Frank's heart was beating like a triphammer and his nerves were at a fearful tension. The next five minutes would probably determine whether he was to live or die. But he kept himself well in hand and to all appearances he was only a tired German soldier going to his bunk. As far as he could without attracting attention, he kept carefully away from the low fires around which some of the Germans were sitting. But at one point he was forced to pass within the zone of light, and one of a group threw a laughing remark at him, occasioned probably by the cuts in his coat which he had been compelled to make when he had stripped his prisoner. "_Asel!_" Frank flung back at him and passed on, thankful that he at least knew the German term for jackass. Nearer and nearer he drew to the confines of the camp. Here the great danger lay, for he knew that it would be closely guarded after the day's fighting. If he were challenged what should he say? To the sentinel's "_Wer da?_" he could answer "_Freund_." But when he was told to advance and give the countersign what would be his answer? He had it ready. But it would not suit the Germans. At the point that he had selected for his attempt, there was an opening in the wire that had been hastily strung to guard against a possible night attack by the American forces. Up and down in front of this a stalwart sentry was pacing. He stopped and looked sharply at Frank, as the latter approached. When he was ten feet distant the sentry presented his bayonet and called: "_Halt_! _Wer da_?" "_Ein freund_," responded Frank. "_Losung_," demanded the sentinel, asking for the countersign. "America!" answered Frank, and hurled his revolver full in the sentry's face. The heavy butt of the weapon landed plumb in the middle of the German's forehead. He had opened his mouth to shout, but no sound came forth. The rifle fell from his hands and he went down like a log. With a leap Frank got through the gap in the wire and started running like a deer toward the American lines. There were startled shouts behind him, hoarse commands, a rushing of feet and a crackling volley of shots. The bullets whizzed and zipped close to him and he felt a sharp sting as one of them grazed the lower part of his left arm. Once he stumbled and fell headlong, but he scrambled hastily to his feet and ran on. But now a new peril was added. Behind him a star-shell shot up, followed by another and another, together with strings of "blazing onions," until the broken field over which he was making his way became almost as bright as day. In that greenish radiance his flying figure stood out sharply, and the firing which had been wild now became more accurate. At the same time, a look behind him showed that a troop of men had been hastily organized and was rushing after him. This, however, gave him little concern. A bullet might catch him, but these heavy Germans, never!