“Treacherous devils! There’s no end to their tricks.” He fingered the revolver at his belt, but he could not do it so. The fellow deserved it, but it felt too like murder. He kicked the recumbent one up on to his feet. They prodded him over the parapet in front, and as he started to run a dozen rifles cracked and he went down. These things, and the incessant rain of heavy shells which blew craters in the earth all about them, began to get on their nerves somewhat, but especially this masquerading of the enemy in their own uniform. It produced a feeling of insecurity all round and a diabolical exasperation. If for a second the storm, of which they seemed the centre, lulled, they heard the terrific din of battle on either side. Heavy fighting seemed going on all along the line. And soon after midnight came their hottest time of all. It looked as though the enemy had got word where the new raw troops were, and had decided that that would be the weakest spot, and so hurled his heaviest weight against them. “Here they come! Thousands of ’em!” shouted someone. The moon had come out and they could see that it was so. Ray had no time to think of Lois or anyone else. His whole being was concentrated on the dark masses rolling up against them. They had got to be stopped. He had no slightest idea of what depended on it. All he knew was that they had got to be stopped, though every man of themselves died for it. “Steady, boys, and give it them hot,” and they blazed away point blank into the serried ranks. They fell in heaps. The rest wavered and then came on. Ray saw a furious officer thrashing at them with his sword to urge them forward. He sighted him as though he had been a pheasant and the furious one fell. The rest came on--some of them. But the Scottish fire was excellent. The boys were strung to concert pitch. Flesh and blood could not stand their record rapid. The dark masses melted away. While they were still congratulating themselves a furious fusillade opened on them from one side,--Maxims, Ray judged,--and almost at the same moment came a volley from the rear. There seemed to be Germans all round them. “Bayonets! This way, boys!” and he tumbled up out of the trench and led the way against the assault from the rear. Obviously if they were surrounded that must be the way out. He stumbled on the rough ground and his rifle jerked out of his hand. The others thought he was done. But it was only a trip and he was up and off in a moment, leaving his rifle on the ground behind. He dashed on unarmed, the others yelling at his heels. In front a row of Germans was blazing away at them, the moonlight and the flash of the discharges playing odd tricks with the bristling line of bayonets.