Transcriber’s Notes:

Starting in Chapter 3, the missing brother’s first name changes from Tom to Frank.

[Additional Transcriber’s Notes] are at the end.

“There goes one poor chap!” cried the Western boy.—[Page 149.]

TWO AMERICAN BOYS
WITH THE
ALLIED ARMIES

BY
MAJOR SHERMAN CROCKETT

ILLUSTRATED BY
CHARLES L. WRENN

NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1915,
BY
HURST & COMPANY

CONTENTS

Two American Boys with the
Allied Armies.

CHAPTER I.
THE STORY OF THE OLD WINDMILL.

“Why not climb up into this battered old windmill, Amos, and take an observation?”

“Now, that’s a good idea, Jack, only we’d better be mighty careful about showing ourselves too recklessly, you know.”

“You mean that there might be German raiding parties skirmishing around this section of country, don’t you, Amos?”

“Well, we’ve had to hide twice today when we glimpsed suspicious squadrons galloping across the fields, or covering some far-off road. And you remember that one of them bore the stamp of Uhlans in their lances with the fluttering pennons, their dirt-colored uniforms, and the spiked helmets.”

“Oh! we’ll try and not show ourselves, Amos; but since we’re a little mixed up in our bearings this seems too good a chance to lose.”

“These Dutch-style windmills we’ve run across in this strip of Belgium do make mighty good lookouts and observation towers. I warrant you some of them have figured heavily in the ebb and flow of the war.”

“This one has for a fact, Amos,” remarked the young fellow called Jack, as he pointed at numerous jagged holes in the concrete foundation, where evidently a storm of bullets had struck. “You can see how it’s been bombarded on all sides; and that top corner on the left was torn off by a passing shell. Here inside is a pile of empty brass cartridge-cases that tells the story as plain as print.”

“Made in Germany they were as sure as you live, and used in a rapid-fire gun at that, Jack. Yes, it’s all written out before us. Here in this concrete base of the windmill tower, some daring gun squad of the Kaiser’s men took up their stand with their outfit, and held the Allies off as long as their ammunition lasted. I wonder what happened then, Jack?”

“I’ve got a hunch we’ll find out something after we get up where we can look around a bit. But come on, let’s climb this ladder to the upper part of the windmill. Have a care how you trust your whole weight on anything, because they’ve riddled the place for keeps.”

While the two boys climb upwards with the intention of taking a look around and getting their bearings, we might as well become better acquainted with them, and learn what sort of mission it was that brought two American lads over to the battle-scarred fields of Southwestern Belgium at such a perilous time.

Jack Maxfield and Amos Turner were first cousins, and the latter lived in one of the best-known suburbs of Chicago; while Jack, being an orphan, was in the habit of saying that “his home was wherever he happened to hang his hat.”

Both boys were passionately fond of outdoor life, but fortune had allowed Jack to spend several years on a Western ranch, where he accumulated a fund of knowledge through actual experience; while Amos had to be content with what he could pick up through reading, theorizing, and association with a Boy Scout troop.

Jack had been left with independent means, and chanced to be visiting at the home of Colonel Turner, his uncle, at the time a strange event took place which resulted in the dispatch of the two boys across the ocean, bent upon an errand of mercy. Just what that mission was the reader will learn by listening to the conversation between the two boys after they reached the top of the windmill tower. Day and night it bore heavily on the mind of Amos, so that he frequently found himself sighing, and seeking consolation in the reassuring words his cousin was so ready to pour out.

After some little effort they managed to pull themselves up and land on the top of the windmill base. Roughly treated under the bombardment to which, as a fortress, it had been subjected, the material was crumbling in numerous places. The boys, however, had no trouble in finding room on the top. Overhead arose one of the gaunt arms with its tattered sail; another had been shattered by the same shell that had torn the corner away, and lay in a heap close by.

Taking a hasty look all around, the two boys quickly discovered several things that held their interest.

“Amos,” said Jack, gravely, “you were wondering what had become of the Germans who defended this place against all opposition. If you will look down there where that willow tree grows alongside the brook you’ll understand.”

“Fresh-made graves, sure enough, Jack!” exclaimed the other, with a quick intake of his breath. “Like as not they held out till the last man went under. And some of their comrades passing this way stopped long enough to cover the brave fellows with two feet of earth. That’s about all a soldier can expect these days.”

“I can guess what’s in your mind when you sigh that way, Amos. You’re wondering whether your brother Tom is still alive, or has found a grave like hundreds of thousands of others in this terrible war.”

“We’ve reason to believe he changed his name and joined the British forces, not caring much whether he survived or perished,” said Amos, with a look of pain on his young face. “You know he always was a reckless fellow. He is nearly ten years older than I. Father was very strict, and couldn’t understand that high-spirited Tom was one of those who could be led, but never driven. Then came that awful accusation—oh! it makes me shiver to think of that time.”

“Your father accused Tom of taking his pocketbook from a drawer of his desk, and everything seemed to point to him as the thief. You say Tom denied being guilty but was too proud to say anything more. And so he was driven from home, and has never been seen since that time—is that it, Amos?”

“Yes, though I’ve had a few lines from him about once in six months,” replied the other boy, slowly. “First he went to California; then I heard from him in Japan; and the last time it was in England, where he said he had enlisted under another name, and meant to fight for the Allies, not caring much what happened.”

“Did your father ever know you had heard from him?” asked Jack, as he continued to use his eyes to advantage, and examine the surrounding country from the elevated lookout.

“I didn’t dare show him the postcards that came to me,” replied Amos. “He is such a stern martinet, you know, or rather was up to a month ago, when that queer thing happened. Father made a name for himself as a soldier during the Spanish war. He had told me to consider that my brother was dead, and so I was afraid to tell him about those cards. If our mother had only lived all this terrible trouble would never have happened, for she knew how to handle high-spirited Tom.”

“Tell me again about that day the discovery was made, Amos; of course I’ve heard the story, but I’d like to get it all fresh in my mind.”

“It happened in this way,” replied the other, who had come to lean on his cousin more or less since they had grown to be chums, “one of the drawers of father’s desk seemed to stick with the pile of papers in it, and he asked me to get it out. I can see him now, sitting there and watching me work at it, with that set look on his face that has been there ever since he sent poor Tom away.”

“One of the papers was missing, you told me, and you thrust your hand in where the drawer had come from so as to get hold of it?” remarked Jack, eagerly, as though in imagination he could picture the intensely thrilling scene.

“Yes, and when I hastily drew my hand out and held up what I had found there in the cavity where the drawer had been I thought my father would fall back dead in his chair, he was so stunned. His face turned as white as chalk, and he held his breath ever so long.”

“It was the lost pocketbook, of course?” continued Jack.

“Nothing less,” said Amos, tragically; “you see, it must have been lying on top of all those papers and was dragged off when the drawer was opened long ago. Every cent was in it untouched. Father swooned away with the shock, and has never been himself since. He can’t sleep nights, and keeps muttering all the while about his cruel injustice to poor Tom.”

