"We'll have to spread out," declared the lieutenant. "Groups of three. That hideout ought to be within a mile of here. If you find it and there's resistance, keep shooting at intervals and wait for the rest. Remember, we've got to make captures this time, not kills." The sergeant rattled off names and the groups formed swiftly and took off. Manning and Dugan, naturally, were two corners of one trio; its third was a corporal named White. * * * * * With Dugan as point, they advanced up a brush-grown ravine, using caution and cover, skirting the path that curved up the hill. They topped a saddle, and saw the house--a sprawling mountain lodge, built of logs by somebody with a passion for privacy, its roof well camouflaged now with synthetic greenery--not a hundred yards away up a slight slope rankly overgrown with grass. It looked deserted. Dugan had taken a few steps into the open before something--perhaps a far-away tinkle of breaking glass--warned him, and he went down smoothly in to the grass and rolled sidewise toward a clump of young evergreens. From the house came a splitting crack and a bullet hit the ground where he had been. Behind him, Manning jumped behind a comfortably thick tree-trunk, unslinging the automatic rifle he carried. But White was a moment too slow. The second bullet caught him as he turned, and he stumbled to his knees; two more shots rolled echoes down the ravine, and White collapsed on his face. Manning sighted his automatic and gave the window from which the fire had come a short but intensive burst. The house was silent. He fired again at a venture; in answer, a bullet snapped past, coming from a different spot. There was more than one marksman up there, or one was moving fast. From ahead came Dugan's voice, low-pitched but carrying. "Cover me, Ray. I'm gonna crawl around to the back." "You damn fool, you don't know how many there are. Our guys'll be along in a few minutes." "Hell with them," said Dugan. "Just cover me." He didn't mention White. But there was a compressed fury in his voice. Manning sighed. "All right." Dugan crawled like a weasel. Manning lost sight of him. He waited with humming nerves, firing spaced shots into the enemy's log fortress. Then he noticed he had stopped drawing any return fire. That might mean things had started happening inside the house, if it wasn't a trick--He discarded most of his caution and darted into the open, zigzagging from scanty cover to cover--something must have happened inside--and flattened against the rustic wall beside one shattered window, just in time to hear a voice beyond it exclaim hoarsely, "_Gut!_" That was all he wanted to know. If anything was going _gut_ in there, it was time Ray Manning got into the picture. He cleared the window-ledge with automatic level.