums soon reached the town, Nat Poole having gone in ahead of them. Dave made his purchases, and Roger and Phil got what they wanted, and then they walked around to see the sights. This town had been under bombardment several times, and while a portion of it was still in fairly good condition, many of the buildings had suffered, and at the end of one of the streets the demolition was complete.

“Just think of having lived here while those bombardments were going on!” was Dave’s comment, as they paused in front of one of the buildings, a rear corner of which was still standing.

“It must make the French people heart-sick to come back and find their homes nothing but heaps of rubbish.”

“And to think that the Germans carried off nearly everything of value,” put in Phil.

“Never mind, Phil, some day we’ll make them pay the whole bill,” returned Dave. “The only thing we can’t make good is the loss of life.”

They walked around for over an hour, for this was the first chance they had had to look over this particular town. During the winter at the front they had had an opportunity to go back to two other ruined places, but at that time the ruins had been covered with a thick mantle of snow, so that they had seen comparatively little.

Walking along one of the streets, which was still piled high with the debris of the last bombardment, Dave and his chums had occasion to walk under what remained of a bridgeway running from one building across the road to another.

“It’s queer that bridge wasn’t knocked down by the bombardment,” remarked Roger, as he surveyed the ruin left on all sides.

“Some of these old stoneworks are remarkably substantial,” returned Dave. “The engineers of those days certainly knew their business. Under ordinary circumstances a bridge like this will last for thousands of years.”

They came out on the other side of the bridge and here paused to look around again. Then, as Dave happened to glance upward, he gave a sudden cry of alarm:

“Look out there!”

As he spoke there came down on their heads a perfect shower of dirt, consisting mostly of pulverized lime and cement. Then, before they could move, another shower of the same stuff descended upon them.

“Great Cæsar! do you suppose those buildings are going to fall?” cried Phil. Some of the dust had got into his eyes, temporarily blinding him.

“No, nothing is falling,” answered Dave quickly. “That stuff came from the top of the bridgeway and was thrown down on us.”

“Hi there! Stop that!” yelled Roger, and then repeated his words in French.

“I saw somebody’s arm, and that arm was dressed in khaki,” said Dave quickly. “I believe that stuff was thrown down by some of our soldiers. I am going up there to investigate. Come along.”

To get up on the bridgeway was not difficult. They had to pass into what was left of one of the houses and then make their way up a rather rickety pair of stairs. Then they passed over a shaky floor and through a doorway leading to the bridge.

As they did this, Dave, who was well in advance, caught sight of two figures in khaki—those of a private and an officer. The two had been laughing boisterously, but now, as Dave and his chums came up on the bridge the others started away from them. But the far end of the bridge was blocked by the ruins of the building beyond, and the fleeing ones had to come to a halt.

“It’s Nat Poole, just as I thought,” said Dave to his chums.

“Who is that fellow with him?” questioned Roger.

“I’m not quite sure, Roger, but he looks like Gebauer.”

“So it is! I recognize him now. Well, what do you know about this!”

In another moment the two parties were confronting each other. Nat looked rather sullen, while Lieutenant Gebauer put on a front as if the affair did not concern him in the least. Of course the engineers saluted, and Gebauer did likewise.

“Nat, did you throw that stuff down on top of us?” demanded Dave.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” was the low reply.

“Yes, you do,” put in Roger quickly, and going forward he grabbed Nat by the arm.

“Roger Morr, you let me alone!” howled the money lender’s son, a trifle frightened.

“This is Lieutenant Gebauer, I believe?” remarked Dave, a bit stiffly.

“You are right. And you are—?” and here the lieutenant paused.

“I am Lieutenant Porter. I think you ought to remember me.”

“Oh, yes; I remember you now. You come from the same town that Poole does,” said Gebauer slowly.

“I suppose both of you thought it was a good joke to throw that dirt down on us?” continued Dave, eying the other lieutenant squarely.

“Oh, soldiers have got to have a little fun, you know,” said Gebauer coolly, and, taking a cigarette from a case, he started to light it.

“It’s no fun to throw lime dust around,” growled Phil, who was still rubbing his eyes. “For two pins, Nat Poole, I’d give you the thrashing of your life.”

“There will be no fighting done here!” cried Lieutenant Gebauer sternly.

“Perhaps you had a hand in this, Lieutenant?” said Dave quickly.

“Ha! do you accuse me, Porter?” and the other officer drew himself up proudly.

“I know there were two lots of that stuff came down on our heads. Did Poole throw both of them?”

“No, I didn’t!” was the quick reply. “I—I—” and then Nat stopped.

“I don’t see why you should make such a row over a little fun,” remarked Gebauer, puffing away at his cigarette. “It’s dull enough around here. We’ve got to stir things up a little.”

“Well, after this when you stir things up, you keep away from me,” said Dave coldly.

“Do you mean that as a threat, Porter?”

“I mean that as a warning.”

There was a moment’s pause, and twice Lieutenant Gebauer made a move as if to speak. But then he merely shrugged his shoulders and flipped the ashes from his cigarette.

“Life is too short to quarrel, Porter,” he remarked finally. “Have it your own way.”

“I intend to have it my own way.” Dave stepped a bit closer. “I believe you know well enough, Lieutenant Gebauer, that I have a little personal account to settle with you. But that can wait. Just the same, I want you and this cowardly young fellow here to understand that you have got to keep your distance. Otherwise there is going to be real trouble for both of you.”

“See here! You—you—can’t—er—threaten me like this!” stammered Gebauer, not knowing how to proceed.

“Come on, boys; I’ve had my say,” said Dave to his chums, utterly ignoring the splutterings of Gebauer. Nat was mumbling something under his breath, but what it was, nobody understood.

Then Dave and his friends left the bridge and the ruins around it and went on their way.