"Well, sir, there I was with Bogardus, and your orders to ha

Produced by Al Haines.

[Illustration: Cover art]

[Illustration: They sent the message quickly, accurately.]

THE BOY SCOUTS

TO THE RESCUE

By

GEORGE DURSTON

THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY

Chicago -- AKRON, OHIO -- New York

Made in U. S. A.

Copyright, MCMXXI

By

The Saalfield Publishing Co.

*THE BOY SCOUTS

TO THE RESCUE*

CHAPTER I

*FROM SHELL CRATER TO FIRST AID*

There were three figures lying in the bottom of the great shell crater

that yawned close to the German line. It had been made by a French

shell, so a great mound of dirt had been cast up on the side next the

enemy. One of the bodies in the close group lay in the stiff, distorted

attitude in which a sudden and horrible death had frozen him. The second

lay quite limp, unseeing, uncaring--the attitude of a man desperately

hurt. Only the third, rather small and slender, lay curled up much as a

vigilant cat might, trying to give the impression of sleep or death, but

with every faculty and nerve like live wires. His eyes were open, and

with every ounce of force in him he was listening, plotting and

planning.

Under the thick mud the uniforms worn by the different men were

indistinguishable. The coating was a thick, slimy, even gray. The

figure whose alert, piercing eyes studied his surroundings so carefully

shivered steadily. He was chilled to the bone. As it grew darker, he

rolled slowly over on his back, and for a while studied the edge of the

crater as its rough edges showed dark against the sky. All seemed well.

Not a head, not a bayonet, could cut that jagged line without his

knowing it. The Huns would not make a sortie now. Exhausted

themselves, they were depending on the exhaustion of the French for a

short, unspoken truce of a few hours.

The living figure in the crater rolled over and on hands and knees crept

to the body nearest him. He felt over it carefully. The face, drained

of blood, was ghastly cold in the steady, fine rain that beat on it; but

there was life in that still body. If he could only get help!

He laid the head back on its slimy resting place and crawled carefully

to the top of the crater next the French trenches. He must get help!

Otherwise the Lieutenant would die. The wet ground gave with him, but

he persisted and with a mighty effort raised his face over the edge.

Then with a stifled cry he dropped back. Another face, dim and strange

in the darkness, was there. It met him eye to eye, not three inches

from his face.

The cold, drizzling rain fell steadily into the sodden trench chilling

the soldiers who crouched and huddled against the streaming sides of the

shelter, if shelter it could be called. The trench was very close to

the enemy. An almost constant succession of flares sent up by the

Germans lit the racked and tattered landscape. In the fitful light it

looked unreal, impossible.

Torn fields, shattered trees, ploughed fields everywhere, with yawning

shell craters on every side.

The expanse of ground between the lines was made terrible by the shell

craters. Day was ending, and in the dim, yellow half light the uneven,

edges of the deep and ragged holes threw narrow, black shadows that

seemed to gash the riven fields. Above, a couple of French airships

circled. The German planes had disappeared, and the Frenchmen flew in

widening circles above the enemies' lines. The roar of the guns had

diminished to an occasional popping, with once in a while a bellowing

roar as some iron giant launched its terrible missile. All day the Huns

had hammered at the stubborn line; all day the French, with their

American allies, had hammered in return. It had commenced, this big

battle, at daybreak; all day had it raged without lull or pause, now

from the trenches, now frightful conflicts in the open. Now, as though

both sides acknowledged exhaustion though not defeat, a lull had come.

The men in the trenches, almost delirious with fatigue, dropped in the

mud and water and slept. Red Cross bearers came splashing along with

their burdens. Men wounded to the death whimpered pitifully and babbled

of home, or bore their agony in stony silence. Out somewhere in

No-Man's-Land, the terrible stretch lying between the two lines, out

there in the gathering darkness, a clear, high tenor voice commenced to

sing:

"We're going home, we're going home,

We're going home to-morrow."

Clear and sweet the voice sounded. Another flare went up; then a German

gun commenced to drop shells in the direction of the voice. It was as

though they would gladly waste a dozen shells on the chance of stilling

that sweet singer. The voice went on, growing gradually weaker, but

lifting true, sweet notes until there came a little break

and--stillness. A last venomous shot whined toward the spot where the

singer lay, his young voice hushed forever.

The darkness deepened, and the flares, increasing in number, gave the

place an unreal, ghastly light, like some gigantic and unending

nightmare. Something that could not be possible, _must_ not be possible,

but which was to go on and on and on endlessly, relentlessly.

At last it was black night.

A sergeant made his way along the trench, slipping and sliding through

the mud and ooze. He gave commands in muffled whispers, and a number of

the exhausted men turned and followed him when he returned to the outlet

of the trench. Lying so close to the border of No-Man's-Land, across

which it was possible for an occasional spy to invade their trench, the

greatest care was taken in every possible way to discover and check such

invasion. When there was no firing to cover the sound, the men talked

in whispers when they talked at all, which was seldom. The bitter

business of war had seemed to strip from them all desire to talk.