“Of course you showed him the cards from your brother, Amos?”

“Yes, as soon as he was in a condition to understand,” replied the other. “From that hour he has had only one thing in his mind, which was that some one must find Tom and fetch him home. Father says he can’t live much longer, and that he is praying every day that he might ask his boy to forgive him before he goes.”

“And so we’ve come across to try and find Tom,” Jack went on to say, “though since he’s changed his name it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack; but we’ve managed to pick up a clue, and there’s a faint chance of our running across him before a great while.”

“Oh! I hope so, I hope so, Jack,” said the other, fervently. “Every time I shut my eyes I seem to see poor father’s face before me. The look of pain on it haunts me. I would give almost anything if only I could find Tom and take him back home with me. I believe it would give father new life. But what a small chance we’ve got to run across my brother in an army of half a million men, when we’re not even sure of the name he’s known by. He may have fallen long ago in one of those fierce drives the Germans made on the British lines.”

“Keep hoping for the best, Amos,” the Western boy told him, cheerily, for Jack was always seeing the silver lining in the cloud. “Something whispers to me that sooner or later we’re bound to succeed, and that when we start back across the Atlantic we’ll have your brother Tom in tow. But there’s one thing we’ve got to make sure of, and that is to keep clear of the Germans. Once we fall into their hands they’d send us into Germany as prisoners of war, no matter how we proved we were American boys. And that would ruin our game.”

“So far we’ve been helped in a lot of ways by the Allied officers,” remarked Amos, trying to pluck up fresh courage and hope. “My father happened to have good friends among the military people over in England, and they gave me a paper that has been worth a heap to us here. Only for that we’d never have been allowed to get as far as we have toward the firing line. But what are you staring so hard at, Jack?”

The other for answer drew his companion still further down as though he had made an unpleasant discovery that promised them fresh trouble. Accustomed to the great distances of the Western prairies, Jack’s eyes were like those of the eagle, and he could see objects that might have passed unheeded by others.

“There’s something moving over yonder where that low hill rises,” he hastened to inform Amos. “If you look close you can see a whole string of objects bobbing up and down as if on galloping horses. I think, Amos, they are the little pennons at the tip-end of Uhlan lances; and that a detachment of the rough-riding corps must be coming this way!”

“Then they’ll be pretty sure to head for this windmill as soon as they round the base of the hill,” exclaimed Amos, hurriedly, looking much concerned.

“It’s apt to draw them as the needle is attracted to the pole,” ventured the second boy. “In this country every place that affords a lookout is taken advantage of by friend and foe alike. Which means that since it’s too late now for us to skip out without being seen and chased, we’ll have to hide ourselves here and wait for the coast to clear. Come, there’s no time to lose, Amos!”

CHAPTER II.
A MOMENT OF PERIL.

Both boys seemed as active as cats; and evidently Jack must have looked around him with an eye to a possible hiding-place for he immediately led his companion to a cavity into which they could crawl and remain unseen.

They only waited long enough to make sure it was a band of horsemen turning the hill, that they were beyond doubt Uhlans, and that they were now heading in a direct line for the windmill.

“That settles it,” observed Jack, decisively. “They mean to make use of this observation post; so let’s dodge out of sight, Amos.”

A minute later and both boys were huddling under cover at a place where some of the wreckage of the arm of the sail together with other debris had been thrown.

“Let’s hope none of them think it worth while to stick a sword in here to see what’s under all this stuff,” ventured Amos.

“I hardly think they’ll go to any bother,” his companion observed. “You see, when these Uhlans are riding over hostile territory they are always in a big hurry to cover as much ground as they can. They stir up a hornets’ nest wherever they go, and the quicker they change base the better for them. I reckon a couple of the officers will climb up here with their field-glasses so as to take an observation. Then they’ll be off again, and only hit the high places as they ride away.”

“They can tell easily enough that there’ve been warm times around this windmill a short time back,” suggested Amos. “Let’s hope their powerful glasses show them a bunch of the British forces moving this way. That would help hurry them along, according to my notion.”

“’Sh! keep still now, because they’re getting close up. Use your ears all you want to, but say nothing even in a whisper.”

Thrilled by the fact that danger was hovering over them, the boys crouched there in their place of concealment and waited to ascertain what would happen. Although Amos did not claim to possess such acute hearing as his chum, he too could by now catch the thud of many horses’ hoofs beating on the earth. The sound grew in volume constantly, showing that the Uhlan party must be heading directly toward the site of the Dutch windmill, just as Jack had figured would be the case.

Suddenly the heavy beat of many hoofs ceased, and the concealed boys could hear a clanking of accoutrements, accompanied by snorts of horses brought to a standstill.

Jack nudged his comrade to signify that the crisis had arrived. Then they caught the sound of heavy voices, and the guttural nature of the utterance, so different from French or even English, told them it was German, though as yet no word came distinctly to their ears.

Some one was undoubtedly climbing the ladder that led to the top of the concrete and stone foundation of the windmill; Jack could tell this from the slight quivering sensation that he felt. As he had anticipated, the Uhlan meant to utilize the windmill as a lookout. He only hoped that a short confinement in their uncomfortable quarters might be the whole extent of the experience to which he and Amos would be subjected.

Louder came the voices. The speakers were now close at hand, and had evidently succeeded in gaining the flat top of the structure without any accident on account of the shaky ladder giving way under their weight.

It happened that both boys had a smattering of the German language. On the way over they had spent many hours on deck brushing up their knowledge from books secured with that very idea in view. Hence they could make out fairly well what was said, though at times the translation might seem a little hazy, and subject to doubt.

The party with the rasping voice seemed to be the leading officer, for he presently ordered some one else to climb further up, using the perpendicular arm of the windmill for the purpose, so as to get a better view of the surrounding country from its apex.

The hidden boys could hear the shaky arm groan under the weight of the climber, while the ragged remnant of the sail flapped in the breeze. Every second they anticipated a crash that would tell of disaster, but it did not come; and Jack realized that nothing was too venturesome for those recklessly hard riders.

Evidently the officer with the glasses must have reached the point which he had been aiming for, since presently he started making his report, the man below interrupting occasionally to ask pertinent questions.

From his lofty eyrie the one on the lookout must have been able to scan considerable territory, for he reported that only in one direction was there any sign of the enemy in force. Off toward the east he could see artillery in motion, accompanied by a regiment or two of British territorials, and evidently heading for the front to take their place in the battle line.

Further questioning revealed the fact that an aeroplane was in sight, apparently belonging to the Allies, and evidently scouting in the interests of the new field battery that was seeking a position where it could do the most damage to the trenches of the invaders.

