Presently we heard the crackle of a piece of brushwood immediately out in our front. The intruder had gotten into our entanglement. "Halt! Who goes there?" No answer. I repeated the challenge; still no answer. We made our way cautiously through the hedge, unclicked our safety catches and were just about to fire in the direction of the sound when someone yelled, "Where's the Durham Light Infantry lying?" We ordered them to advance until within ten feet. "Who are you?" "Durham Light Infantry." In the darkness we could not tell who they were but they spoke English like natives. "What are you doing out here wandering around in this fashion?" "Well," one of them answered, "we were taking a stroll and got lost and we want to find our way back." We directed them and when they were lost sight of in the darkness, we resumed our places on each side of the gun and thought no more of the incident for the time. We again installed ourselves comfortably and were comparatively safe from the sniping in front, which was going on more or less all the time we were there, and about thirty minutes had elapsed when, in the silence of the night, I thought I again heard the crackling of a twig. Blaisdell heard it too. "Hist! Did you hear that, Grant?" "Yes," I whispered. We listened intently and heard it again, this time a little closer. We jumped up. "Halt! Who goes there?" No answer. Bang! Blaisdell fired, and these same fellows called, "Don't shoot! We're looking for the Durhams." We emerged through the hedge. "What in hell are you fellows doing around here again?" I asked. "Well, we can't find the Durham Light Infantry." "Well, you find some place away from here if you want to live to eat your breakfast. If I find you around here again I'll shoot without warning." Again they asked us the way and again we directed them, and saw them started on their way to the rear. Once more we took our places on the gun between the wheels and were hardly settled down when a sniper opened up on us from the rear, taking a chip out of the wheel to my right. Ping! Ping! Ping! and the tree standing ten feet in our rear was nipped. Ping! Ping! and the shield of the gun got it this time. We were concealed behind the gun shield, which protected us pretty thoroughly from the front fire and were congratulating ourselves on our haven of safety when Ping! Ping! again from our rear came the messages from a sniper hidden there. In glancing back over my shoulder I noticed in the pitchy blackness the flash of a rifle simultaneously with the report, and it seemed to come from a haystack about 200 yards to our right. "Blais, look back for a minute and tell me what you see." Black darkness again for a few minutes, then another flare; we both watched intently.