They were moving stealthily along when a slight figure bounded into the

trench and slid and tumbled to the bottom. He hurried back and forth

the length of the trench, then plunged like a human ferret into the

small, twisted tunnel that led down and down twenty feet or more

underground to the rest house, a scooped-out chamber of clay where there

was actual safety unless--unless the tunnel caved! Looking in on the

group of wounded and exhausted men who occupied the space, he spoke a

name. No one answered. The men paid no attention. They were wholly

wrapped up in their own misery. He climbed once more into the trench,

then, glancing round to see if he was observed, he scrambled lightly up

the side and in another moment was over the top and, flat on the ground,

was wriggling a cautious, snake-like way across the horrors of

No-Man's-Land.

His heart beat heavily; it seemed as though it could be heard twenty

feet away. He was bent on a fearful and almost impossible errand; an

errand that might cost him his life. And life was sweet to the boy who

proceeded to work his way across the terrible stretch of No-Man's-Land.

He had no reason for going, no plan; simply something told him the

direction to take in his strange quest. Every time a flare burst

against the murky sky he dropped flat on his face and, assuming some

strained, distorted position, lay motionless until the light died out

once more. This happened every two minutes or so. It took endless

patience to work his way forward. He was impelled to hurry, to take the

chance of continuing his course even under the bright light of the

flares. But he knew that it would be death to him and possible death to

the one he sought. As he wormed his way forward he turned slowly to the

right. Stronger and stronger he felt the strange certainty that never

failed to tell him that he was right. He was approaching the person

whom he sought.

The feeling of coming success buoyed him and gave him courage. He

scarcely dared to breathe. Slower and slower he crawled, worming his way

along, over and around the horrors in his path. The moments seemed like

hours, the hours like days. Finally he came to a huge shell crater. He

approached its edge and looked over as a flare, brighter than usual, lit

the desolation of No-Man's-Land. And as he looked, a face, mud covered,

bruised yet familiar, looked into his. So close were the two faces that

they nearly touched. Just for an instant the face in the deep ditch

drew back; then two voices, whispering in a low tone, said, "Hello!"

The fellow in the crater sagged wearily against the steep incline of the

side of the pit. He looked at the other and sighed a sigh of

unutterable relief.

"Gee, I thought you would never come!" he said in a low tone.

"Keep still!" whispered the other, taking the boy below him by the

collar and scarcely breathing the words aloud. "Are you hurt?"

"Not a scratch!"

"Well, take a hand and come along out. This is no place for us; and you

have some tall explaining to do to the General!"

"We have to take the Lieutenant with us," said the boy in the crater.

"What Lieutenant?" demanded the other.

"Lieutenant Bogardus. The General sent me after him. That's why I am

here."

"What ails him?" demanded the boy on the ledge.

"All shot up," said the other. "Darned if I know how badly. He is

unconscious but was alive the last time I felt of him."

The boy on top turned cautiously around and slid, feet first, into the

slippery, oozy pit. He followed to the side of the unconscious man, and

as the next flare illumined the sky he ran a hand delicately over the

tattered body. He shook his head.

"Not much hope, I should say," he whispered.

"It doesn't matter," declared the other; "we have got to get him back to

our lines."

"All right!" said the other.

Together they lifted and pulled the limp body to the level of the

ground, and then as carefully as they could they lifted it and,

stumbling and swaying and falling, they made their way back. They could

not wait for caution; the flares went up unheeded. A sharpshooter near

the enemy's line discovered the strange, shambling group and commenced

peppering at it as each flare brought them into view. The bullets

whined over and around them. One cut its way through the sleeve of one

boy, but did not touch the skin beneath. They felt no fear. The man

whom they were carrying was thin and rather small, but his limp body

weighed cruelly on their young muscles. With set teeth and streaming

faces they kept on in their flight. At last when their breath cut them

like knives and their knees almost refused to support them, they reached

the safety of their own line and, laying their burden down on the edge

of the trench, they slipped down and in a moment were surrounded by

helpers. The wounded man was hustled into the nearest shelter and given

first aid, while a quick little corporal scrambled off and was back

almost at once with stretcher bearers and a canvas litter. The two boys

accompanied the wounded man back to the First Aid Station, an

underground, roughly boarded chamber where desperate looking men worked

silently at their task of keeping life in the tattered forms brought in

to them.

While they labored over the still form just brought in, the boys dropped

wearily down on the wet ground outside the first aid room, and looked at

each other.

A pale glow from the first aid room below them shone upward on their

white faces. They were caked with mud and grime but even through that

mask a marvelous resemblance could be seen. Feature for feature, line

for line, they were alike. Even their gestures were alike. As they sat

staring at each other, they looked like some queer, repeated design; a

double boy smirched and hollow-eyed.

They stared steadily at each other, then the boy on the ledge cleared

his throat and spoke, still in the guardedly low tone that gets to be a

habit with the men in the trenches.

"Well, Porky, old sport," he said, affectionately patting the other's

soggy knee, "you gave me a nice little old jolt this time for fair! How

in the name of time did you get out there in that shell crater? Gosh,

if it wasn't for my hunches I dunno where you would be when you pull off

these stunts!"

"What's the matter with _my_ hunches?" demanded the boy called Porky.

