An amen of cheers was the response, and we continued to make short dashes over the rough ground, firing at every head we saw; for it was agreed we must thin the Boche off all we could, before the final tussle came. We got as near the enemy as was prudent by these short dashes, and then dug in; that is, we threw up with our knives and bayonets a little ridge of earth in front of us. We were on a slight rise in the ground which gave us a good view of the enemy, and a chance to pick them off. I had at that time about ninety-five men. I had lost in killed and wounded about thirty. But several of the wounded, including Goodwin and Sam, could still fight. None of my men had been made prisoners; but several--to put it mildly--were absent without leave. There was one friend that had stuck to me like wax, and that was my dog. Then a thought came to me. I scribbled a short note and addressed it to my captain, saying: “I am fighting in a tight place; Help!” Then fastening it in the dog’s collar, I headed him towards our lines saying: “Go!” He answered by running like the wind, and I knew that it would not be long before the captain got that message. [Illustration: “HE ANSWERED BY RUNNING LIKE THE WIND, AND I KNEW THAT IT WOULD NOT BE LONG BEFORE THE CAPTAIN GOT THAT MESSAGE.”--Page 166.] We were in a tight corner, almost surrounded, but fighting for all we were worth. Several of our best men were wounded or dead and the enemy shots came fast and thick. Hen. Goodwin, wounded in the arm and head, being no longer able to use his Browning machine-gun, I had taken it. I was firing fast, when I heard a prodigious cheer from our lines. My message had reached them. “Help is coming, men!” I said. “I have sent word by the dog, and that is the answer. Cheer up! We’ll get ’em yet!” Our group of fighters at this time was in pitiful plight. I had lost in killed and wounded over one third of my men since taking refuge behind that rise of ground. Sam was wounded but still fighting. Pat Quinn was bleeding from a wound in the head, but still firing--and making sulphurous talks to his comrades. It looked so discouraging that, but for the undaunted courage I saw in the faces of my men, I could almost have given up the fight in despair. “Hold on a little longer!” I cried. “Our men are coming!” But minutes seemed hours, as one after another of my men fell or cried out in anguish from their hurts. Strange to say, I thought of other things than the fight I was making; of my mother, of Jot and--some one else. One minute had passed--so my watch said--since hearing those reassuring cheers, but it seemed hours. I thought that Joshua must have been in the same kind of a fix when he thought the sun had stood still to give him victory. Another moment passed, then we heard a cheer still nearer. “Hear that!” I cried. “They are almost here! Help is coming!”