The presence of this speedy air-craft seemed to make the commander of the Uhlans somewhat uneasy. He knew how easily the birdman could swoop down toward them and drop a few bombs with the intention of doing fell execution in their midst. If the air scout had manifested any interest in their presence there, and headed toward the spot, undoubtedly a hoarse command would have caused a hurried scattering of the rough riders, just as wild ducks separate when the eagle darts down for his dinner.

Now the observer was going down again to join his chief, who possibly would want to ask a few more questions before definitely deciding on the course they must take after leaving the windmill.

Amos was almost holding his breath because of the suspense. The Uhlan captain had seated himself on the pile of rubbish and was now within two feet of where the boys lay in concealment. It seemed to the anxious Amos that the very beating of his heart would betray them, so wildly was it pounding against his ribs.

Once again did the captain fling his queries at the other. Surrounded as they were with hostile forces it meant considerable to the Uhlans that they pick out the line of least resistance. It was also of importance to them that they appear in places where German soldiers were least expected. In this way, by the very boldness of their dash, they might help strike terror to the hearts of the villagers, wherever a collection of houses had still escaped the general destruction that had visited that sadly harassed section of country.

Amos was undoubtedly a better German scholar than his Western cousin, and could therefore understand what was passing between the two men. Jack felt him give a violent start once or twice, from which he guessed the other had caught something said which had seemed to have escaped his ears. It was no time to indulge in a whisper, however, and so he had to possess his soul in patience, and wait for a more fitting opportunity to learn what had upset his chum.

Once the Uhlan captain spoke of the fierce fight that must have taken place at the battered windmill, showing that he had read all the signs aright, even to the freshly turned earth over under the willow tree on the bank of the little brooklet near by.

There was a note of pride in his raspy voice when he spoke of the apparent fact that those who had used the buttress of the windmill for a fort must have held out until every man of them had been slain. In the eyes of a German such devotion to the dearly beloved Fatherland was only what might be expected.

When the captain rose from his hard seat, Amos for one terrible moment feared that the catastrophe he had dreaded was about to descend upon them, for he heard the second man make a remark that brought things directly home.

“Do you think our brave comrades could have found and buried all those who fell here, Captain, after first accounting for scores of the detested British?” was what he said.

Even as he spoke he bent down and tried to see under the pile of wreckage; and certainly both boys held their breath. But Fortune was kind to them, for it happened that the sun was under a cloud, and the man’s eyes could not penetrate the gloom that lay around them.

“Even if they did not, what does it matter?” remarked the commander. “A soldier needs no tomb. It is enough that he has done his duty toward his country and his emperor. If there should by chance be a body uncared for it will soon be buried just the same. Come, let us be going, Lieutenant Krueger. The horses will be all the fresher for this short halt. Twenty miles we should cover before sunset, and strike terror to thousands of French hearts with our passage through the land!”

Yes, thank fortune they were going now. The eyes of the lieutenant had been unequal to the task of seeing what lay under all that piled-up rubbish; and he did not think it worth while to thrust in with his sword. Amos was breathing freely again, though far from easy in his mind.

Now they knew the men were climbing down from the elevation. The horses had become restive, as though eager to be once more on the mad gallop to which they were so accustomed. Amos had reached out his hand and found that of his chum, to which he was clinging, squeezing Jack’s fingers convulsively as though he might be laboring under a tremendous strain.

“In luck again, you see, Amos,” whispered Jack, managing to get his lips close to the ear of his companion. “They’re going off in a hurry, and without finding us. Why, you’re quivering like a leaf, I do believe. What ails you, old chap?”

“Oh! then you didn’t hear what he said, or you wouldn’t be taking it so cool,” replied Amos, in a guarded tone, and trying at the same time to control his voice, which trembled in spite of him.

“Well, I own up I did miss some of his growl, but what of that?” confessed Jack. “Was there anything in particular he said that meant trouble for you and me?”

“Yes, yes,” answered the other, in a gasp. “He told the lieutenant they wouldn’t want to leave such a splendid lookout to be used by the enemy, and that it must be destroyed!”

“What, this windmill, do you mean?” demanded Jack, himself thrilled by the news.

“He said they ought to leave a bomb with a short fuse behind them, and the last man away would put a match to it!” Amos volunteered.

The Western boy may have been startled by what he heard, but it was Jack’s way never to show the white feather. He even whistled softly half under his breath; for the trampling of many hoofs down below served to make it impossible for ordinary sounds to be heard, so there seemed no possible danger of the chums being betrayed by their low conversation.

“That’s a nice outlook I must say,” chuckled Jack, pretending to make light of the threatening peril. “For one, I’m not hankering to climb the golden stairs in such a hurry. I tell you what we’ve got to do, Amos.”

“Wish you would, Jack, and be quick about it,” urged the other. “There, some of them are riding off right now, and the rest will follow on their heels. Then that last man is to touch a match to the fuse and hurry away. They expect to see the mill go shooting skyward in pieces before they get far off.”

“What d’ye reckon we’ll be doing along about that time, I’d like to know?” chuckled Jack. “Let’s crawl out of this in a hurry, so as to be ready to act. Then when we glimpse that last rider whooping it up in a hurry you’ll see how fast I’ll drop down the old ladder and jump on that burning fuse.”

“Then you don’t think we’d better run for it, Jack? You reckon they might see us and give chase? I guess you’re right about that, too. But listen, isn’t that the clatter of a single horse starting off with a rush?”

“Yes, there goes the man who fired the fuse; it’s time we were on the move if we want to stamp out that slow match,” and Jack as he spoke jumped for the ladder.

CHAPTER III.
THE BATTLE IN THE AIR.

“Let me go first, won’t you, Jack, please?”

There was no time for argument, so the other stepped aside and permitted his chum to pass down the ladder that led from the lower part of the structure. Since haste was a prime object with the boys just then it can be understood that they made record time, and were at the bottom almost “between breaths,” as Jack put it.

“I hear it sputtering somewhere!” exclaimed Amos, excitedly, as he turned this way and that without apparently being able to make any sort of discovery.

“And I can smell burnt powder plainly!” echoed Jack, not content to stand still and look around, but beginning a hasty search.

It was a moment of intense anxiety to both lads. They could not tell how long a fuse had been left by the trooper who was the last to ride away. He had seemed to be in something of a hurry, though this might spring from a desire to catch up with his comrades before they had gone very far on their way.

Jack used common-sense in his search. He noted first of all which way the air current was setting, and this told him the fumes of the burning powder must be coming toward him from a certain quarter.

When the other boy, actually shivering with suspense, saw Jack give a sudden leap forward and strike downward with his foot he judged that the other must have made an important discovery of some sort.

“Did you find it?” he asked, eagerly.

“Yes, come here and see,” Jack told him.

Upon looking, Amos discovered the bomb, which was only a small affair, though no doubt of tremendous power, for those Germans were master-hands at manufacturing terrible weapons of destruction, chemistry being one of their strongest holds.

“Oh! you got it just in time, seems like, Jack,” observed Amos, as he noted the short fuse remaining after his cousin had extinguished the fire.