"I don't see but what I have about as many as you have. I was waitin'

for you. Knew you would hunt me up if I gave you time."

"Gave me _time_!" exclaimed the boy addressed. "Gave me _time_! I

hustled out there as soon as I commenced to feel you wanted me. Honest,

I don't see how people who are not twins ever get along. But I tell you

they are laying for you at headquarters. The General is mad; just plain

honest-to-goodness mad at you. I don't see why you had to pull off this

and get us in all wrong." He leaned forward and whispered. "There is

something doing up there--something big; and I think we are in on it. I

don't know just how, but I heard enough to let me know that much.

Perhaps you have queered it by cutting up this caper. Honest, Porky,

what possessed you?"

"Possessed me?" exploded Porky. "Possessed me! Why, all I did was what

I was _told_ to do!"

"According to the General, you were sent on an errand that should have

taken you half an hour. Instead you stay all day and I have to come dig

you out of a shell crater about fifty feet from the German line. That's

a peach of a way to do!"

"Say, hold up a minute!" said Porky. "Just you hold on! Of course I

was sent on an errand! Know what it was? I was told to go get

Lieutenant Bogardus and fetch him over to the General's headquarters.

Well, I'm bringing him, ain't I? I have got him this far, anyhow. I am

doing the best I can. I wish you could have seen me chasing that loon

all over the place. I'm all in! I tell you, Beany, I have had some

time! It makes me sore, too. I might have brought in a prisoner all by

myself if I hadn't had to fool with the Lieutenant. Go down and see

what they are doing, will you, please? I'm dog tired, and I've got to

get a move on and report to the General as soon as I know whether

Bogardus can go along up there with me. I bet he can't; and I was told

to bring him back with me!"

He leaned back and shut his eyes while Beany slid down to the first aid

room. A glance showed him the condition of the unfortunate Lieutenant,

and he hurried back to his brother.

"He won't go anywhere with you _this_ evening," he said with the

unconcern of those who are used to terrible scenes and fearful wounds.

"Let's get on, then," said his brother, rising stiffly and moving off in

the darkness.

The other followed, and without further conversation they wound their

way through the ruined streets of a devastated village where unsightly

heaps of stones and mortar marked the site of pleasant homes. Stumbling

along over the shell-ploughed, uneven ground, they walked for perhaps a

mile until they turned into what had been a magnificent private estate.

Nothing but cracked and crumbling posts were left of the splendid

gateway. They passed onward through the ruins of a wonderful old park

where they were twice stopped by vigilant sentries who demanded the

countersign and turned a flashlight on their muddy faces. Turning and

twisting, they followed the path up to the ruined castle which stood on

a little rise of ground.

At the door, a high carved portal hanging and swaying on one hinge, they

were stopped by another soldier, who recognized them, saluted, and

stepped aside. They were not delayed again. Through what had once been

a magnificent entrance hall they went, turned down one passage after

another, sometimes finding themselves in unroofed and utterly wrecked

portions of the great building. At last they were in a narrow, covered

hallway, at the end of which was a door.

The hall was quite dark; they could just see to make their way along.

As they approached the door at the end, the form of a man stooping

against the panels slipped aside and seemed to disappear into space.

There was no turn, no further passage down which he could have gone. One

moment he was outlined against the white surface; the next he had

vanished.

The boys stopped involuntarily and turned to each other.

"Did you see that?" said Porky. "Or am I getting batty?"

"Where did he go!" said Beany quickly for answer.

They slowly approached the door. There was a little L in the passage at

the end but no outlet, no doorway. The walls, heavily faced with

ancient oak, had no opening.

"What was he doing?" said Porky.

"Listening, I should say," said his brother.

They looked the door over carefully, and listened with keen ears pressed

against it. Not a murmur could be heard through its heavy surface. It

was queer. Behind that door was the council room and private office of

General Pershing. No one without proper credentials was ever allowed to

enter the passageway leading to it. Yet both boys had seen the stooping

figure, and both boys had seen it apparently vanish into space.

"Come on in," said Porky at last. "I have got to make my report."

"You go on," said Beany. "I don't have to report anything, and I want

to look into this a little. It looks mighty queer to me. Where do you

suppose that guy went?"

"Search me!" said Porky. "I know where _this_ guy will go if I don't

get on something dry and have a chance for a little sleep. Go ahead,

prowl around and see what you can find."

He knocked, using a peculiar shuffling rap on the white panel. The door

was instantly opened by a soldier and Porky stepped into the presence of

the Commanding General.

*CHAPTER II*

*THE PANEL IN THE WALL*

A pair of piercing yet kindly eyes were fixed on Porky as he came to

attention and awaited permission to approach the huge table at which sat

General Pershing and several members of his staff. Porky was conscious

of something serious in the air. The faces that looked up as he entered

were serious, and some of them frowning. Colonel Bright threw him a

glance, then continued his restless tramp up and down the further end of

the large apartment. Only General Pershing seemed wholly at ease. He

beckoned the boy. Porky came and stood opposite the General, the width

of the table between them.

"Your report," said the General.

