Frank had come through unscathed, except for a slight ridge in the scalp that a bullet had barely grazed, but Tom’s cut lip had swelled so that his mouth was twisted in a ludicrous shape and he could only speak with difficulty. At any other time Frank would have been inclined to “guy” him over the comical appearance he presented, but now, as always after a hot fight, his first thought was of Bart and Billy. He looked about him anxiously, but could see nothing of them as his glance darted in and out among the trees. “Could anything have happened to the old scouts, do you think?” he asked of Tom. “They’ll turn up all right,” answered Tom, with more confidence than he really felt. “There’s Billy now,” he exclaimed with great relief, pointing to the right, “and I’m blessed if the old boy isn’t driving a couple of Huns in front of him.” It was Billy, sure enough, as jaunty and chipper as ever, walking behind two Germans who shuffled along sullenly enough. Billy’s face broke into a broad grin as his friends hurried toward him. “Some class to this child,” he chuckled, as he indicated the prisoners. “Copped them out all by my lonesome. But where’s Bart?” he asked, his tone changing as he noticed the absence of his comrade. “That’s just what we want to know,” replied Frank with great uneasiness. “He got away from us in the early part of the fighting and we haven’t seen him since.” Billy signaled to Fred Anderson, who was passing. “Take these fellows back to the pen, will you, Fred?” he asked. “I want to help the boys hunt up Raymond.” “Sure thing,” responded Fred good-naturedly, as he relieved Billy of his charges. “Now,” said Billy, “let’s get a hustle on and hunt among the wounded.” Each of them felt in his heart an awful fear that something worse than wounds might have come to Bart, but by common consent they kept the word “dead” away from their lips and tried to keep it away from their minds. All of them had been face to face with death again and again and had been wounded more or less severely, but so far death had spared them and the four had grown to feel that they would all pull through safely. But Bart was missing. Had a break come at last? Already burial parties were going up and down the field and the stretcher parties were gathering up the wounded to convey them to the advanced dressing stations. The three chums attached themselves to these and searched frantically among both the wounded and the dead. For some time their search was unavailing, and then suddenly Frank gave a call that brought the others instantly to his side. “I’ve found him!” he cried. “But I don’t know whether he’s living or dead. Help me to get him out of this pile of bodies.” In a moment their sinewy hands had extricated their comrade, and Frank knelt down and lifted Bart’s head in his arms, while Tom tore open their chum’s shirt and put his hand on his heart.