Again there was a crack of rifles, and he heard the whistle of bullets as they passed by him; one of these was not more than a yard away. What the Germans meant, he did not know, neither could he tell whether he had been seen, but he was sure that his life was not worth a pin's purchase. He had left his sword behind--that was of no use to him now and would be only an encumbrance--but he had his revolver ready to hand. Feverishly he looked around him, but nowhere could he see the man he sought. Still, he had done his duty; he could go back to Pickford and the other fellows and tell them he had done his best and had failed. But he stayed where he was. He realised that he was faint and hungry. Since, early that Sunday morning he had scarcely partaken of food; all day long there had been mad fighting and deadly carnage, and in his excitement he had forgotten hunger; now he thought he was going to faint. Then suddenly every nerve became tense again. He saw not more than a dozen yards away a man in German uniform; like lightning his hand flew to his revolver, and he held himself in readiness. Scarcely had he done so, when he heard a groan. The German also evidently heard it, for he quickly made his way towards the spot from which the sound came. A moment later Bob heard the German give a low laugh as if he were pleased, but the laugh died in its birth; before it was finished, a bullet from Bob's revolver had pierced his brain. Forgetful of danger, he rushed forward, and saw that he had not been a moment too soon. The German was about to drive his sword into the body of a prostrate man. "It is he!" cried Bob, in a hoarse whisper; he had found the man he had come to seek. There, partly hidden by a small bush, lay Captain Trevanion, and on his face was a pallor like the pallor of death. "He is alive," reflected Bob; "I heard him groan just now." He put his ear close to Trevanion's heart and listened. Yes, he was faintly breathing, but his clothes were saturated with blood. With trembling hands Bob undid the other's uniform, and was not long in finding a wound from which oozed his life's blood. He called to mind all the medical knowledge he had, and set to work to stop the bleeding; in a few minutes had partially succeeded. But how to get him back to the English lines! That was the question. He did not think Trevanion was in any immediate danger now. All he could do was to wait until the daylight was gone, and then carry the wounded man to a place of safety. But he dared not wait. The wound began bleeding again. Trevanion was a heavy man, almost as heavy as Bob himself, and in carrying him he knew that he must expose himself to the German fire; but that risk must be taken. He thought he might carry him two or three hundred yards before being shot, and by that time he would be near enough to the English lines to enable those who were watching, to reach them.