Porky breathed more freely. He was to be given a chance to explain his

tardy arrival, at least, before being reprimanded.

"I report, sir, that I brought Lieutenant Bogardus as far as the First

Aid Station in trench D," he said. "He is unconscious and could not

come here. They think he will not die."

"He is unconscious," repeated the General, while Colonel Bright stopped

his steady stride and stared at the boy.

"Yes, sir," said Beany.

"Did you find him at the wireless station?" asked the General.

"No, sir," said Porky.

"Where then?" snapped the officer with seeming impatience.

"In a shell crater, sir, just outside the German lines," said the boy.

The General started to his feet, then settled back in his chair.

"Make your report," he said quietly. "Make it unofficially, in your own

way. I can follow it better."

"Yes, sir," said Porky, saluting again. He was so tired that he swayed,

and involuntarily he caught at the edge of the table. The keen eyes

watching him noticed.

"A chair!" he demanded, and some one shoved a seat toward Porky, who

gratefully sank into it. He passed a weary, shaking hand across his

brow.

"It is a pity to make you tell your story now," said the General kindly.

"I am sorry. When you have finished you shall have a rest for a few

days. But time means everything just now."

"I don't mind, sir," said Porky. Some one offered him a cup of hot tea

and he drank it greedily. It revived him.

"I'm awfully obliged, General, sir," he said gratefully. "I guess I can

tell the story clearer if I tell it sort of plain and fast.

"I went away from here, and went straight to the wireless station where

you told me. I found the men all working over the instrument. One of

the pins had come loose and had fallen out. They couldn't find it

anywhere, and they were having a great fuss.

"The planes were trying to communicate with them, and signaling them to

answer. One plane came so low we could see that they were crazy to say

something. We didn't find out what they wanted, at least I didn't,

because I started on after Lieutenant Bogardus. He had left the station

just before I got there. I kept after him all afternoon. It seemed

like every place he went, I got there just after he had gone on. He had

that bunch of papers you gave him, General, and was leaving them all

around at the different sectors and with the different officers you had

had them addressed to. He certainly was a busy chap. I never _could_

catch up with him. I guess I walked a million miles. It was fierce,

too. Wherever I went, I found trouble. Just one of those days, you

know, General."

"I know," said the General, smiling strangely.

"Well, sir, just before dark I was up in that opening between the

trenches, just beyond the next village, you know, where the church used

to stand. Somebody had told me that Lieutenant Bogardus had been seen

walking that way, and it struck me that perhaps he had a few hours'

leave, and was just roaming around for a rest. But I knew I had to

collar him, so I went on looking, and pretty soon I saw somebody way

ahead sort of going along among the tree trunks, as though he didn't

care much to see anybody. He had on our uniform, and I had a hunch it

was Lieutenant Bogardus. So I followed.

"He went on to a rise of ground, and before I could get close enough to

see who it was, he whipped out a little bit of a pistol that made a

funny little pop when it went off, and he shot it off; all the shots it

held, I guess. He made a sort of code of it like a telegraph. Right

off there was a couple of little pops in the same sort of voice, from

over by the Germans. I thought it came from a tree over there. Anyhow,

the man I was following looked around, didn't see anybody, and started

right across in the open. Well, sir, that was pretty queer, it seemed

to me! _Some_ one in our uniform walking around out there and it made

me forget all about Lieutenant Bogardus, and I commenced to follow.

Only I got down and crawled. It was getting darker, but I could see

perfectly plain. Then I guess somebody saw us, or a plane reported, or

something. Anyhow, all at once both sides commenced to shoot. Well I

thought I was a gone goose, sir. They hit everything but me, I should

say. Then the Germans commenced to throw smoke bombs, and I nearly lost

my man. But I hurried and most caught up to him, when I saw a German

captain come sneaking along, and I guessed I would wait before I spoke

to Lieutenant Bogardus, if it _was_ him. Of course I was sure I was on

the wrong trail by this time, but I thought as long as I was there I had

better see what was doing, and look for Lieutenant Bogardus when I got

back. I knew something pretty important was up, because those men

wouldn't risk moseying around right in daylight almost. Gee, I didn't

feel as big as anything!

"And in a minute I felt smaller than ever because a shell the size of a

church came along from our lines, and _bing_! I was all dirt, and cut

up with little stones, and when I could look around, there ahead was a

big shell crater. I ran over and looked in. There was a bayonet lying

there right on the edge, and I grabbed it. I don't know why, except you

know how you feel about having a stick or something to hold and I was

pretty glad I did afterwards. The man I had followed was lying there in

the shell crater, on his back. I could see he was hurt pretty bad. A

flare went up, and I saw it was Bogardus. He looked pretty bad. But

what got my alleys, General, was that the German was beside him, and he

was going through his pockets just like lightning. The German had a

broken leg himself, but I didn't know that. Well, I let out a yell that

was some yell, and I jumped down, bayonet and all, right on the German's

neck. I was so mad I didn't think what I did. And I guess I sort of

twisted his neck or something, because he crumpled right up, and I

thought I had killed him. So I tried to straighten Bogardus out, and I

put the papers that the Germ had back in his pocket, and what to do next

I didn't know.

