"Got ye," yelled Spud, lunging forward with his bayonet. The officer writhed in a horrible way at the other end of his rifle. With difficulty he disengaged, but rather late, for a powerful Teuton made a terrible blow with his butt. Tamson was struck on the side of the head and stunned. He fell to the ground. Pat Muldoon saw it all and jumped forward to guard him from further injury. Standing astride over his prostrate form this great Irishman faced all odds. He wielded his rifle in the same easy manner as he had formerly handled his pick. An Irishman in a fight is a sight for the gods. He is a mixture of the dervish and the devil. And a strange charm hung over the life of this son of Erin. Man after man he felled like a woodman cutting pine. As the neighbouring gun team had no desire to earn such a hurried despatch, they bolted to a more safe and pleasant region in the dim beyond. Meantime, Captain Coronet had been getting on with his job. His counter-attack crushed the first impact of the German host, but at a terrible cost. Seventy men had bitten the dust, while he himself had been prodded like a prize pig with German bayonets. Fortunately none of his gashes were serious. Still, he and his men were about worn out when a thundering cheer told them that the supporting company had arrived. Into the fray dashed the eager avengers. Their enthusiasm turned the tide. Away ran the Germans; the position was won. Out of the shambles rose Spud Tamson, somewhat dazed with the blow. "Cheer up, ould pal,—are yis better?" queried Muldoon. "What wis it?" asked Tamson. "Begorra, it’s the stars ye’ve been seein’." "Three star brandy wisnae in it, Pat. It’s worse than the D.T.’s." "Never mind, me bhoy, we’ve got their ould bullet engines," said Pat, pointing to the machine guns with the gun team lying round. "But I say, Spud, have a nip." "Sure, Pat, whaur is it?" "Here," he said, drawing a beautiful silver brandy-flask out of his pocket. "Whaur did ye get this?" "In that German officer’s pocket." "Man, it’s the rale thing. Did ye get onything else?" "I did that,—a purse of gould German quids." "I get hauf o’ that. It wis me that kill’t him." "Roight, we’ll share it out by-and-by." "Nae fear. Hauf it the noo." "Why?" "A bird in the haun’s worth twa in the bush." "That’s what the ould judge said when he gave me thirty days for stealin’ Mike Docherty’s pigs," concluded Pat, as he ruefully parted with half of his bag of gold. Spud also got his D.C.M. CHAPTER XIX. AN IMPERIAL AFFAIR. "_I see_ Sergeant Tamson is in divisional orders to-day," said Colonel Corkleg to Lieutenant Greens during breakfast in the dug-out. "What for, sir?" "Oh, his leading of that attack the other night. He’s been awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal. Useful man. Useful man." "Yes, sir. Isn’t it wonderful how a man like that, born in the slums, has all the instinct of a leader, as well as the pluck of a dozen ordinary men."