"Where on earth are you going to now?" I asked with a gasp. "I'm going to try and get that machine gun." I heard and saw nothing of him until daylight, when he brushed past me. "Did you get the gun, Bill?" "I didn't get the gun," he said with a grim smile, but--pointing to his bayonet blade--"there's the gunner." Sure enough it was stained a deep red. Poor Bill! he was always taking chances of that kind and he always got away with them. During this time we fed sumptuously as we were bagging hares every day, while potatoes, leeks, onions, etc., were still in good condition in parts of the field. On our last night in this billet I came almost to earning the D.C.M. (distinguished conduct medal). I was on sentry the two hours after midnight. One has to be very wide awake so near the line, and every little thing that looks in any way suspicious must be investigated. The night was quiet in our own lines, but away to the left a tremendous cannonade and rifle firing was going on. An occasional German souvenir would whine above my head. Things that look very simple and plain at two o'clock in the afternoon, when the sun is shining, have a very different appearance at two o'clock in the morning, on the front line. At the end of my beat was a huge yew bush, giving the place a somber, weird effect. As I was turning my back on the bush during one of my rounds, every single hair of my closely cropped skull rose on end, while my scalp literally crawled, as a rustling noise came from the bush. My first instinct was to start for the south of France, as quickly as my legs could take me, but reason and duty came to my rescue. Still terrified, a blind fury took possession of me at the thing that scared me. Holding my rifle and bayonet at the "ready," I ran into the bush at the top of my speed and lunged with all my might into its depth, being brought up suddenly and sharply by a forked branch under my chin. The result of my charge was a melancholy meow, and I cursed softly, but with infinite relief at the cause of my panic. Thinking the cat might be a good companion, I made overtures by softly calling to her, and nothing loath she came, and when dawn broke a small figure in khaki might have been seen strolling slowly up and down the road, with a huge black cat alternately dodging between his legs and rubbing her sleek hide against his muddy puttees. CHAPTER XV TRAINING FOR RUNNER Our next move was to the town of the best town we had yet "honored" with our presence. We reached here in the dead of night and awoke the sleeping inhabitants by lustily informing them that, "Here We Are Again." Another classic of the Canadian Division went echoing over the place, a well-known American hymn--"Hail, Hail, the Gang's All Here." Twenty-four hours had not passed before the long-suffering citizens were only too well aware that the gang was all there.