“It might have lasted half a minute longer, I reckon,” said Jack, coolly. “Plenty of time for us to get clear, if only we hadn’t been afraid of being seen by the cavalrymen.”

“What next?” demanded Amos, who many times felt willing to put the responsibility of affairs on the broad shoulders of his chum.

“We must get out of this, that’s sure,” replied Jack. “The only thing I don’t like is that when there isn’t an explosion that trooper may think it his duty to gallop back here again so as to start things afresh.”

“But we ought to be somewhere among the bushes by that time, hadn’t we?” suggested Amos, uneasily.

“I have a better plan than that,” he was informed. “By now the man who fired the fuse is out of sight. I imagine he has drawn in his horse, and is waiting to hear the explosion. Amos, get outside where you can skip along when I come rushing out in a big hurry.”

“Are you meaning to put a match to the fuse again?” asked Amos.

“Yes, there is no danger of it’s going off before we get away; but don’t stop to argue about it, please. It’s the best thing we can do.”

Accordingly Amos bustled off, and as soon as he had left the interior of the old windmill structure, Jack scratched a match. He joined his chum a few seconds later.

“Now streak it like fun!” he exclaimed, and the pair started off as fast as they could run.

Jack had figured it all out, and made certain that they were headed in the right direction. He did not fancy running slap up against that trooper returning to see why the bomb failed to explode.

Having used up about all the time he had figured on, Jack suddenly drew his companion down to the ground.

“We’re safe enough here,” he gasped. “Now watch and see what happens!”

He had hardly spoken when there came a tremendous shock, such as both of them had felt when a violent burst of thunder followed close on the heels of a flash of lightning during an electrical storm.

“Whee!” ejaculated Amos as, looking backward, he saw the windmill being hurled skyward in many fragments.

Saw the windmill being hurled skyward in many fragments.—[Page 34.]

They heard the patter of the scattered parts falling back to earth. Then came a heavy thud of horse’s hoofs from a point not far distant.

“There, you see he was riding back to make sure of his work,” said Jack, meaning, of course, the trooper to whom had been assigned the task of rendering the windmill useless as a conning tower for the Allies. “When those Germans get an order they believe in carrying it out, no matter the cost.”

“I hope he’s satisfied now,” remarked the second boy. “It seems that he didn’t glimpse us running either, which I count a lucky thing.”

“Yes, because he might have chased after us, and thought it fun to jab us with the sharp tip of that lance he carries,” chuckled Jack. “These Uhlans make me think of certain Western Indians I used to meet up with when on the ranch. For the life of me I can’t understand what use they make of such an old-fashioned weapon as a lance in these days of Maxims and modern firearms. Still, they know what they’re doing.”

“Nothing to keep us from skipping out now, is there, Jack?”

“Surely not, and we’ll write down the adventure of the windmill as a stirring memory of this war business. Come on, Amos.”

“I see you’re heading toward the east, and I take it you mean to strike that bunch of British making for the front? Everywhere we go we keep on asking for information concerning one Frank Bradford; but so far we don’t seem to have met with any great good luck. Still, I’m hoping for the best. With such a chum as you at my right hand, a fellow would be silly to despair.”

“It’s a long lane that has no turning, remember,” remarked Jack, as they commenced to walk along at a smart pace.

“My brother simply told me in one of his short letters that he had taken that name because it belonged to our mother, who was a Bradford. I’m certain it was under it he must have enlisted. Just how he could get a berth in the British army, being by birth an American, puzzles me; but then he may have hoodwinked them about that; and they were in such need of likely fellows as Frank, they shut their eyes and took him on.”

So they conversed as they walked along. Half a mile was soon covered. Jack had learned to keep his eyes about him constantly. It was the education of the ranch that caused him to do this more than any suspicion of threatening peril. So it came about he again made a discovery that Amos failed to note.

“Look up, Amos!” he exclaimed, suddenly.

“Why, there’s another aeroplane!” cried the other, as he obeyed; “two of them in fact, making three in all. The air is full of the big dragon-flies, seems like; and Jack, wouldn’t you say two of them are manœuvring around the other one that’s built along different lines?”

“Unless I miss my guess,” said Jack, soberly, “that’s a German machine. They use the Taube model almost exclusively, as it seems to answer their purposes. Now, I’ve got a notion that Taube pilot must have been doing some scouting, and was trying to make his own lines when he was cut off by these aeroplanes of the Allies. Look how they block his efforts to get past, will you? He rises and falls, but every time one of the other machines is in the way.”

“There, did you see that puff of smoke from the German craft?” cried Amos. “Yes, and both of the others are shooting, too. Why, Jack, just to think of it; we’re watching a regular battle in the air between rival monoplanes! Doesn’t it make your blood tingle to see them manœuvre?”

“The Taube man is getting in hot quarters, I should say,” observed the ranch boy, as they stood and stared. “There goes a gun from over where the British force is advancing; yes, and listen to the bombardment, would you? They are firing shrapnel. You can see the white puffs of smoke where the shells burst.”

“He’s doing his best to get clear, for a fact, Jack. That pilot is daring enough, and so far seems to have held his own. Somehow I can’t help but admire him, even if our sympathies are with the Allies.”

“A brave man is worth admiring, no matter on which side he fights,” was the comment of the second boy; “but there isn’t much chance he’ll be able to slip by his enemies. They’re too swift for the Taube man, it seems like. And when he drops down, those gunners are going to fairly pelt him with shrapnel.”

“Oh! there he goes with a swoop!” gasped Amos; “but no, he seems to recover, and holds his own still. He’s a sure-enough jim-dandy pilot, let me tell you, Jack! Few bird men could have done that dip and come up smiling again.”

“Well, there’s no need of our standing here any longer,” observed the other boy. “We can watch while we walk along. I’d hate to miss connections with that troop, for somehow or other I keep hoping we may run across a clue worth while.”

This seemed to suit Amos very well, and they continued their tramp, keeping up a watch of the strange fight that was going on far up toward the fleecy clouds. If either of them stumbled occasionally on account of the deep interest they were taking in the wonderful exhibition of skill and daring being paraded before their eyes it was not to be wondered at under the circumstances.

The almost incessant roar of the guns, together with the crash of bursting shrapnel shells far above them had effectually drowned that dull, distant sound which from time to time had come to their ears, being caused by heavy ordnance battering some fortified place near the coast. Jack had even suggested that it might be the British battleships bombarding Zeebrugge, in order to damage the submarine base the Kaiser had instituted there.

Twice again did Amos have occasion to declare he believed the Taube had certainly received its finishing stroke, for it acted in an eccentric manner, and seemed to flutter like a wounded eagle of the skies. When on both occasions he saw that it recovered in time to elude the swoop of the Allies’ machines his praise grew louder than ever.

“I’m almost ready to wish that fellow gets away scot-free, Jack; he certainly deserves to win out!” he declared, enthusiastically.