"And all at once I felt something behind me, and it was the other man.

He had come to, and was trying to get his revolver out of his pocket.

Gee, he looked at me ugly! I said as polite as I could, 'You cut that

out!' but he got it loose, and shot at me, and he just _did_ miss me and

that was all. And then he tried again, and I had to do something quick,

so I just took that bayonet--just took that bayonet--"

"All right," said the General. "All in the day's work, my boy. Go on!"

Porky swallowed hard a couple of times.

"Well, sir, there I was with Bogardus, and your orders to have him

report to you; and he was not in any condition to report to _anybody_.

So I had to wait until my brother could come and help me."

"How did he know where you were?" demanded the General in astonishment.

"He always knows," said Porky. "We are twins, and we always know when

the other is in trouble of any sort. So I knew he would find me, and I

just sat tight, and I did get a little worried, but I knew he would

come, and he did."

Porky chuckled.

"And when he looked at me over the edge of that crater, I most threw a

fit. I was looking for him so hard that it scared me when I saw him.

Anyhow, there he was, and it was dark pretty soon, and we brought

Bogardus back."

"You carried him?" asked the General.

"Yes, sir. He is pretty thin," said Porky simply.

"What became of the German?" asked the General.

"Back there in the shell crater," said Porky, frowning.

"I wonder if he had any valuable papers on him," mused the General.

"I don't know, sir," said Porky, beginning to fish in his pockets. "I

thought of that, so I just went through him and took everything he had."

He commenced to lay things out on the table in little piles. The men

watched him with interest.

The collection was well worth while. Several official letters, some

maps, a number of orders, and some codes. There was also a packet of

blank paper that Porky put carefully aside. The General leaned over and

picked it up.

"Nothing here," he said, tossing it down.

Porky picked it up.

"I don't know, sir," he said. "We had something like this at home

awhile ago. We came near missing out on it, too. If you will excuse

me!"

He leaned over and held the first page near the heat of the candle. On

the instant the sheet was covered with fine writing.

The General gave a muttered exclamation and leaned back in his chair.

"What next?" he demanded.

"That's about all," said Porky. "Bogardus is in hospital by now, I

suppose, and I'm sorry it took me so long. I certainly did seem to miss

him all around. I'm real sorry, sir. Next time you give me anything to

do, I will try to do better."

"That would be impossible," said the General. "Just a moment, my boy,

while I make a note or two, and then you can be relieved from all duty

for forty-eight hours. You have earned a rest. We will have to go

through these papers and plans carefully before we can decide anything

for your future reference. Just sit there while I write."

He turned to his desk and, pulling a sheet of paper toward him,

commenced covering it with his strong, distinctive handwriting. Porky,

in the big chair opposite, watched him for a little, then he rested his

head on his hand and commenced to think of all the events of the long,

gruelling, wearisome day.

And presently he did not think at all; just listened to the steady

scratch, scratch, scratch of the General's pen and the steady tramp,

tramp, tramp of the Colonel as he softly paced up and down the length of

the somber room. And presently that sound died away. Porky was asleep.

Beany, left to himself in the hall, went cautiously and with noiseless

touch over every portion of the oak paneling. He could not find a joint

or crack that looked like a secret door or hidden entrance. Then he

examined the floor. It too appeared solid. But Beany had one of his

hunches. It _looked_ solid but he felt that it _wasn't_ solid. The man

he had seen was not a ghost. He was certainly too solid to disappear

into thin air. He had come from somewhere, and he had gone somewhere.

Benny made up his mind that he would find out if it took all night. He

stood thinking. Then he whistled in an offhand manner, and walked

loudly down the hall to the turn. Round the turn he went, until well

out of sight. Then Beany tried a trick of his boyhood days. He knew

from experience that any one watching for any one else always fixes his

eyes about where they expect to see the face appear, never lower than

that.

So Beany, dropping flat on the floor, worked his way back to the corner,

flattened himself out to his flattest, and with face against the tiles

waited patiently, his eyes fixed on the distant doorway. The hallway was

lighted with a small and feeble kerosene lamp set high on a bracket. It

gave a dim light, but Beany could see the door distinctly and the high

wainscot on either side.

He stared at it steadily--so steadily and so long that when at last a

narrow panel in the woodwork slid noiselessly over and a face looked out

into the hall, Beany did not start; he did not feel surprised. All he

was conscious of was a sort of triumph. He wanted to sing out for his

own benefit, "I told you so."

The face staring from the panel looked straight down the hall, as Beany

had known it would. A pair of bright, ferrety eyes stared at the turn,

but not once did they drop to the floor where Beany's bright eyes

watched every move. Beany had to smile, it was so funny. The unknown

person leaned from the panel and watched four feet above Beany's face,

while in plain sight on the floor Beany lay motionless and unnoticed.

He watched while the person (he could not tell at first whether it was a

man or woman) looked and listened. Then as if assured that the coast

was clear, the man, (for it was a man), stepped out of the dark slit in

the wall, carefully closed the panel, and once more stood listening at

the door. He listened intently, then stooped, and bending in a

comfortable position on one knee, looked fixedly through the great

old-fashioned keyhole.

