Army Boys on the Firing Line | Page 4

into me when I'm not looking, I guess I'll take care of it. No,
you needn't take the trouble of handing it to me," he continued, as he
saw a vicious expression in his captive's eyes. "You just keep your
hands stretched above your head and I'll find your knife myself. And
don't let those hands come down until I tell you, or something awkward
is likely to happen."
If the prisoner did not understand all that was said to him, there was
enough in Frank's gestures to indicate his meaning, and the hands went
up and stayed up, while Frank searched his prisoner and removed his
knife, which he put in his own belt. Then he bound the fellow's hands.
The attack had been made late in the afternoon, and dusk had fallen
while the fight was still going on. Now it was quite dark, and Frank
rose to his feet, intending to clamber out of the shell hole, taking his
prisoner with him.
But what was his consternation, on lifting his head to the level rim of
the crater, to hear about him commands shouted in hoarse guttural
accents. The sounds of battle had died down and it was evident that the
fight for that day was over. And that part of the field had been left in
German hands!
Reinforcements coming up in the nick of time had halted a retreat that
was threatening to become a rout. The battle would probably be
resumed on the morrow, but for the present both forces were resting on
their arms.
The tables were turned with a vengeance. A moment before he had
been holding a prisoner and getting ready to take him into the
American lines. Now he was himself in the enemy lines, liable at any
moment to be discovered and dragged out roughly, to be questioned by
German captors.

All this passed through Frank's mind in a twinkling. But then another
thought came to him. He must silence his prisoner.
The thought came not a moment too soon, for as Frank dropped down
beside him a shout arose from the German's lips. He too had heard and
understood the sounds about him.
In an instant Frank had thrust his handkerchief into the prisoner's
mouth. The man squirmed and struggled, but his bound hands made
him powerless, and Frank soon made a gag that, while allowing the
man a chance to breathe comfortably, would keep him silent.
Then he settled back and tried to think. And his thoughts were not
pleasant ones.
He had had a brief taste of German imprisonment, and he was not
anxious to repeat the experience. Yet nothing seemed more probable.
Little short of a miracle would prevent his capture if he stayed there
much longer. In the morning, discovery would be certain. He must
escape that night, if at all. But how could he make his way through that
swarm of enemies?
And while he is cudgeling his brain to find an answer to the question, it
may be well, for the sake of those who have not read the preceding
volumes of this series, to tell briefly who Frank and his chums were
and what they had done up to the time this story opens.
Frank Sheldon had been born and brought up in the town of Camport, a
thriving American city of about twenty-five thousand people. His father
was American but his mother was French. Mr. Sheldon had met and
married his wife in her native province of Auvergne, where her parents
owned considerable property. They had died since their daughter's
marriage, and in the natural course of things she would have inherited
the estate. But legal difficulties had developed in regard to the will, and
Frank's parents were contemplating a trip to France to straighten
matters out, when the war broke out and made it impossible. Mr.
Sheldon had died shortly afterward, leaving but a slender income for
his widow. Frank had become her chief support. She was a charming,

lovable woman, and she and her son were very fond of each other.
Frank had secured a good position with the firm of Moore & Thomas, a
prosperous hardware house in Camport, and his prospects for the future
were bright when the war broke out. But he was intensely patriotic, and
wanted to volunteer as soon as it became certain that America would
enter the conflict. For a time he held back on account of his mother, but
an insult to the flag by a German, whom Frank promptly knocked down
and compelled to apologize, decided his mother to put no obstacles in
the way of his enlisting.
But Frank was not the only ardent patriot in the employ of Moore &
Thomas. Almost all of the force wanted to go, including