“I reckon he’s got something with him he considers worth fighting for to the last gasp,” remarked the other; “but every minute this thing keeps up his chances decrease. He makes me think of a winded steer tottering along, and so exhausted that it seems a shame to rope him. There, that time he must have been badly battered when the shrapnel burst close alongside!”

“He’s winging down again, all right!” exclaimed Amos, “and this time it means he’s got to the end of his rope. His engine has been put out of commission most likely; and, Jack, see, he’s heading right at us!”

“That’s right!” echoed the other; “and p’raps we’ll be in at the death, after all!”

The Taube was falling very fast, despite every effort of the expert pilot to volplane earthward without the use of his engine. Apparently the machine must have been badly crippled by the shower of shrapnel to which it was lately exposed, and in addition the daring aviator may have received wounds that prevented him from properly fulfilling his duties.

As the two boys stood there staring, they saw the aeroplane sailing lower and lower until it seemed to be almost skimming the surface of the earth.

“There! he’s jumped out into that patch of bushes over yonder!” exclaimed Amos in renewed excitement, “and the machine has pitched down further on. He did his level best, Jack, but the game was too one-sided for him. Wonder is he living or dead?”

CHAPTER IV.
THE TELL-TALE CHART.

Jack noticed that the other two aeroplanes had withdrawn as though the pilots felt satisfied with having hurled the Taube to the ground. That particular section of country was so rough that they evidently had no intention of trying to effect a landing. Amos even suggested that possibly they had not come out of the encounter unscathed, and that the aviators were glad of a chance to retire from the battle in the air.

“We must see how badly he is hurt, Amos,” said the Western boy, as he started toward the spot where the venturesome birdman had plunged from his falling machine into the scrub bushes.

“Yes, I wouldn’t feel right unless we did that,” agreed Amos, who possessed a tender heart, and had once upon a time subscribed to the rules governing the conduct of the Boy Scouts of America.

They were quickly on the spot, and looking to the right and the left in the endeavor to locate the stricken aviator.

“There he is, Jack!” said Amos, suddenly, gripping the arm of his chum as he spoke. “Down on his hands and knees, too, as if he might be searching for something he had lost. Shall we go closer and see if he’s badly hurt? I think we ought to do what little we can for the plucky chap.”

Evidently this was what Jack had in mind, for he immediately started forward. The Taube pilot heard them coming and looked up. His face was streaked with blood and dirt, and altogether he presented a sad picture.

At sight of two boys approaching him instead of grown men garbed in the khaki of British soldiers, he seemed astonished. If he had intended to draw a weapon and sell his life dearly he changed his mind, for now he was holding up both hands. To the ranch boy that was an old and familiar sign of surrender. He had seen it used on many occasions during his experience in the West.

“Do you understand English?” was the first thing Jack asked as he and Amos drew near the wounded airman, still kneeling there.

The other nodded his head in the affirmative. He was eying them suspiciously, as though he could not understand who and what they were, for English boys were not supposed to form a part of the army sent across the Channel.

“I haf knowledge of the language if I cannot speak same much,” he told them.

“Well, first of all, we’re American boys, not English, you understand. We’re wanting to look after your wounds, if you care to let us,” Jack went on to say, at the same time smiling pleasantly.

“Is it to be a prisoner you mean?” demanded the birdman, suspiciously.

“Not as far as we’re concerned,” Jack hastened to assure him. “After we’ve fixed you up you can go your way for all of us; though you would do well to hide until night comes along, before trying to make your own lines. Now, we’re in something of a hurry, so let’s look you over.”

He went about doing so with a business-like air that was convincing. The wrecked air-pilot may have been loth at first to let mere boys try to attend to his hurts, but he soon realized his mistake, and submitted willingly.

There were numerous scratches and small contusions, but these amounted to little, and, after being washed with some water Jack carried in a canteen, could be left to time to heal. The worst thing was a fractured left arm, which must have been very painful, though the man never uttered a groan when Jack dexterously set the bones and bound it up as best he could.

“That’s all we can do for you just now,” he told the aviator, after completing the job. “As one of those other machines might sail over this way at any minute to see what has become of you, if you’re wise, you’ll hurry and hide somewhere so they won’t see you.”

“I thank you very much,” said the man, evidently impressed with the kindness shown by the two American boys.

“Oh, don’t mention it,” remarked Amos, lightly. “We’re supposed to be friends of all parties to this scrap. I’ve got a German chum at home I think heaps of, and his name is Herman Lange. Good-bye, and I want to say you put up a rattling good fight as long as it lasted.”

Perhaps the other did not wholly understand all of Amos’ remarks, but he knew the boy was saying nice things about his recent performance, so he smiled, and insisted on shaking hands with them both.

The last they saw of him he was making for a heavy growth of brush as though intending to profit by the advice given by the long-headed Western boy, by lying low until the day was spent, when it would be safe for him to be abroad.

“For one I’m not sorry I helped ease up that pain a bit,” remarked Amos, as he and Jack walked away, once more heading toward the quarter where they knew the British column would be found.

“Same here,” echoed the other. “He was a nervy chap, all right. You noticed that he never let out a single peep when I shoved those broken bones together, though I warrant you it must have hurt like fun.”

“I saw you pick up something and ram it in your pocket when we were coming away—must have been worth your trouble, Jack.”

“It was what the poor chap was hunting for, I reckon,” replied the second boy, as he thrust a hand inside his coat, and brought out a roughly folded paper.

“Why, would you believe it, he’s been making a regular chart from away up there in the clouds!” exclaimed Amos, the instant this paper was unfolded.

“And besides being a bold air-pilot that German must be a regular topographical engineer if there is such a thing. I never saw a map made hurriedly but showing everything so plainly. Here’s marks to show the positions of the British trenches around Ypres, every big gun marked with a cross, and even the supply stations and the hangars of the aeroplanes plainly located. Why, with a chart like this, distances plotted out and all that, German gunners could shell any position they chose from a distance of eight or ten miles.”

“A valuable map to fall into the hands of the Kaiser’s men, eh, Jack?”

“I should say yes, Amos; and that was why he hated to lose the same after going to all the trouble he had to make it.”

“Still, it wouldn’t have been just fair for you to have turned it over to him, because we went as far as we ought in looking after his wounds,” suggested Amos.

“Well, we’re supposed to be neutral, though favoring the Allies, because their aims correspond with what Americans believe in—as little military government as possible. I’m only wondering whether I had better tear the chart up, or keep it so as to gain favor with the commander of the forces over yonder.”

“Keep it, Jack; it may open their hearts to us; you never can tell,” was the way Amos looked at the matter. So, acting on this advice, the other boy concluded not to destroy the work of the chart-maker of the skies.

“There’s one of those other monoplanes starting up again,” said Amos, pointing.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the pilot has been given orders to drop down and take a look around where the Taube fell,” Jack continued.