Beany watched breathlessly.

For a long time--it seemed days to Beany--the man held his stooping

position. Beany wished he too could see what was going on inside that

door. He was sure, however, that it was nothing more exciting than

Porky's account of his chase after Bogardus; and as Porky was an

aggravatingly low talker, he was pretty sure the man at the keyhole

would not be able to hear very much. Just the same, Beany knew that

here was something serious and threatening. The man listened and looked

so intently that Beany seriously thought of trying to creep up behind

him, give the alarm, grab him and hang on, trusting to luck that the

door would be opened soon enough to prevent the man from killing him.

It was a crazy idea and Beany banished it. It was well that he did, for

at that moment the panel, which had been left partly opened, slid wide

and a second man appeared. He was a tall man, apparently in uniform.

What his uniform was, Beany could not see. It was closely covered with

a long, closely-buttoned linen coat and a nondescript cap covered his

head. He tapped the man at the keyhole sharply, and the fellow

straightened to a stiff salute. Beany could not help admiring their

utter coolness in the face of discovery. At any moment the door might

open; at any moment some one might come down the hall. Of course in

that case, reflected our self-appointed sleuth, they would walk over his

legs, and stop to make a fuss, during which the two men would pop into

the wall again.

Then while Beany watched, there followed a violent, soundless discussion

between the two. One and then the other stooped to the keyhole. Then

the second man noiselessly stepped back into the hole in the wall and

closed the panel after him.

By this time Beany was so excited that he had no conception of time. It

seemed a long while before he saw the man at the door turn his head and

look at the panel. Then at last Beany saw what he so wanted to see--the

secret of its opening. The man's hand sought something in the upper

left corner, Beany could not see in the poor light just what it was, but

the man pressed hard, swinging considerable weight against it, and the

panel slid smoothly back. Another figure appeared. It was a little,

stooped woman. She had a worn broom in her hands.

Beany recognized her at once as the deaf and dumb peasant woman who

pottered around the offices brushing up and doing what odd jobs they

could make her understand about.

At the present moment, however, she was anything but deaf and dumb. She

seized the man at the door by the shoulder and shook him violently,

whispering a stream of comment in his ear. She waved her broom

threateningly, with an eye on the door meanwhile. Beany wondered what

she would do if any one _did_ come out.

He felt sure she would manage to carry off the situation.

Whatever she said was badly received by the man. He pulled back and

shook his head violently. She stamped her old foot noiselessly. He

still rebelled, but she insisted in a continuous rush of whispered

words, while Beany felt his mouth sag open and his eyes bulge with

amazement. Even in the midst of his surprise he could not help wondering

just what personal remarks he and Porky had made about her on a dozen

different occasions in the few weeks that they had been there. However,

there was _one_ happy thought. He and his brother had spoken in English,

a tongue that must as a matter of course have meant nothing to her

ignorant old ears.

Beany was not to learn for a long while that the old, stooped, ugly

peasant, looking so typically French and so pitifully silent and stupid,

had once been a famous German actress, as well as one of the most

brilliantly educated women of her time. Once there had been a day when

her parlors in Berlin had been filled with the most renowned and

high-born men and women in the world. Not only members of the highest

circles of Germany, but representatives from every other country. To be

asked to the home of Madame Z---- was the dream of every young diplomat,

writer, artist and court favorite.

Yet now, perfectly disguised, stooped, bent, and old, clad in rags, she

stood clutching in one hand a coarse home-made broom, while with the

other she kept a tight grip on the shoulder of the rebellious man beside

her.

At last he nodded, and she turned and shoved him before her into the

passage in the wall, following close behind and closing the panel.

Beany was alone.

He leaped to his feet and tiptoed down to the door, a cautious eye on

the panel. He lifted a hand to knock on the door, then paused, and in

his turn applied an eye to the keyhole. It was a huge old keyhole, made

in the days when keys were large enough to almost take the places of

trench billies. He could see most of the room. The General sat writing

at the desk. Across in an armchair Porky leaned on the table, sound

asleep. There had been nothing for the spies to see this time, at any

rate. Then a wild thought came into Beany's head.

He did not wait to consider it. It was a crazy thought, but to Beany in

his excited state it was a sane idea.

He approached the panel, felt carefully in the upper corner, pressed a

dozen carvings and then, just as he despaired, felt the heavy wood give

under his touch. He pushed the trap open and without a moment's

hesitation entered and closed the door behind him.

The passage was pitch dark.

*CHAPTER III*

*MARKING TIME*

Sitting at his great carved table, once part of the fittings of a

glorious old library and now a desk littered with official papers and

maps, in the room of one of the greatest commanders in the world, the

General finished the paper he was filling out with so much care, and

lifted his eyes to the boy sitting so silently across the table. Then a

smile lighted the General's tired eyes.

"Asleep!" he said. "Brave lad, he is worn out! Can't we manage to get

him off to bed without waking him?"

He pointed to a room opening off the one they were in. "There is an

extra cot in my room," said the General. "A couple of you take him in

there." He beckoned his orderly. '"Get him undressed and cover him

well. Let him sleep as long as he may."

