“You were the real goods, old boy,” agreed Billy. “My heart was in my mouth for fear you might have made a mistake. And it’s mighty lucky that Frank had those reins, or the fellow might have got away after all.” “Not a chance,” replied Frank lightly. “A dozen bullets would have got him anyway. The game was up with him the minute he had to take off his glove.” “It was a regular Hun trick,” said Tom disdainfully. “And he nearly got away with it,” commented Billy. “He nearly had the major going. Why, he spoke English just as well as I do.” “That isn’t saying much,” chaffed Frank, and dodged the pass that Billy made at him. “Well, he didn’t put it over, and a miss is as good as a mile,” remarked Tom. “Did you see the look he shot at you as he went past?” said Billy. “If looks could kill you’d have died on the spot.” “There go the guns,” interrupted Frank, as the enemy artillery opened up in chorus with a roar that shook the ground, and a storm of shells came shrieking toward them. “They’re getting ready to charge and the guns are laying down a barrage. We’ll have another hack at them soon.” They crouched lower and clutched their rifles tightly. And while these fearless young Americans are waiting for the onset, it may be well, for the sake of those who have not read the preceding books in this series, to tell who Frank and his comrades were and what they had been doing up to the time our story opens. Frank Sheldon was a stalwart young American who had been born and reared in Camport, a prosperous city of about twenty-five thousand inhabitants. He was a bright, likable fellow, a leader in athletic sports and a general favorite. Above all he was a hundred per cent. American. His father had died some years before our story opens, and Frank was the only son and support of his mother to whom he was devotedly attached. She was a French woman whom Mr. Sheldon had married while on a business visit to France. She was the heiress to a considerable estate left by her father, but on account of the war had not been able to go to France to claim the property, the settlement of which had been held up by some legal complications. Frank had secured a good position with the firm of Moore and Thomas, and had excellent prospects for the future when the war broke out. His blood was on fire at once and he was eager to enlist, although for a time he was held back because of his mother’s dependence on him. An insult to the flag, however, which Frank promptly avenged by knocking down the guilty German, decided him, and he joined the old Thirty-seventh, the local regiment that had already seen service in other wars. With him enlisted his special chum, Bart Raymond, who was as ardent a patriot as Frank himself. Billy Waldon, another close friend, was already a member. Tom Bradford wanted to join, but was rejected on account of his teeth, though afterward he was accepted in the draft, and the four friends to their great delight found themselves together.