Two of these Turcos had been loaded into our ambulance and we were waiting for a third passenger, when a German prisoner was brought out on a stretcher. He was very seriously injured, and lay there quiet and pale. One of the Turcos was badly wounded, and the other one not so seriously. We received orders to carry the German wounded prisoner to the same hospital as the Turcos, and so we lifted his stretcher and slid it into the upper story of the ambulance, a suspended arrangement which enabled us to carry three men while otherwise we could have carried only two. There was a considerable distance to be traversed between the station where we received our men and the hospital to which we were told to take them. After we had been on the road for some minutes and were driving along at a fairly good rate, there was a violent vibration and shaking of the car. We switched off the gasoline and threw in the brakes and, bringing the car to a stop, jumped down and ran around to the rear to see what was wrong. The first thing I saw was a stream of blood trickling down from the stretcher above and soaking the uniform of one of the Turcos in the bottom of the car. I then saw that this fellow had his knife in his hand, and I excitedly asked what was the matter. The other Turco, who was not so badly wounded explained that his partner did not like the idea of having a live German riding in the same car with him, and so he had slipped out his trench knife and with what strength he had left, had rallied and raised himself up enough to thrust it upward through the stretcher and into the back of the German above. There was a smile of satisfaction on the black face of the Turco, who had fallen back exhausted. We unbuckled the straps which held the German's stretcher and slipped it out, but he was already dead. While we were examining him the two Turcos said a few words to each other, and when we were about to start forward they both refused to ride with a dead German in the car. Before we were done with him we had to carry the corpse to the side of the road and bury it there. We folded up the stretcher, put it back into the car, and again set out. When we got to the hospital several miles farther on, we lifted out the stretchers, but one of the Turcos was dead. He had used up all his strength and life in the great effort he had put forth to kill the hated German, but the other one said he was very contented, and had died willingly and gladly. Such little incidents of different kinds are continually happening, where millions of men from all classes of society and with different ideals are thrown together, and I am sure any ambulance on the Western front could tell many a thrilling tale if it but had the power. Perhaps it is better that it can not speak. CHAPTER XIII A TICKLISH ATTACK