Not only that day but for many days thereafter the fighting kept on. The Americans had given themselves two weeks to clear the forest. Day by day the lines advanced, sometimes slowly, again more quickly, but they always advanced, and every nightfall found them nearer their goal than they had been the day before. The Army Boys were in their element. Here at last was enough fighting to suit even their hot blood. The only thing lacking to their satisfaction was the absence of Bart. They had not yet even been able to hear from him, as they were kept so busy and the lines shifted so constantly that all communication between them and the hospital was cut off. “It’s hard luck for the old scout,” remarked Tom one night after the regiment had cleared out an intricate system of dugouts and was resting after the day’s work. “He’ll be sore as the mischief if this war ends without his getting another crack at the Huns,” said Billy. “He needn’t worry,” put in Frank, “he’s done his full share if he never fires another shot. All I want is to see him on his feet again, sound and well, whether the war ends before that time or not. In the meantime we three must try to do the work of four.” “Yes,” agreed Tom, “every fourth shot we fire, we’ll say to ourselves: ‘There goes one for Bart!’” CHAPTER IX THE SHINING PLANE After one day of particularly grim and stubborn fighting, the Army Boys found themselves quartered in an unusually large clearing in the dense woods and underbrush that went to compose the Argonne Forest. Since early morning they had been engaged in clearing out trench after trench of Boches, menaced on every side by skillfully concealed machine gun nests, but making steady progress, in the face of almost insuperable obstacles. A number of their comrades had fallen, but not one of our heroes had suffered anything worse than the deep scratches resulting from forcing their way through innumerable barbed wire entanglements. They seemed to bear charmed lives, for always there had been the whine of machine gun bullets, and the scream of shrapnel thrown from the heavier guns situated in the rear of the German lines. Now, thoroughly exhausted, they had willingly obeyed the order that meant the end of that day’s fighting, and had cast, first their packs, and then themselves, down upon the camping ground that had been designated as theirs for the night. By the time “chow” had been eaten, they began to feel a little better, but had nothing in mind except to turn in, when suddenly their attention was arrested by the whirring hum of an aeroplane engine coming rapidly to a position directly over them. The first thought of every soldier is, “Is it an enemy machine?” but one glance served to assure them that it was an American plane.