“Little we care,” chuckled Amos, “so long as he lets us alone. I wouldn’t like to have a shower of bombs dropped down on me from overhead. Then didn’t we hear that the Allies were using some sort of steel arrow with a sharp point that would go through a German helmet, and do terrible work? Excuse me from making the acquaintance of any such contraption at close quarters.”

They pushed along, now and then casting a curious glance upward to note what the man in the aeroplane might be doing. He had not landed, but made several swoops downward, evidently trying to see what had happened to the Taube pilot when his machine had smashed to the ground.

Presently Amos sang out that he could hear horses neighing, and there were also other signs of their being close upon a body of troops resting while on the way to the front. Evidently there was some sort of fairly decent road near by, which the artillery and foot soldiers were utilizing in order to get closer to the trenches where the British, flanked by the little Belgian army, held their own against the furious drives of the desperate Germans.

As they came out from the undergrowth they discovered before them for a distance of half a mile or more numerous clumps of men in khaki. They had started fires and were evidently trying to heat up something so as to take away their hunger, as well as warm themselves up, for the day was a raw and chilly one.

Jack quickly picked out the officers’ mess. There was no display of swords, no gaudy trimmings as in the old days when men fought hand to hand. Bitter experience had shown the British leaders that in these days of Maxims and sharpshooters the object of the enemy was always to mark down those in command, so as to leave the brigades without officers, and render them less dangerous in a charge.

“That’s where we want to head,” he told Amos, as he changed his course slightly. “Unless I’m away off my base these must be what they call territorials over in England. They are trained all right, but have yet to smell their first burnt powder. If you find your brother at all, it’s going to be among this class of recruits.”

“They see us and are pointing this way,” remarked Amos. “I guess they wonder who and what we are. I’ve fastened that little American flag to my hat, Jack; it ought to do the business for us, I should think.”

“Yes, actions speak louder than words they say, and Old Glory generally carries the respect of all nations. But between you and me, Amos, I don’t seem to fancy that commanding officer any too well. He looks too puffed up with a sense of his own importance. Before he’s been in the trenches three days he’s apt to get a lot of that conceit knocked out of him, or perhaps be punctured by a German bullet.”

“I hope he’ll wear better than he looks,” muttered Amos, who was feeling very much the same as his companion did about the appearance of the stout commanding officer. “There are a whole lot of questions I’d like to get answered; a man of so much consequence wouldn’t condescend to accommodate me, I’m afraid.”

They soon arrived at a point where they were met by a detail of khaki-clad soldiers. To the non-commissioned officer in charge of these, Jack addressed himself.

“We want to speak with the colonel in charge of the column,” he said, simply.

“I have orders to bring you before him, so keep going right along,” the sergeant told him in reply, being apparently a brusque man, and, as Amos said, “without any frills.”

There were fully a dozen officers about the fire where a hot luncheon was being prepared. Amos secretly admitted to himself that closer inspection did not seem to impress him any more favorably with the colonel. He looked as though he suspected them from the start of being clever German spies.

“Well, who are you, and what have you been doing here so close to the trenches?” he asked in a disagreeable and harsh voice, frowning at Jack and Amos, who, however, succeeded in giving him back look for look, although trying not to show any signs of impudence, for they knew it would not profit them any to try and “twist the lion’s tail.”

“We are both American boys, Colonel,” said Jack. “If you can spare a few minutes of your valuable time we will be only too glad to explain why we are here.”

Those suspicious eyes looked them both over. Apparently the colonel was not yet convinced that they were harmless.

“Search them!” he ordered, and the sergeant who had led them to the spot immediately started to obey.

Of course, as luck would have it, almost the first article he drew forth and handed over to the waiting colonel was the wonderfully accurate chart made by the German Taube man; and loud exclamations told how the British officers appreciated the gravity of the find.

CHAPTER V.
STRIKING A CLUB.

“Whew! that’s a tough deal, I should say, Jack!” muttered Amos, evidently somewhat staggered by this new and alarming situation that had arisen in their fortunes.

“Keep still,” Jack told him. “Leave it to me. I will fix it all up in good shape when they give me half a chance to explain.”

Meanwhile the colonel and some of his officers were discovering new features in connection with the hastily made map. They could be heard expressing their wonder at its accuracy. Loudly did they declare that its possession by the enemy would be of incalculable injury to the cause of the Allies, particularly the British forces in Belgium, and along the French sea coast near Dunkirk and Calais.

The colonel turned upon the two boys. His frown had become heavier than ever, and that eagle eye of his seemed to be trying to see all the way down into their very hearts.

“You claim to be Americans,” he thundered, shaking his fat forefinger at them; “then how is it we find this map covering the disposition of our concealed batteries, supply stations, reserves, and everything else upon your person? Can you explain how it comes?”

“Certainly we can, sir,” said Jack promptly. “I was intending to hand you that chart; indeed, it was partly to do this we headed directly this way instead of trying to pass around.”

“It looks very suspicious, you must admit, boy!” continued the other, shaking the paper until it rattled. “Which one of you made it? A clever piece of work, but one that may cost you dearly.”

“That paper, sir, was dropped by the man in the Taube when his machine came to the ground, and he jumped out. We helped bind up his hurts because he was suffering. Unknown to him I picked this chart up nearby, where he had been hunting for it as we came up. I suppose he made the map while hovering over the lines of the Allies. As you say, it is a smart piece of work, so we decided that rather than destroy it we ought to place it in your hands.”

The officer looked at him keenly. He was not yet wholly convinced, though the air of candor with which Jack spoke went far toward making him feel less harshly toward the pair of lads. Besides, with his own eyes and through his field glasses he must have witnessed the abrupt descent of the German machine; and the boys had certainly come from that direction.

He turned and talked with his officers in low tones. Some of them seemed to be ready to believe Jack’s story, while others looked skeptical.

Seeing this, Jack realized that it was time to make a move on his own account in order to shift the tide his way. He quietly drew out a little pocket case of morocco leather in which he carried several papers that were of especial value. One, which was already well thumbed, he selected. The colonel was watching him curiously, and that gleam of suspicion had not vanished entirely from his heavy, florid face.

“Would you mind glancing over this paper, sir?” remarked Jack, apparently in a careless manner. “It will explain who we are to some extent. Perhaps the name at the bottom, an old friend of my chum’s father, may be of interest to you.”

That magical document had already eased them over numerous difficulties, and Jack had faith to believe its usefulness was not yet past. This is what the colonel of the territorials read:

“The two boys who bear this letter from me are under my especial charge. I hope that all officers in His Majesty’s service in Belgium, France, or elsewhere will do whatever they can to assist them to find the person for whom they are searching, and who is believed to be in the British ranks serving under the name of Frank Bradford.

(Signed) “Kitchener.”

No wonder the officer stared, and then bent closer to scan that wonderful name again. It represented the whole hope of the British nation just then. K. of K., standing for Kitchener of Khartoum, the hero of the Soudan campaign, as well as the fighter who had stood shoulder to shoulder with General Roberts—“Bobs”—in winning the fight for the country of the Boers in South Africa—to actually have the head of the army asking as a personal favor that these two American lads be treated in a friendly way was something quite out of the common.