So it came about that this was done; and in the General's own room,

Porky, like the healthy boy that he was, slept and slept and slept. He

did not dream of the past hard hours. He did not think of home, the

pleasant house so far away where the dear father and mother, Mr. and

Mrs. Potter, lived their busy, helpful lives, trying not to let each

other know just how they longed for the two splendid boys they had given

to their country. But like others who had given their all, each knew

just how the other felt, and so tried by countless little unaccustomed

acts of tenderness to help each other along. Nor did Porky dream of the

other boys, or the famous swimming hole. There were no nightmares of

school; no visions of Professor Wilcox bearing a sheaf of examination

papers. Porky just slept and slept!

Night passed, breaking into such a wild and storm-tossed morning that it

was scarcely light at all. There was a lull in the fighting that day

and, except for the sound of distant guns booming at close intervals,

the place was silent enough. The office work went on quietly. A couple

of typewriters clacked busily. It might almost have been an office on

Broadway. The General sat long at his desk, then mounted and rode off,

accompanied by his orderlies.

Colonel Bright, after scribbling a note which he addressed to "the

Potter boys" and left on the desk, also took his horse and went

clattering away toward Paris.

Noon came. Still Porky slept, but at about two o'clock he was awakened

by the most faithful of all the alarm clocks that a boy can have. He

was hungry, he was frightfully hungry, and his eyes came open with a pop

as he rose to his elbow and tried to place himself.

When he recognized his surroundings, he bounded to his feet in a moment,

and after some prodigious stretching, hurried into his clothes, which he

found nicely dried and on a stool by his cot. There was a table by the

cot, and on it a good breakfast; cold, of course, but it was food, and

there was plenty of it. What more can a fellow ask?

When he went out into the office expecting to find the group he had left

the night before, there were only a couple of Captains, strangers to

him, officers who had just been transferred. Porky, found the note from

Colonel Bright.

It said simply:

"_Boys_:

"General Pershing has gone away for a conference. I am off on almost the

same errand, in another direction. When you wake up, Porky, you are to

do as you like for forty-eight hours. It is a leave given you on account

of your good work yesterday. I have not seen Beany at all to-day. I

enclose a pass that will take you wherever you want to go within the

lines. Don't go to the outer trenches. Better take time to write some

letters home. We are in for some hot work here. I don't mind telling

you that there is a leak somewhere. Keep your eyes and ears open.

"Your friend,

"COLONEL BRIGHT."

Porky folded the note and put it deep down in his pocket. Then he

turned to look at the two officers. One of them was running the

typewriter like a veteran; the other, with a puckered brow, was stabbing

the keys with his middle fingers. He was making awful work of it.

Porky watched him for a while, then he went over and saluted.

"I would be glad to write to your dictation, sir," he said. "That is,

if it is nothing personal."

"Well, I should say not!" said the officer. "I am Captain Dowd, and

this is a letter to a military journal back home. They wrote me some

time ago for some dope, and I jotted down something then. It is on

scraps of paper, and they couldn't read it as it is now written. I

wanted to put it in shape, and then add something of our later

experiences. Do you think you can do it, and do you want to take the

trouble?"

"Yes, sir," said Porky heartily. "I just woke up, and there is nothing

for me to do until my brother blows in. There is no use for me to go

after him, because he knows where I am. I can write it for you in no

time."

"That's fine!" said the Captain in a relieved tone. "At the rate I can

work that old machine, the war will be over about the time I finish; and

that's not hurrying the war any too much either. I have a page done.

You may go on from where I left off if you will."

Porky sat down and the Captain drew up a chair, and lighted a cigarette

while he scanned the soiled, ragged sheets of paper in his hand.

"Here we are," he said. "Fire away!"

"We are now getting the finishing touches to our training, and you can

rest assured that it is of the most finished description, and we are

ready to get into the big fight at any time. Our regiment, one of the

first over, was inspected by General Pershing the other day, and we feel

that he was fully satisfied with it. We have been told so at any rate.

Our regiment has learned the French open order drills which is by

sections instead of squads. We have also had any amount of rifle

shooting and certainly know how to shoot. Then, besides, we have had

practice in throwing live hand-grenades until our arms ached, but the

use of this deadly bomb is of the utmost importance for close fighting

as one grenade properly thrown among the enemy is liable to wipe out a

hundred men. Besides this, we have been taught to shoot hand-grenades

and automatic rifles, and do about everything that is infernal in

warfare. Our regiment and many of the others have all been supplied

with steel helmets, which have been dubbed 'tin lizzies.' They are not

so very comfortable to wear, but they have proved extremely valuable,

just the same, and have saved many lives and more bad head wounds.

"We understand that the gas we are to greet the Germans with is a better

article than their own. We surely do hope it is. We have had trench

work galore, with dugouts and wire entanglements, some of them close on

the enemy's front, and others in our own training area. We have marched

about ten miles to the trenches, relieving other battalions about three

A.M. and holding the trench until about six P.M. next day. At that time

we are relieved by another battalion and get back to our billet about

ten P.M. and by that time, what with trench work and the tramp of twenty

miles, oh how precious we do find sleep!

