"Either that or our aviators have driven them off as they did this afternoon," returned Bart.

"Let's go back to the mill," Tom suggested. "There'll be plenty of ventilation in the old crib to-night."

"And my cot's right beneath that hole in the roof," grumbled Bart.

"Safest place in the whole shebang," comforted Frank. "Lightning never strikes twice in the same spot."

"Yes, but suppose it rains," grouched Bart.

"Aw, it's good for the complexion," grinned Tom. "Anyway, you're soaked through now, aren't you? Some fellows are never satisfied."

"Ah, stop fighting!" said Frank. "It couldn't rain if it wanted to with a moon like that."

Once back in the mill, the army boys set about repairing the havoc wrought by the bomb.

Billy picked up the banjo, patted it lovingly and was relieved to find that his favorite instrument had come through the German attack uninjured.

"Glad you're all right, old girl," he said, running his fingers over the strings. "But I guess you're through for one night."

"Yes," chuckled Tom, as he started to unlace his shoes. "The Huns have given us their idea of a moonlight serenade!"

CHAPTER XIX

NICK RABIG UNDER ARREST

It might have been expected that a sleepless night would have followed the raid. But the young Americans were far too healthy and their nerves were already becoming too well steeled to let the Germans, like Macbeth, "murder sleep." Their eyes closed almost as soon as their heads touched the pillows, not to open again until reveille sounded the next morning.

They were a little more subdued than usual, however, as they dressed, for there was poor Fred's empty cot and some dark red blotches on the floor to remind them of their comrade's plight and their own narrow escape.

"I wonder how Fred's getting along," said Tom, voicing the general thought.

"All right, I hope," returned Frank. "It will make him sore to be cooped up now with a broken leg, just when the boys are putting the finishing touches on their training."

They were relieved to find on inquiry after breakfast, that Fred was doing finely, that the wound in his head was negligible and that the break in his leg was a simple fracture so that in six weeks he would probably be as well as ever.

"The old scout will have one satisfaction, anyway," said Bart. "He's the first one in our bunch who has actually shed his blood for Uncle Sam."

"Gee, he beat us to it," agreed Tom. "But don't worry, we'll have plenty of chances later on."

In the interval before drill, they strolled about the old mill, seeking traces of the visitation of the night before. These were easily visible for there were immense sh.e.l.l holes where the bombs had buried themselves in the earth.

They found one of the missiles that had not exploded. Bart was about to pick it up when Frank shouted a warning.

"Nix on that funny business!" he cried. "You never can tell when those fellows will start working."

"Yes," added Bart. "Those fingers of yours will come in handy later on. You'll need them in your business."

"Yes," remarked their corporal, Wilson, who sauntered up to them at the moment. "For all we know that thing may have been fixed so that it wouldn't explode when it struck the ground but would the minute somebody picked it up and commenced fooling with it. The only safe way is to give them all a wide berth.

The corporal was popular with the men directly under him, and although he was a strict disciplinarian and kept the men up to their work, there was nothing petty or tyrannical about him. And the respect the men had for him was heightened by the stories that were told in the regiment of the adventures he had undergone.

For he had been a rover over the earth, and in his short life of thirty years had pa.s.sed through more exciting scenes than fall to the lot of most men in a lifetime. He had been a miner in Australia, had ridden the ranges in Arizona, "mushed" in the Klondike, and been at one time a member of the famous Canadian Mounted Police. He was quiet and reserved, never boasting of his exploits and extremely efficient in anything he set about to do. He was a dead shot and could shoot from the hip with either hand. A coin tossed into the air at a distance of fifty feet he could clip four times out of five.

On one occasion the boys had been astonished eye witnesses of his shooting. The nine of clubs had been pinned to a tree sixty paces distant and Wilson, pulling the trigger so quickly that the eye could scarcely follow, had wiped out the spots in nine successive shots.

He was as courageous as he was skilful, and in case of trouble could be counted on as one of the most valuable members of the regiment.

So that when he showed a disposition to depart from his usual reserve and take part in the conversation the boys made room for him with alacrity.

"Fritz is full of cunning little tricks," the corporal continued.

"They played the fountain pen game and got a lot of our fellows before the Allies got wise to it."

"That's a new one on me," said Frank. "What is the fountain pen game?"

"Why," answered Corporal Wilson, as he seated himself comfortably on a nearby rock and struck a match for his pipe, "the Heinies in the first line trenches when our boys went over the top and drove them out used to leave behind them a lot of their stuff because they usually skipped in a hurry.

"One of our boys would find a fountain pen among other things and think he had a prize, but the first time he started to unscrew the cap the thing would explode and smash his hand to bits. We've got a good many cripples in the ranks on account of that. But the game's played out now, and they'll have to think up a new one."

"We ought to get even with them for that," said Tom.

"Oh, we've got even all right," grinned the corporal. "We worked them on the hand grenades. You know how it is sometimes, when the first line trenches are facing each other. A Frenchman or a Britisher throws over a hand grenade, the Hun catches it on the wing, as it were, if its a long time fuse and throws it back in the hope that it will explode in the Allied trenches and thus become a boomerang."

"Rather a risky game I call it," said Billy. "It wouldn't be any fun to have one of those gentle little things go off in your hand."

"That's where the trick comes in," said the Corporal. "You know of course, there are two kinds of fuses. The short time fuse has red threads in it, the long time fuse hasn't. If the German sees that there are none of these red threads in the fuse of the grenade that drops near him he figures he's got time to throw it back.

"Well, one of the British Tommies had a bright idea and he carefully picked all the red threads out of a short time fuse. Then he zipped it over. Of course the Heinie picked it up, thinking it was a long timer and that was about all for Heinie. It blew him and all the men near him to German headquarters."

"To German headquarters," said Bart, wonderingly. "I don't get you."

The corporal grinned.

"Haven't you heard that?" he said. "A British Tommy wrote home that he'd had pretty good luck through the war for he'd sent a dozen Germans to Hades. The British censor scratched out the word, 'Hades' and wrote above it, 'It is not permitted to refer to German headquarters'."

The boys laughed.

"And yet they say the British haven't a sense of humor," commented Frank.

"That's why I say," summed up the corporal, "that you've got to be mighty careful in handling all these contraptions. A fool and his fingers are soon parted."

"Does he mean me?" asked Bart with a grin.

"You've said something," agreed Billy, with unflattering frankness.

The corporal strolled on.