“We win!” whispered Amos, who had been watching the red face of the consequential officer steadily as he read the contents of the paper Jack gave into his charge.

Indeed, a wonderful change had seemingly taken place in the colonel. Why, he actually smiled upon them as he handed the paper to one of his subordinates to read, and then thrust out his plump hand to Jack. If these lads were in the good graces of Lord Kitchener it might be of advantage to any soldier to do them a favor. Somehow, Amos decided that when he chose to unbend his dignity the stout colonel was rather inclined to be a genial sort of man after all.

“I am Colonel Atkins,” he said, affably. “Would you mind favoring me with your names? A hint over that signature is as good as an order to any British soldier. You must forgive my suspicions. We are in a strange country, and are compelled to look upon every one as an enemy until he proves his right to be called a friend. Those Germans are full of tricks, we have been told.”

“My name is Jack Maxfield, and that of my cousin, Amos Turner. His father was a noted military authority in his day, and somehow became very friendly with Lord Kitchener, I believe out in India, or in Egypt, long ago. When we came across the water on this errand of ours, the first thing we did was to see K. of K., who readily gave us this letter, and wished us every success.”

“As I understand it you are looking for some one; is that correct?” asked the territorial officer.

“An older brother of my chum, Frank Turner,” replied Jack. “Some years ago he had an unfortunate rupture with his father, who is a martinet in his way, and since then Frank has been traveling in many corners of the world. It has now been discovered that the boy was unjustly accused, and his father is fairly wild to see him again so as to make amends for the sad mistake of the past.”

“But what reason have you to suspect that he may be over here in Belgium where all the fighting is going on?” questioned the soldier. “There have been quite a number of Americans enlisted in a French Foreign Legion, I understand. They tell me there are scores if not hundreds of them among the Canadian recruits drilling at Salisbury Plains over on the other side of the Channel; but I do not think you will find many actually in the British army in Flanders.”

“In the first place my brother resembles my father a great deal,” spoke up Amos, with a touch of pride in his voice. “He has the soldier spirit in him; it is bred in the bone, you see. So I was not at all surprised on getting a few lines from him telling that he hoped to find a chance to enlist on the side of the Allies. He was in London at that time; and as I knew Frank’s determined ways I never doubted but what he carried his point and joined the army of Kitchener.”

“So much to his credit then,” declared the other. “If our kin beyond the water really knew what this war means for the whole English-speaking world they would give us even more of their sympathy.”

“You do not want to have us searched further then, Colonel?” asked Jack, with a gleam of amusement in his blue eyes.

The portly officer hemmed and hawed a little to hide his confusion; then he chuckled.

“Oh, I imagine there is no necessity for that,” he observed, presently. “Anyone who is carrying a paper signed like this ought to be above suspicion. You have done us all a service in securing this valuable chart. If that Taube pilot escaped, bearing such a document with him, it would be signing the death warrant for hundreds of brave boys in khaki before another day had rolled around.”

“We are heading for the front in the direction of Ypres. If you are going that way we would be very glad to accompany you, Colonel,” said Jack, as he received back the precious document from one of the officers, carefully folded it again, and replaced it in his bill book.

“Sorry to say that is not our present destination, my lad,” replied the colonel. “We are under orders to take our stand in another part of the line where stiffening is needed badly. All of us are eager to get our first taste of the real fighting. But if we can be of any assistance to you in other ways you have only to mention the same.”

He had said something aside to one of the other officers, who walked away to give some sort of order. Almost immediately a file of soldiers left the roadside camp and started off across fields, heading exactly in the direction whence the two American boys had just come.

Amos saw all this, and believed he could understand what it meant.

“They’re going to take a look in the brush for the wounded Taube man,” he told himself. “For one I hope they don’t run across him. Without his chart he isn’t so very dangerous. I reckon the colonel is afraid he may be able to draw a duplicate of the same from memory. A soldier takes as few chances as he can of letting the other side get valuable information. Yes, the colonel is right, I suppose.”

“The only favor we could ask would be in the line of making inquiries about the one we’re looking for,” Jack was saying.

“What name did you tell me he was going under?” asked the soldier. “I failed to pay much attention to that in the paper, for my eye had meanwhile caught the signature below, which almost took my breath away.”

“My friend’s mother was named Bradford, and he chances to know his brother was calling himself Frank Bradford, for reasons of his own.”

Jack had hardly spoken when he saw a look of sudden eagerness flash over the rosy face of the Englishman. It gave him a thrill, for he seemed to feel that it spelled new hope. Even Amos noticed that lighting up of the colonel’s eyes, and the uplifting of the heavy eyebrows.

“My word! now, that is a remarkable thing!” they heard him say, half to himself.

“Are we to understand from that, sir, you can give us a clue that may carry us to him whom we are so anxious to find?” demanded Jack, boldly, believing it wise to strike while the iron was hot.

“I wonder if it could be the same party?” the officer went on to say. “I was informed his name was Frank Bradford and that he owned up to being an American. My word! but this is remarkable. Tell me, did your brother ever serve his time as an air-pilot, young fellow?” turning to Amos.

“Not before he left home,” returned the boy; “but he was always intensely interested in aeronautics. If a chance ever came up, I’m sure he would have made a mighty good birdman.”

“If this is the same Frank Bradford,” muttered the soldier, shaking his head, “he has already jumped into the front rank of British aviators. They censored his name in the newspaper accounts, but I chanced to hear it from one who had met him on the field. It was after he made that wonderfully daring trip of seventy miles up the Rhine country, dropping bombs on many fortresses by the way, and striking a note of fear into countless thousands of German hearts.”

“Oh, I read that story myself, and was thrilled with it,” cried Amos, excitedly. “Little did I dream it could have been my own brother Frank who was the reckless aviator of the Allies. Wait, I have his picture here with me, taken some years ago; perhaps your friend may have described this man to you so that you could recognize him.”

With trembling hands he held up a small photograph taken with a kodak. The colonel looked closely. Then he nodded his head in a significant fashion that made the faithful heart of Amos Turner beat like a trip-hammer. It seemed as though by the greatest of good fortune he had come a step nearer success in his mission.

CHAPTER VI.
BEHIND THE TRENCHES.

Jack, too, had seen from the manner of the British officer that the kodak picture looked familiar to him.

“Would you say there was a resemblance between this face and that of the birdman who drove his aeroplane through the Rhine country?” he asked.

The soldier nodded his head again.

“It answers to the description given me,” he told them. “My informant was very particular to mention the heavy head of black hair, the strong look on the face, and the arched eyebrows. My word! but I really believe you are on the right track, young fellow. If this Frank Bradford, who threw the old city of Cologne into a panic, turns out to be your brother I heartily congratulate you.”