"When we are within our training area, we do everything exactly as it is

done on the firing line, including the guard work, which is divided into

two reliefs, and everybody turns out at dawn, which is the usual time

the enemy makes his raids, and we must be on the alert.

"We have had long marches, battalion, regimental and divisional

maneuvers, and we always march with full pack and a gas mask slung over

each shoulder."

The Captain laid down his papers and rolled another cigarette. Porky

rested his hands on the desk.

"They have some new kind of mask, haven't they?" he asked.

"Yes; haven't you seen them!" asked the Captain.

"No, sir," said Porky. "I just heard them talking about them."

"They are similar to the old ones, but I believe they last longer," said

the Captain. "They have a filter can for the air that is strapped at

your belt Then there is the usual tube to your mouth. There is a rubber

cap that sets over the front teeth and fits close to the gums, with

little rubber dew hickeys to bite on so you won't lose it out. There

are automatic rubber lips that close tight if you try to breathe in any

outside air, but open for the air from the filter can."

Once more he picked up his papers.

"Our gas masks and our rifles we consider our best friends and never

lose them.

"Perhaps some data regarding the numerous details of the military life

we have to meet here may be of interest, and I will give you some of it.

"Stringent orders have been given to all organization commanders that

they will be held strictly responsible for any dirty or rusty arms and

equipment found among their men, and they must also see that their men

are clean-shaven and that their billets are clean and orderly.

"A number of men who have disregarded orders have been seriously injured

while riding on the top of cars. The French tunnels are very low, and

the men have been knocked off. Other men, through carelessness, have

fallen out of the cars. The failure to assemble organizations at the

time set before the departure of trains has resulted in the leaving of a

number of men behind, and the provost guards have had the job of

rounding the men up and forwarding them to their command.

"Even in France the destination of the detachment must be kept

absolutely secret throughout the journey. No matter how long or how

short the journey turns out to be, the preparations are the same.

Organizations must entrain with two days' field rations on the person of

each man, two days' travel rations for each man in the car with men, and

ten days' field rations in the baggage car.

"The field train of the organization entraining, must accompany it, with

all its wagons loaded for the field, especially with the cooking

utensils, water cans, paulins, three days' field rations for each man,

together with two days' field rations for each animal.

"The French town major points out the training area and no other area

can be used. Distances to other posts will generally be found on posts

on the side of the road, shown in kilometers. A kilometer is

five-eighths of a mile.

"All time commences at naught, and ends at twenty-four. Thus, for

instance six P.M. would be eighteen."

"That's what gets my goat!" said Porky, stopping to fix the ribbon. "It

does make the longest day, even after you get the hang of things, so you

know whether you are in to-day, or some time next week."

"It would seem something that way," said the Captain, laughing. He

continued to read from his paper.

"All troops proceeding to the front will have issued to them a small

quantity of firewood with which to cook one meal on detraining. In the

area of concentration a supply train will be forwarded each day to the

rail head, from which supplies will be carried to the troops by the

wagons of the train. All arrangements for the movements of troops and

supplies by rail are made by the railway transport officer at the base

port."

"Gee, some busy officer!" commented Porky.

"I'll say so," said the Captain, and went on reading.

"French military trains are made up as follows: One passenger car

(first- or second-class, or mixed), thirty box cars, or third-class

cars; seventeen flat or gondola cars; two caboose; total, fifty.

Third-class cars are not provided for troops. They will carry eight men

to a compartment. Box cars are usually provided for the troops. They

will hold from thirty-two to forty men. Sometimes seats are provided,

sometimes straw to lie on. Spaces at each end of the car are to be left

clear for rifles, travel rations, and accouterments, the rifles being

secured by a temporary rack made with screw rings and a strap for same.

The horse cars hold eight horses in two rows of four, facing each other.

The central space between doors is used for saddles and harness, forage,

water cans and buckets, as well as the two men who travel in each car.

Flat cars usually accommodate one, but sometimes two, wagons."

The Captain folded up the paper.

"Is that all?" asked Porky. "It sounds mighty interesting."

"I would like to add something more, if you don't mind writing it,"

said, the Captain.

"Of course not," said Porky. "I'm mighty glad to do it."

"Thanks," said the Captain. "It is certainly a relief to me." He

leaned back in his chair, stared up at the ceiling, and commenced to

dictate.

"The pages sent under this cover were jotted down by me some time ago.

I can not give you the exact date, and up to the present time have not

had the opportunity to put my notes in readable order or to get them

mailed. We are now doing very interesting work at the front, living

underground. We have very comfortable and well ventilated quarters, and

are sleeping in bunks, on clean bed sacks filled with clean straw. The

only objection is the rats, of which there are great numbers, but we

have a cat and two dogs. The cat is a crackajack. I don't know how

many rats he averages a day--would be afraid to say, in fact--but he is

on the job all the time, and is wearing himself thin over it. The two

dogs, small and of no known breed, run the cat a close second.

"I have never seen the boys happier than they are now. They feel as if

they were really doing something worth while. I have heard the German

shells and have seen German territory, and it certainly puts pep into a

fellow, but as yet I can't say I've been scared.