Against the furious bull-like rushes of his opponent, he opposed a quickness and agility that more than counterbalanced his enemy's weight It was a contest of a bull against a panther, and the panther won.

For perhaps two minutes the fight continued. Then with a lightning thrust Frank's bayonet found its mark, and the German staggered for a moment, fell headlong and lay still.

His fall seemed to take the heart out of the others who were being outfought and pressed back. They wavered, broke and started to flee, but the sharp crack of the corporal's revolver brought one of them to the ground, and the others halted.

Up went their hands and from the lips of each came the cry "_Kamerad_!"

in token of surrender.

The American boys rounded them up and disarmed them. Then the corporal took account of stock.

Bart was there panting and flushed with nothing worse than a scalp wound where a rifle b.u.t.t had glanced from his head. Wilson himself was unhurt.

Billy also had come through unscathed, but Tom was nowhere to be seen.

An awful fear, a fear that they had never felt in the fighting itself, clutched the hearts of his comrades. Good old Tom, bound to them by a thousand ties of friendship and comradeship--had he met his fate in this desolate stretch of No Man's Land?

Frantically they searched among the bodies for one that wore a suit similar to their own. Frank found it first. His hand went to the heart and to his joy found that it was beating.

He lifted Tom's head and rested it on his knee.

"Tom! Tom!" he called, as he chafed his chum's hands and loosened his suit at the throat.

Tom's eyes slowly opened, and, recognizing his friend, a faint smile came to his lips. But he did not speak, and Bart, who was the only other one who could be spared from guarding the prisoners, joined Frank in redoubled efforts to bring Tom back to full consciousness.

"He doesn't seem to have any bones broken," said Frank after a hurried examination.

"And he isn't bleeding," replied Bart. "But he has a lump on his head as big as an egg."

At last Tom's full consciousness returned, and with his chums'

a.s.sistance he got slowly and painfully to his feet.

"Guess they haven't got my number yet, but they came mighty near it," he said, trying to grin. "I'd just run one of the Huns through the arm when I saw another out of the tail of my eye swinging for my head with his rifle. I tried to dodge, but he must have been too quick for me, for that's the last I remember."

"Thank heaven it was no worse!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Frank fervently.

"It would have been a mighty bad thing for us if you had cashed in, old boy," said Bart with feeling. "How did the sc.r.a.p turn out?" asked Tom.

"Though I suppose there's no use in asking, or you wouldn't be here taking care of me."

"We trimmed them good and proper," said Frank, from whom a ton's weight had been lifted by finding that his friend had escaped serious injury.

"A lovely sc.r.a.p," added Bart. "I wouldn't have missed it for a farm.

We've wiped out five and rounded out the rest. Let's go over and see how many there are."

"Eight," announced the corporal, as he counted the prisoners who stood in a group sullen and morose. "There must have been a baker's dozen in the party."

"I don't know how superst.i.tious they may be," chuckled Billy, "but I'll bet that from now on they'll agree that thirteen is an unlucky number!"

CHAPTER VII

NICK RABIG'S QUEER ACTIONS

"Well," remarked Corporal Wilson, who was relieved beyond measure to find that his own little force was practically intact, "eight is a pretty good bag for one night's work, not to speak of five more who won't do any more strafing for the Kaiser."

"Nine," corrected Bart. "Don't forget our speechless friend in the sh.e.l.l hole."

"No doubt he'd be perfectly willing to be forgotten," grinned Billy.

"But we'd better take him along just for luck. That'll be nearly two prisoners apiece for each of the bunch. Pretty fair work if you ask me."

There was no further time for talking, for it would soon be dawn and they were eager to get back to their own lines. They had been under a terrible strain through all the long hours of the night and were beginning to feel the reaction. And they were not at all averse to showing their comrades in the regiment how well they had fared and how stoutly they had held up the colors of the old Thirty-seventh.

"Who goes there?" came the sharp challenge of the sentry, as they drew near the American trench, and they knew that a score of rifles was trained upon them to back up the sentry's demand if the answer were halting or suspicious.

"Friends," replied the corporal.

"Advance and give the countersign," was the next requirement.

Corporal Wilson complied, and he and his squad were joyfully welcomed.

"I said 'friends'" added the corporal with a grin, as the party made their way through the opening in the wire defences, "but perhaps that doesn't go for all this crowd. Some of them didn't want to come, but we told them they'd better, and here they are."

"A bunch of huskies," remarked the sentry, as he surveyed the prisoners critically. "You don't mean to say that just you five rounded up that gang?"

The four privates merely grinned.

"Looks like it, doesn't it?" answered the corporal with keen relish of the sentry's surprise. "Counting those we brought down, there are just fourteen that will turn up missing when the Boches call the roll this morning."

"That's going some," said the sentry admiringly. "I only wish I'd been along with you. Some fellows have all the luck."

The prisoners were turned over to the officer in charge, and the corporal made his way to headquarters to make his report of the night's work.

Bart and Tom went under the hands of the surgeons to have their wounds and bruises treated, and were a.s.sured that with a little rest they would be as well as ever in a day or two. Then the boys, "dog-tired," as Bart expressed it, but happy and exultant that they had done their work well and were back safe once more, tumbled into their bunks to enjoy the rest they had so richly earned.

"Never was so tired in my life," murmured Frank, drowsily, as he fell rather than climbed into his bunk.

"Same here," chimed in Billy.

"Rip Van Winkle won't have anything on me," drawled Tom. "What's twenty years of sleep? I'm going to take forty."

As for Bart, he started to say something but dropped off to sleep while saying it.

None of the quartette woke until late in the afternoon. Then they found that their exploit had made a stir in the regiment. Their fight against twice their number was the most interesting feature to their comrades of the rank and file. But still more important in the view of their officers was the discovery of the dummy trench, which might have been turned into a shambles for the American troops if they had rushed into the trap so cunningly and so fiendishly set for them.

"It was fine work, Corporal," the captain said warmly, when Wilson finished his report. "You deserve credit for having brought your squad back without the loss of a man."

"They mostly brought themselves back, sir," replied Wilson with a smile.