"Dae whit yer tell’t. I’m fed up wi’ yer questions. If yer feart, awa’ hame." This sharp retort ended Micky’s fears. For the next ten minutes they lay watching their prey. Then came their chance. The two sentries met and turned their backs to have a chat. With a light bounding step, Spud and Micky reached their men. The startled sentries turned and then jumped for their rifles, which were leaning against a tree. Too late, though. A glistening bayonet and a low command, "Haunds up," ended their service in the German Army. Both held their hands up in terror, expecting a sudden despatch to the heavenly land, at the same time tearfully muttering, "Don’t hurt me—Don’t hurt me," for, like nearly all Germans, they spoke English well. "Here," said Spud to his man, handing a lump of bread and a sausage. The man grabbed it like a hungry wolf. His comrade did the same with Micky’s peace-offering. This bait reduced them to a state of friendliness and civility. Indeed, the attitude of Spud and Micky amazed them. They had been told that the British Army were murderers and barbarians. When they had finished their simple repast, Spud casually inquired— "Whaur’s yer picket?" "Back there," said one, pointing to the end of the wood. "Hoo strong?" "About a hundred." "Any Maxims?" "Two." "Whaur are they?" "At that end," said the German, showing Spud a sort of earthwork at their end of the wood, about six hundred yards away. "Many men there?" "Plenty." "All right, come wi’ me." The Germans hesitated. "Step oot," said Spud, fingering his trigger in a determined way. "Well, don’t kill us." "Na, we’ll no’ kill ye. But mind, keep quiet as ye go," he ordered, pushing his prisoners ahead. The victors followed, carrying the rifles of the enemy. But they were not to get off scot-free. The clumsy Germans made a fearful din, rousing their compatriots some distance away. This and the rising moon told the now vigilant Teutons that something was wrong. A searchlight was flashed across the danger zone. Spud and his men were spotted. "Double," he roared, giving the Germans a prick with his bayonet, but the crash of rifles and then the patter of feet told the daring sergeant that he was pursued. Zip! went a bullet past his ear. Zip! went another, striking Micky in the leg and smashing a bone. He tumbled with a groan. "Here, you German waiters—lift him," ordered Spud. The prisoners hesitated, but the stern look in the sergeant’s face, as well as the danger of death from the rifles of their own friends, made them grab the wounded man and carry him on. A five minutes’ run brought them to the spot where Spud’s reserves were handy. "Halt!" challenged Muldoon, jumping out of a hole. "It’s me, Pat—haud on here. Stop these scallywags that’s chasing us up. Gie them a dose o’ Rapid. They’ll think they’re up against a hunner men." "Roight, sargint," replied Muldoon, assuming command of the reserves.