Further talk followed. Amos hoped to be able to pick up more or less information concerning the present whereabouts of the one he fully believed must be his brother.

In this endeavor, however, he was doomed to disappointment, for the officer could give him no further clue. Whether Frank Bradford still drove his wonderful machine in the service of the Allies, or had been brought low during some later air raid by the gunfire of the Germans he could not say.

So Jack took it upon himself to change the subject. He was not as well posted with regard to the roads of this battle-scarred section of Belgium as he would like to be.

The colonel, once he had been thawed out by the sight of that inspiring signature at the bottom of the letter Amos carried, proved very affable. It has always been the way with these icy Britishers—get behind the reserve they throw up as they would breastworks, gain their confidence, and there is nothing they will refuse in the way of accommodation.

So Jack was permitted to look at a map of the country which the soldier had in his possession. He even made notes from it which might serve to assist them on their way to Ypres, that hotbed of fighting, a salient the Germans seemed bent on recapturing.

So the two boys finally thanked the colonel, who heartily wished them all possible success in their undertaking.

“At the same time,” he told them at parting, “deep down in my heart I am hoping you may fail to induce your brother to throw up his job as one of King George’s boldest fliers. We shall need all the outside help we can get from our cousins across the sea, before this bloody business is over with, for these Germans are born fighters, every man-jack of them.”

When the two boys had proceeded some distance along the muddy road, on reaching a slight rise they stopped for a minute to look back.

Evidently the order to move had been passed along the line just after they parted from their new-found friends, for, like a great serpent, the column of khaki-clad territorials was passing along the road, a battery of field guns in the van and another bringing up the rear.

It was an inspiring spectacle. No wonder the two American boys felt their hearts beat with aroused sentiments. At the same time Jack shook his head sadly as he went on to say:

“How many of them will never go back again to the homes they have left over in old England? War may seem glorious to those who look on, but it is terrible. Already we’ve seen some of the destruction that follows in its track, and I reckon that before we cross the Atlantic again we’ll have our fill of its horrors.”

Truer words were never spoken. When Jack Maxfield said this he meant it only in a general way. He could not have possibly foreseen what a wide stretch of territory their search for Frank Turner would cover, and what amazing scenes they were fated to gaze upon before the end came.

Once more the chums trudged forward.

Amos was feeling quite “chipper” as he called it, and there was certainly good cause for this high hope. They had accidentally run across what seemed to be a strong clue, and the uncertainty of the past was being relieved. Jack, on his part, was figuring out what he might get through the hands of the censor in his next letter home. It was Jack’s avowed intention to become a newspaper man when he entered the business world, and already he had shown great aptitude along the line. The descriptions he sent over to a paper which he had arranged to represent while abroad were graphic and thrilling. His pen pictures of conditions as he saw them gave an accurate view of the situation. Although the stern military censor might blue pencil all names, he could not destroy the vivid word painting as set down by Jack.

Besides this, Jack had contrived a clever little dodge whereby he hoped to snap off some stirring pictures. His camera was the smallest ever designed, but it had an expensive lens, and that meant more than half the battle.

Jack had it concealed, and so arranged matters that he could press the bulb and snap off a minute picture without any one being the wiser; and after being developed this could be enlarged to any size required.

No doubt, eventually, that clever little contrivance would get him into what Amos called a “peck of trouble.” It would doubtless be confiscated, but Jack hoped he might be able to secure a series of views well worth working for, ere that catastrophe came about.

As they walked on, the boys were continually coming upon fresh works of recent strenuous warfare. The army of invasion had held stubbornly to this region, and an unexpected drive on the part of the reinforced British had carried the Germans back some five miles or so to where they had prepared a second line of wonderful trenches.

Here a stone wall had been used as a breastworks, as was proven by the devastation caused by bursting shells. Great holes yawned in the ground where monsters from the German siege guns had buried themselves and exploded. And the boys looked in awe at the piled-up earth, in places marked with small, rudely fashioned wooden crosses, which told where late combatants lay side by side, their battle fever forever stilled.

Hardened soldiers might have gazed upon such things unmoved, but these boys were all unaccustomed to war’s devastation, and many times their hearts beat in sympathy with the people they saw in the desolated cottages by the way.

The afternoon was now wearing away and it was only natural for the two chums to begin to wonder where they were fated to pass the night.

Jack had roughed it many times in the past, when on the cattle range. He knew what a lone camp under the stars meant, and could stand exposure about as well as the next one.

All the same Jack was ready to confess that if given a choice he much preferred a roof over his head. The air felt raw and there was even a chance that a cold rain might set in before morning, which would be pretty disagreeable all around.

“I think we’re coming to a village,” he told Amos, who had begun to lag a little as though leg weary; “or rather what is left of one, for when the Germans were thrown back they used every house as a barricade, and before they could be ejected there would often be hardly one stone left on another, or a wall standing.”

“Yes, you’re right about that, Jack, because I can see houses ahead of us. I only hope we find some sort of shelter, and a bite to eat, that’s all. Jack, don’t you think we’ve made good progress since sun-up?”

“We’ve done splendidly, for a fact,” the other readily admitted, “and there’s good reason you should feel hopeful. On my part I’ve seen and heard a lot of things today that will make up the liveliest letter I’ve been able to send across to the Times. On a dozen different accounts I’m glad I came over with you, Amos; and chief of all is the fact that I can be of assistance.”

“Why, I never could have gotten on without you, Jack. You’ve cheered me up when I felt blue; you’ve shown me how to ride rough-shod over difficulties; and if ever I do manage to find my brother Frank, nine-tenths of the credit will lie at your door. You’re the best chum a fellow could ever have, and that comes straight from my heart.”

“Well, here we are at the village,” said Jack, to change the conversation, though he would not have been human if he had not been touched by these warm-hearted sentiments on the part of his cousin.

“And I guess,” remarked Amos, “they must have pressed the Germans so closely through here that they had no chance to stop in any numbers, because you can see the houses are not badly shattered by shells.”

They found a scene of desolation around them, however, after they entered the village. Once it had undoubtedly been a pretty hamlet, but this was before the rush of hostile armies across Belgium’s borders.

Fugitives from less favored localities had sought safety among those who still had roofs over their heads. Curious eyes followed the boys as they passed along. Doubtless their coming and their well-fed appearance aroused the wonder and envy of these hapless people who all through the storms of the winter season had fought against starvation and freezing.

Soldiers, rumbling artillery trains, galloping horses, and all the brave trappings of new levies going to the front to become food for the cannon they were accustomed to see day after day. Then would come the ambulances and motor vans laden with the groaning victims who were being taken to field hospitals in the rear of the fighting line. But when two sturdy lads, one of them wearing a little American flag in his buttonhole, walked into their village, the natives became interested at once.

It was known throughout the length and breadth of Belgium that charitable America had fed their suffering millions all through the winter. On this account any one who claimed to be a citizen of the generous republic beyond the sea was welcome in their midst.