But just as he was comforting himself with this thought he tripped and went down with a shock that jarred every bit of breath out of his body. He struggled to get up but could not move. His lungs labored as though they would burst. His legs refused to obey his will. He felt as if he were in the clutches of a nightmare. And all the time he could hear the pounding of his pursuers' feet drawing closer and closer. Would he never be able to breathe again? Little by little, during seconds that seemed ages, his breath came back to him, in short gasps at first but gradually becoming longer, until at last he rose weakly to his feet. He started out again, slowly at first, but, as his wind came back to him, gathering speed at every stride. But now his pursuers were perilously near. Those precious seconds lost perhaps had been fatal. His fingers gripped the handle of his knife. He would not be taken. Capture in that uniform meant certain death. No German should gloat over his execution. If brought to bay he would die fighting then and there, using his knife so savagely that his enemies would have to shoot him to save themselves. Commands to halt came from behind him accompanied by bullets, but he only ran the swifter. But just then a tumult rose from another quarter. The lines in front of him seemed to awake. Lights flashed here and there, a mass of figures detached themselves from the gloom, and in the light of a star-shell Frank saw a detachment of American troops coming on the run! His pursuers saw them too and the chase slackened. There was a hurried gathering for consultation, a volley of shots, and then the Germans beat a hasty retreat, hotly pursued by a band of the Americans while another group of them rushed up and surrounded Frank. "Why, it's a Hun!" exclaimed one of them disgustedly, as his eyes fell on the uniform. "Only a deserter, and we thought they were chasing one of our own men." "That's one on us," remarked another. "The rest of the boys will have the laugh on us for sure." "Do I look like a Heinie?" demanded Frank with a grin. "I can lick the fellow that calls me one." A shout of amazement rose from the crowd as they gathered close to him. "Sheldon! Sheldon! Old scout! Bully boy!" They mauled and pounded him until he was sore, for he was the idol of the regiment. There was a rush, and Bart and Billy had their arms around him and fairly hugged the breath out of him. "Frank! Frank!" they exclaimed delightedly. "We thought you were gone. The last we saw of you, you were fighting like a tiger, but then the enemy reinforcements came and we were swept away from you. We didn't know whether you were dead or a prisoner. Thank God you're neither one nor the other."