Once more in the trenches and Tom's slight wound attended to, they peered curiously over the scene of battle. They shuddered as they looked, for there were still forms lying there that had not been there when the battle began. Who of their own number had gone? Who from that group of jolly, eager, vigorous young manhood with whom they had been living and training for weeks and months--those whom they had come to like and respect as they toiled and pleasured side by side in the camp and in the trenches? And yet, not one of those who had come back alive from that awful field, where had been left some of their comrades, but would have gladly given his own life that selfishness, arrogance, and brutality should not conquer and rule in this world. But they took comfort from the fact that despite their own losses, which had been numerous, the greater proportion of those still forms were German. The enemy's gun fire was still sending a rain of death across the intervening space and the American guns were answering with equal vigor. It seemed as though no living thing could endure on that infernal plain. Suddenly Frank's keen eyes detected a movement on the part of one of the apparently lifeless bodies and he gave a sharp exclamation. "Look there, Bart!" he said. "There's a man still alive. See how he's trying to get up on his elbow--and he's one of our men, too. That is, he's French--I can tell by his uniform," he added in great excitement, as the light from a bursting star shell threw a ghastly radiance over the field. The next instant he was clambering up the side of the trench. "Frank! Frank!" cried Bart desperately, clutching at him. "What are you doing? Where are you going? It's certain death out there!" "I'm going, Bart," gritted Frank between his teeth as he tore away from his friend's grasp, and leaped over the top! An instant more and he was on his hands and knees, making his way toward the stricken man who was about twenty yards distant. Around him bullets rained. A pain shot through his shoulder as though he had been stabbed by a red hot knife, but he kept on doggedly, reached the wounded man and tried to lift him to his feet. But the effort was futile for the man sank back with a groan. Like a flash Frank's muscular arms lifted him, threw him over his shoulder and staggering, tripping, stumbling, yet somehow keeping his feet, he reached the edge of the trench. A dozen eager hands relieved him of his burden and then he himself tumbled in, to be caught by Bart and Billy. What happened in the next half hour, Frank scarcely knew. The wound in his shoulder though not serious had bled freely, and his tremendous efforts had taxed his strength to the utmost. His surprise was great when, having had his wound attended to, he was ushered into the presence of the man he had saved. "Why, it is Colonel Pavet!" he gasped. Of course the French military man was equally amazed.